A Song of Frost & Flame
by Chimaera1201
Summary: When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.
1. Chapter 1

A SONG OF FROST AND FLAME

CHAPTER 1 – THE CLAIM

She woke to a warm but fogged spring morning. Happy and untroubled she dressed and rushed down the steps from her room with Oda, her flock-hound at her heels to the hall to break her fast on fresh bread, a few strips of crisped bacon and a wedge of cheese with her siblings; her older brother Gerald, a man grown of 18, her younger brother, Rhegard of 14 and little sister Carissa of 9; before going for a ride around the castle fields with Rhegard. They enjoyed these day-trips together. Upon their return, Gerald awaited them on the steps that led inside the castle known as Pale Haven, but his immediate attention was to be hers.

"Claira, father wants to see you." He announced. She dismounted and gave the reins of her horse to a stable hand.

"Where is he?" she asked and turned towards her brother.

"In his library. You'd better hurry, it seems important." She hurried inside, down long corridors and past great halls full of servants cleaning and wiping, and sweeping and scrubbing; laughing and jesting and bickering and of course gossiping. Many of the cats that claimed the castle as their home ran alongside her, others trailed behind on other interests while some rushed on ahead, and some only stared. Up the stairs her path led with Oda still close behind, until she passed through the door and found her father sitting at a table, busy with letters. It's been a while, judging from the pile that lay next to him on the table.

"You wanted to see me, father?" she drew his attention, and he looked up. With a soft smile, he lay the quill down and folded his hands on the desktop.

"I did. Sit down." He gestured to the seat opposite from him.

"You recall what I spoke to you about, some years ago; following the outbreak of the rebellion?" he asked. She did remember. Her father, along with the Starks negotiated with the Taugeres of the Corridor for their alliance. The Starks and the Baratheon's had no lands, riches or daughters to offer, so Lord Willmon Tormont, offered his eldest reluctantly. Five great families fought together, and they won.

"My debt is due, sweetling. With a heavy heart, I must now relinquish you to your betrothed, in marriage. The ceremony will take place here, in our gods grove in a fortnight" he said, and she found herself feeling light-headed. She had always known, but now that she faced it she was hesitant if not defiant.

"This is so sudden…" she finally managed.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner; I just didn't know how." He confessed, lowering his head. She stood up and went around to him, placing her arms around his shoulders.

"You did what you had to do; and I will obey." She assured; and he placed a worn hand on her arm.

"You won't be ours any more; you won't be mine any more…" he whispered, then he chased the thoughts off with a pat to her arm.

"Go on now; relish your last days here as much as you can. I must finish issuing the biddings to the other lords." He said, and returned to his writings. She left, debating on how to fill her days but instead wandered to the kitchen and sat down on the bench, watching their castle cook Arima work her wonders with whatever was brought from the stores. She looked at the young lady, her hands never-ending in their duties.

"Something wrong, child?" she asked, and Claira let her head rest on her hands while her elbows balanced on her lap.

"No. I don't think so. Marriage is supposed to be a happy prospect, isn't it?" she asked, and for that moment, Arima paused.

"It's that time already, eh?" and then she resumed her work.

"Don't you worry, milady. Your father won't have chosen some disrespectful puss to be your husband." She assured, but Claira sighed.

"That's just the thing, Arima. He didn't choose my husband to be."

"That don't matter. He would rather have lose the war than give you to someone who would treat you bad." The cook insisted, and Claira paused.

"He's never met him." She wondered, and then Arima came over with a plate of crispels and a chalice of fresh milk.

"That don't matter either. He met someone, and someone will know how the man is. And if someone knows how the man is, and your father accepted him to take you as his wife; he can't be bad." She handed the appetizers to her.

"Off with you now, can't have you soiling yourselves here in my kitchen." She said, and Claira left into the yard with her prizes. She made her way to the stables where she consumed the sweet honeyed pastries with the milk while brushing her horse. She liked to do that sometimes when she felt troubled. When she turned around, Gerald stood in the archway watching her.

"How long have you been there?" she asked, and he smiled.

"A while." He said, and then held a hand out to her.

"I have a present for you." He said, ushering her closer. She took his hand and he led her across the yard back into the castle, down a long hallway and to a large room, stacked from floor to roof with extravagant fabrics, fine and deeply detailed lace and bright rolls of thread.

"This is Kyra, she is a contractor that grew up in a merchant city named Qarth. She will make your wedding dress for you, any way you like it." He introduced as a lean woman approached and bowed low.

"It will be my greatest pleasure, my lady. Whatever your wish in fabric, I will bring it from your mind into the world." She said confidently. Claira was at a loss for words, then looked up at her brother.

"Thank you so much." Was all that she could utter in a whisper, then he bowed down and kissed her hand still in his.

"This may be the last lasting gift I may give you. I wanted it to be special." He said, and she looked back at Kyra.

"We don't need to start work on it today, my lady. But I want to urge you not to wait too long, perfection takes time and we only have a fortnight, if I understand correctly." She glanced at the young lord for confirmation.

"I will leave you here for now." Gerald said, and left again. Claira looked around the room, she'd never seen so much colour in one space; Kyra called her inside, and gently ran long nimble fingers through Claira's hair. Hair black as night, marbled with white.

"Beautiful girl; sweet gentle girl," she almost chanted, and breathed in the scent of the strands in her fingers.

"Anything you want, any way you want it." She promised, and Claira turned towards her, her hair slipping and falling through the fingers.

"I don't know where to start." She said, and the woman's hand went back to her hair, so unique her attention was on nothing else.

"You don't need to decide today. Go child, sleep. Dream of you dress, and come see me when the sun rises Tell me your dream; and I will make it true." She said, stroking the hair, and then fixing the soft curves over Claira's shoulder. She thanked the woman, and left to go about her duties. Day became night, and night withdrew from the light of a new day; so the days passed; several she spent with Maester Kenard to learn the vows she would be expected to say in the gods grove amidst family and guests, and as each new day passed, the castle grounds became increasingly eventful with preparations for a marriage. The Emerald Wedding, they took to calling it, and then one morning she woke and her arranged marriage loomed on the morrow. The lords started to arrive then, one after the other to attend this grand ceremony. She and Rhegard went out riding each day, and Kyra worked eagerly, every morning when Claira visited her workroom she adjusted measurements, suggested colours and beadings and threads and all manner of adornment; and finally late afternoon the day before this, she announced that the dress was complete and would have it brought to the lady's quarters the morning of the wedding. There would be no need for a cloak as mentioned, her dress itself would represent her house. It was a long night as nerves stirred her from sleep, but this morning she didn't feel like leaving the safety of her chamber. She sat on the window seat staring at the activities below between the towers that shielded her windows, Oda lay at her feet. She had seen many banners pass below her already; among the many the Boltons, Manderly's, Umbers and the Starks of Winterfell. More Southern houses also joined them: the crowned stag, the golden lion, the trout, the twin towers... A soft knock sounded on the hardwood of her door.

"Enter." She granted permission, but did not look back to see whom came to share her disquiet. Then a figure sat down next to her, and shared her view of the outside.

"How are you feeling?" Gerald asked, and she breathed in.

"Honestly, I don't know. I don't know if I should be pleased or miserable, or excited or scared; it's all just too much for me." She confessed; and then the sound of a horn washed over the fields; they could see castle hands running across the yard; and then the horses passed, men bearing banners with a fiery orange eagle in a night-black sky; and her pulse quickened at the thought that her intended had so suddenly arrived. After the bannermen, a great black warhorse came in to view and stopped in the centre of the yard below; mounted on its back, tall and proud sat a great man dressed in leather and the colours of his house.

"That is lord Rychard Taugere, your intended's father. He is known as a great warrior and excellent leader. I've heard good things of him." He told as they watched him dismount and raise his hands warmly to their father, coming down the castle steps to greet the new arrivals. They received each other smiling like old friends.

"You heard, or you went asking?" she corrected, and he shrugged with a smile. Gerald was kind to her, they didn't share the adventures she did with her younger siblings; but in times like these he comforted her and it brought her a sense of ease. Rychard turned back and raised his hand, calling someone over. Behind them, they could see a wheelhouse roll past and then stopped some feet away, from where stepped a smaller but dignified lady, and a younger girl.

"The lady Taugere, and their youngest daughter lady Mae." Gerald identified them; she chuckled.

"Did you look up everyone of their family?" she asked; and he shrugged again.

"I want you to be prepared. Which reminds me, there is a custom they practice on wedding nights. It's called a 'bedding ceremony'; I'm not exactly sure what it consist of, but you should steady yourself for it I suppose." and then the young lord came into view from where one of the towers blocked their view; for a moment her heart stopped. He too, was clothed in leather and the colours of his house. He bowed his head to the lord of Pale Haven, and the thought passed through her mind that she'd seen him for a moment, and learned that he was well-bred; and that he did look attractive even from this distance; and their father hailed him wholeheartedly; they could make out a smile through his features; and then he led them into the castle to welcome them.

"Why not come with me for a last ride? We can visit the standing stones." He suggested, and she smiled at him.

"Really?" she hadn't seen the standing stones in years.

"Of course. You can jail yourself tomorrow." He said standing.

"Get dressed, I'll call for rations." He said as he left. She threw on faded riding leathers, and rushed down with Oda on her heels and met her brother behind the kitchen to where her their grey and bay mares were brought for them. Saddlebags were stuffed with bread, hard cheese, apples and nuts. They left the castle through a morning mist on their journey to visit the stones, a legend of their family told that this was where one of the first Tormont lords met his wife, a lady of the woodland whose likeness could be perceived in the features of every Tormont daughter. They remained the day there, as she ran her hands across the warmth of the stone. They were severely overgrown of moss and vines, but the parts you could touch with your hands were smooth like crystal, and the colour of it as well. Gerald sat on a stone nearby, peeling an apple, and Oda bound across the clearing chasing after random forest creatures.

"Has father ever told you, why you have white in your hair?" Gerald asked, and stuck a slice in his mouth. Claira looked back at him.

"Father has white hair." She reminded, and he smiled while he cut another slice off the apple.

"That's because he's old. His hair used to be black." He indicated, and she looked back at the stone in front of her. It was odd, all her siblings was dark of head. She was the only one with these white lines. Then Gerald stood up and walked over to her, laying his hand on the smooth of the stone.

"You were born in the last days of a harsh and unforgiving winter; your skin was pale and your hair was white. The frost nearly claimed you." He looked up, and around the clearing like he remembered and was seeing it all again.

"Father brought you here, seeking the aid of an ancient and powerful sage. He saved you, but he professed that you would never completely recover." He took her hands in his.

"That's why you have white in your hair. That's why your hands are always cold." He said, bringing her fingers up to his lips and blowing; the heat from his breath blatantly obvious as dew formed on her palms. Oda finally collapsed at her master's feet, panting and exhausted.

"You grew into the 'Lady of Frost', but there is a less known description you were given. The sage said, that Winter will always be within you." Then he looked up suddenly to a chuckle from behind her, and his hand shot to his sword as she spun around to see an old and crooked man with a hooked nose creep from behind one of the stones.

"Breath of Winter… You come… at last…" he breathed while he shuffled closer, leaning on a thick wooden staff. His eyes were white as the clouds. Oda growled protectively at the stranger.

"Heed these words, before you leave this place." He said, pointing at her and then her brother moved in front of her.

"The Breath of Winter, will meld with bright Fire and dead Stone; and when winter comes again it is the Atronach that will stand in flames and snow!" and then he was gone in a swirl of leaves and wind; Gerald looked around, his sword at the ready. Then the three guards that accompanied them appeared through the trees.

"My lord, my lady? We heard a voice." One said, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The words sang in Claira's head, like they resounded off every one of the stones and a dull ache took hold of the left side of her face. Her hand covered her eye. Gerald turned around and put an arm around her.

"Get the horses, it's time to leave." He ordered, and they made their way through the trees back to the field where they left the horses to graze.

"Well now, that was exciting." He jested, and she chuckled. The sun disappeared across the suddenly dark horizon. It was long dark when the bright torches lighting Pale Haven came into view, fortuitously their journey was uneventful save for the strange little man in the woods. They passed through the portcullis to meet several castle hands in the yard, and their father waiting for them.

"Did you enjoy your ride?" he asked calmly as they came to a halt a few feet from him. Claira cast a nervous glance at Gerald.

"Claira always goes riding with Rhegard; today was my turn to take her out. This may have been the last time that I could." Gerald defended, lord Willmon looked at his daughter.

"Off to bed with you. You need your rest, you'll have considerably less for the next season." He instructed, and as she dismounted she mouthed an appreciation to her brother, then made her way into the castle and to her room with Oda close behind while a stable boy saw to the care of her horse. Lord Willmon waited until she was gone before he turned back to his son, still astride his horse.

"With the time you took, you didn't stay close like I've asked of you." He noted, and Gerald dismounted then.

"I took her to see the standing stones." He said as he approached his father, and his father's face changed.

"You know how I feel about that place, Gerald." He warned while the horse was given off to another stable boy.

"You took her there." Gerald reminded, and his father turned away.

"I did, because I had no other choice. If I didn't, we would have lost her." He defended.

"Nothing happened." Gerald tried to calm, but his father stepped closer still distraught.

"That place, is a place of great magic. Ancient, powerful and terrible. Nothing that is ever done is without cost…" he said softly, and then his son placed a strong yet comforting hand on his shoulder.

"This was the last time she'll ever see that place." He said hopefully, and then Willmon looked up at him and nodded, trying to disrupt a feeling of dread that took hold of him.

"Come, let us feast with our lords." He said, throwing an arm around his son and together they headed into the great hall of Pale Haven castle to join those who have not retired yet. Claira reached her room, and noted that their maester was so kind as to leave a sleeping draught on a table for her. She redressed comfortably for the night, and swallowed the draught gratefully after consuming the pie and greens that was brought to her chambers, and fell down on the bed. She thought of the day, the endless green fields, the wide woodlands, the smiling faces of their people as they passed. Sleep took her then, deeply and blissfully. Her eyes opened to a clearing in the forest, and around her five stones of clear gem raised high as titans. She touched each of them, feeling the glossy surface; and saw in each the face of a man. Four she knew for the lords of her house, and those of her forthcoming house. The jade stones revealed the faces of her father, Lord Willmon Tormont, and her older brother and the heir to Pale Haven, Lord Gerald Tormont. The auburn stones held the faces that would be Lord Rychard Taugere, and her intended husband and heir to the Corridor. One she did not, a mauve stone that stood parallel to the others, completing the circle. She came closer, and examined the face. Long dark hair, striking features and bronzed skin. She touched the stone, unlike the others it was rough and cold as ice.

"The men of your house." A voice explained, and she turned back to see the same strange little man shuffling up behind her.

"I don't understand." She said softly, and again looked at each of the stones.

"Four you know, five you will. Five will die to shield you, one already has." He said, but this was even more unclear than before. As her vision came back to the warrior in the violet stone, his eyes opened; clear but unseeing; the colour of blood.

"The Breath of Winter, will meld with bright Fire and dead Stone; and when winter comes again it is the Atronach that will stand in flames and snow!" he repeated.

"You're not making any sense!" she said, her mind aching to understand.

"THE BREATH OF WINTER, WILL MELD WITH BRIGHT FIRE AND DEAD STONE; AND WHEN WINTER COMES AGAIN IT IS THE ATRONACH THAT WILL STAND IN FLAMES AND SNOW!" It echoed off the stones, so violently that they shuddered and collapsed; and she was left standing in a frozen field amidst dead trees.

"It's just a dream. This is just a dream." She tried to convince herself; and started walking forward through the flakes that dropped from the clouded sky.

"This is just a dream…" she looked up at a high wall, dead and broken. Then she turned, and looked into eyes blue as deep ice, cold, hard and lifeless. White hands reached up to wrap around her throat, and as she moved back a great beast of blue flame flew across grabbing the creature that stood before her in hard grey talons and carried it away, devouring it as it turned in the sky. It came back and landed on the snow next to her, and stared at her, one eye blue and clear and light; and the other, bright and red and burning. She reached up to touch it before the world dissolved into a brilliant white as its wings unfurled, and her eyes stared at an open window where the sun beamed through. She slept well into the day. She raised herself from the bed, her long hair falling about her face and wiped the lingering lethargy from her eyes.

"It was a dream." She said, and then scanned the room and gasped. In the corner, her wedding dress awaited her on a wood-frame figure. Deep green velvet fell down to the floor in waves and spread out a link of feet behind the frame, long open sleeves lined with black and gold joined the train, gold needlecraft flowed over the shoulders, lined the low set neck and ran down the front length of the dress. It was finer than she'd imagined. A soft knock drew her attention.

"Enter." She gave permission, and her mother stepped through followed by a crowd of castle hands.

"Good morning. I trust you had a restful evening." She greeted. Two muscled men carried a deep copper bath inside and placed it close to the chamber fireplace.

"This is the last day that you will spend under our care, and you've slept in quite a bit. Your afternoon will be spent here, in preparation for this evening." Her mother said, and put a hand gently to her face.

"You're a woman now, and soon you will be someone's wife…" tears formed in her eyes despite her formality, and Claira took her hand in hers.

"It will be al right." She comforted, and her mother smiled at her.

"We will miss you terribly. But I know you will honour your house. Both of them." She wiped a tear from her cheek.

"My daughter… my Lady of Frost." They embraced one another in a tender moment, and then they heard another voice behind them.

"If it would be appropriate, mother. Carissa and I would like to present our gifts to Claira; as Gerald has already given his." Rhegard asked as he indicated the overgenerous dress. He was already finely dressed.

"A bit early, isn't it?" Claira asked as her mother stepped aside.

"I was charged with the lords' entertainment, I won't have time to redress for the ceremony." He said, as Carissa came forward holding a decorated box.

"I asked Maester Kenard to make it for you." She said, handing the box to her older sister.

"Thank you, little minx." Claira always called her this, and then opened the container. Inside lay a beautiful woven gold chain with an emerald set in the centre, earrings of matching gold and green glinted from each side of the untainted stone.

"It's marvellous, thank you." She said with a hug; and then Rhegard stepped forward.

"I didn't find a box to put my present in." he said, holding out his hand. In his palm lay a gold and jewelled jaw pin for her hair. She took it in her hands, and examined the colours. Ocean opals and emeralds formed the likeness of a prancing peacock, and she laughed.

"Thank you, so much." She looked up at him, he was smiling.

"I look forward to seeing you tonight; and of course the look on your groom's face." He said, and her hand grabbed his.

"You've met him. What's he like?" she asked, and Rhegard looked around the room, searching for a word.

"He's quiet, so far he's been modest. Nothing like his father, that man scares me." He said.

"Why? Have they been ill to anyone?" she asked.

"No, not at all. In fact, most of the northern lords seem to enjoy their company. I can't explain it, I just want to keep my distance from him for now." He said, and then their mother came forward again.

"That's enough of that. Go on now, the two of you. There's work to be done here." She hurried them off. One of the kitchen maids came in, bearing a tray with fresh fruit, flamed sausages, a heel of bread, a slice of cheese and a goblet of honeyed milk, which she sat down on one of the tables before turning to leave again.

"How is the water?" Lady Alyssa asked as she whisked past, and the maid turned back in an instant on her heel.

"Almost done, my lady." She reported.

"Good. Have it brought up at the earliest." She ordered, and the maid bowed before rushing off again. Claira broke her fast slowly on what would now be their mid-day meal, in her mother's company; willing time to linger, which it would not. She'd barely touched the fruit when a knock at the door had her mother standing.

"Enter." She called to them, and several castle hands shuffled inside carrying buckets of warm water that they dumped into the copper bath. The remainder of the day was spent on her physical care, occasionally she would nibble on the leftover fruit from the bath where she lounged while three of their handmaidens saw to it that her body and hair was effectively cleansed. She sat on a cushioned chair in front of the fireplace while the same handmaidens bickered about who would brush out her hair; which in the end all three did by taking turns. They scented her skin with violet, sweet pea and winter rose garlands, running the petals across the skin of her back, shoulders, arms, chest, stomach and thighs, she chewed mint berries. Then they slipped the soft velvet across her, seeing that everything was in place. They brushed her hair again, folding and holding and styling the long strands, and finally the peacock pin held everything perfectly together. They fit the necklace around her throat, it hung low enough to cover the open skin between her breasts, and the earrings barely touched her shoulders. Her mother stepped back, and examined her; the sudden beauty of her. Then she reached inside a wide sleeve as she walked closer again.

"I too, have a gift for you." She said as her hands raised up, and she fit a delicate circlet of gold and jade around her brow before stepping back again.

"And now you are complete, and the sun has set." She announced, and Claira's pulse suddenly raced. This was too sudden, the day passed too quickly. A soft knock sounded at the door and made her heart jump. Her mother took the liberty of opening the door, to see Gerald standing in the hallway, dressed formally in leathers and the colours of their house.

"I have come to accompany our lady to the gods grove." He announced, and her mother looked back.

"Be bold, sweetling. I will see you as you walk the way to your future." She said, and then disappeared out the door and down the hallway. Gerald stepped inside, staring at his sister.

"You look gorgeous." He complimented after a moment of silence, and she smiled and smoothed down the front of her dress.

"I feel odd." She said, and he held out his hand, in his palm lay a tiny blood-red seed.

"It will calm you enough not to run." He said, then she took it and swallowed it. He turned, and held his arm for her; her hand slid around his elbow

"Back straight, chin up, sure steps." he instructed, and her fingers tightened around his arm.

"Don't let me fall." and he smiled.

"Never." and they made their way together to the grove. The castle was quiet, everyone retreated to the gods grove. Gentle candle light showed the way to where they met their father, waiting to present her to her husband.

"Thank you, Gerald." he said, and he bowed his head before looking at his sister and brought her hand to his lips before proceeding to take his place with the rest of her family. Lord Tormont examined her.

"I'm sure everyone has told you how wonderful you look." he said, and took a step closer to her.

"I want you to know, that I'm proud of you. And have the assurance that you will be cared for, and protected by your new house. They're strong, proud and much respected people whose name is known very well, far and wide. I believe that you will be very happy there." he held a veil of white needlework in his hand, that he took to spread over her.

"And remember always, that we love you." then he brought the veil around her shoulders.

"Are you ready?" she breathed in.

"I'm as ready as I ever will be, I suppose." then he draped the fabric across her, but before he closed her face, her hand shot to his arm.

"Wait, what's his name again?" she asked, almost desperate; but her father smiled.

"Raeghun." he said, and she looked up.

"Raeghun..." she repeated, and then he closed the veil over her; and together they walked the path up to the ancient heart tree that stood in the centre of the gods grove, torches lit the small valley. Through the spaces she could make out the faces of people, the king and his golden haired queen, lords, ladies and castle hands alike waiting on them. Lord Walder Frey displayed a wife barely a season older than herself; Lord Eddard Stark and lady Catelyn, with a lively three year old Robb on her hip. Even Oda was adorned with a collar of bright flowers. They approached the tree where he waited for her. The lords Taugere were dressed in leather, and the colours of their house, the ladies waited patiently off to one side, both in brilliant orange.

*FOR TRADITIONAL PURPOSES, THE TORMONT AND TAUGERE FAMILIES COMBINED THE CUSTOMS OF BOTH RELIGIONS

Lord Rychard Taugere stepped forward.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" His voice carried far over the grove, for all to hear.

Lord Willmon Tormont looked up to face him, and Claira thought he was a giant.

"Claira, of the House Tormont, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, true-born and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the gods. Who comes to claim her?" She shuddered, and understood what Rhegard meant. The very energy he gave off was immense. Raeghun stepped forward towards her.

"Raeghun, of House Taugere, heir to Mount Ardor and the gold fields of the Corridor, claims her as his bride. Who gives her?" He was shorter than his father by perhaps a foot, and thankfully less intense.

"The Grey Tom, Lord Willmon of the House Tormont, who is her father. Whom oversees her before succession?" her father asked.

"Lord Rychard of House Taugere, takes her as his daughter and will watch over her." The enormous man assured, and then turned to her with a caring smile.

"Lady Claira, will you take this man?" he asked, milder than before.

"I take this man." She agreed, and a tiny little man – the Septon that accompanied them for this ceremony stepped forward while her father then removed the veil that shielded her from curious eyes. She could hear gasps and murmurs from the horde behind them. Her groom stared at her as they took hands, his face was indifferent; but she couldn't decide whether she saw shock or surprise in his eyes... blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky. A scar lined his jaw from under the right side of his mouth to his throat, and another over the left side of his brow.

"I hope that I will please you, my lord." she said softly, he stared at her for a moment longer, and then bowed and kissed her fingertips, but said nothing. The little man dressed in a simple robe of ivory and gold thread opened his hands to them.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Raeghun took off a black cloak with their sigil decorated in magnificent colours of bright fires and wrapped it carefully around her shoulders, symbolically bringing her under his protection and into his family.

The septon then proclaims,

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." They hold hands as they stood side by side under the crimson leaves of the weirwood. The septon proceeds to tie a ribbon in a knot around their joined hands, symbolising their union. While tying the ribbon the septon says,

"Let it be known that Raeghun of House Taugere, and Claira of House Tormont are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." The septon then announces,

"In the sight of the Seven, and the old beyond count, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." he looked at each of them.

"Look upon each other and say the words", at which thy turned to face each other, and recite their vows. His words were calm and even.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." they started

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," she could feel herself say, in the same breath

"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." his left hand gently caressed her cheek.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." he announced, and leaned forward, touching her lips with his, softly like the touch of a feather; it lingered a moment longer than a peck. A sure touch, not something feigned and it left a tingling down her throat. The sound of a crowd of cheering people drew them; and they could meet their guest in the great hall for the feast. The Taugere and Tormont families shared a table with their honoured guests the royals and the northern wardens in the centre top near the hearth while others piled in at long tables set before them. They dined on roasts, breads, cheeses, fruits, buttered and spiced potatoes and greens, and consumed the best spiced wine shipped from Dorne. Lords Taugere and Tormont sat together, discussing various topics from which crops grew best in the cold of the north to matters of state, the ladies discussed fine fabrics, quilting and embroidery; the young ones kept busy with what they knew, and finally she could spend a few moments talking with her husband, and found that he was at age with her brother Gerald. Robert Baratheon himself, along with several lords approached them to offer their compliments, and congratulate them on this wondrous occasion. At a point, Raeghun excused himself to acquaint himself more with her brothers; and her sister came to join her.

"He's very handsome." she said, and Claira acknowledged that the initial fear had subsided and she could appreciate his shyness, and it started to grow late. Lord Willmon sighed then.

"I understand that you have a tradition you celebrate fervently at wedding ceremonies, closer to the border?" he enquired, and Rychard smiled foxily.

"Oh yes, the bedding ceremony. It's a highly prized rite of passage." Willmon looked troubled, but his brother by bond tried to ease him.

"It's tradition, Willmon; but it's not a strict requirement. We will not force anything before she is ready." he assured, and Willmon nodded appearing relieved.

"She is wed; she is ready. If it is tradition, we will respect it." he agreed, and felt the pressure of a very strong hand on his shoulder.

"My son will treat her kindly, I promise." he said. Her husband returned to her then, she looked to where their fathers sat in deep conversation. Her father nodded, and his stood with a goblet raised in his hand.

"My lords, my ladies!" his voice travelled across the hall in a wave. Despite the clamouring it was impossible not to hear him.

"The hour is late; most have had their fill, some have not. While some beds lay empty, cold or broken, one awaits that has yet to be warmed!" he announced. ' _oh gods, this is it_ ' her mind cried, and then she felt fingers on her hand, warm and comforting. She looked back at her husband, calm blue eyes regarding her. Unknown in her start, her hand shut around his fingers harshly, and she didn't even realize that lord Rychard addressed the king; who had stood up and faced the crowd around him.

"Let us bed them!" the words were more clear now. Men rushed up and took her, raising her off the floor and marched down the hall towards their waiting nuptial chamber; everything was a daze then. She could make out the lights of torches as they passed, at some point her brother appeared and halted the laughing horde parading her down the castle halls.

"Al right, that's enough of that. I'll escort her the rest of the way." he said, and they surrendered her dolefully. He led her down a long corridor to an isolated wing of the castle, and opened a door for her to step through. The room was beautifully decorated, a warm fire burning in the hearth. The bed was made with soft silks and furs, a table was stocked with wine and fruits; flowers were strewn across the floor.

"You're supposed to be naked, when your lord husband arrives; so I am to deliver your dress back to the hall. But I've snatched this for you." he said softly handing a fox pelt shawl to her.

"I'll wait outside. Now hurry, he'll be shoved in here any moment." Gerald said, and left the room. She breathed in deeply, and then stripped the dress off along with the jewellery. She covered what she could, and then handed the heavy velvet dress through a crack of the door; and then heard the giggling of women coming down the hall.

"Thank you..." she whispered at her brother, he nodded reluctantly and then vanished. She glanced at the bed, but didn't feel comfortable to take her expected place there, and resolved to stand before the fire to warm her cool skin, listening to the oncoming group. The door behind her opened, and closed before light footsteps rushed off giggling; and faded into the distance. Soft footsteps came to her then, and she could feel warm breath on her shoulder; her hands crumpled the fox skin shawl. Warm hands touched her arms, gently caressing the skin, and then careful lips branded a kiss on her shoulder, then her neck and then her cheek; and then he breathed in, taking in her scent. She turned to look at him. He was bare. His skin was marred with scars. His arms, his shoulders, his chest, his sides. Blemishes that resembled claw marks.

"I'm sorry I was so quiet." he spoke then, playing with her hair.

"I couldn't think of anything to say to you; I didn't know what you'd think of me." he said.

"What happened to you?" was the only thing she could think of at that point; and he looked down to notice the scars.

"I picked a fight with a lion. It didn't end well." he said, smiling modestly. Her left hand's fingertips touched him, making him gasp slightly as she traced several of the scars.

"It must have been terrifying." she thought, he took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"My wounds healed. His, I'm afraid, did not. My father took his pelt for a rug., and his head for a trophy." they laughed together, for the first time. He rubbed her hand.

"You're cold." he said, stroking his cheek affectionately against the back of her hand.

"I hear that a lot." she said, his hand went around her waist and pulled her closer to him, he placed her hand against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat and then his hand moved up to remove the pin from her hair, and it dropped naturally down her back. He ran his fingers through the long strands.

"Your hair…" he observed.

"It's always been that way." she told, and his eyes ran the length from her scalp down to the tips, marvelling at two completely opposite colours so harmonious together.

"It's lovely. My father said, that Lord Tormont's daughter was a fair maiden, and I imagined a pretty bride..." he started, and then brought his hand to her face so she would look at him.

"But nothing as beautiful as you." he smiled again, genuinely.

"You flatter me, my lord." she said, trying to look away from him; but he brought her face back to his.

"It's Raeghun, Claira." their eyes met, surely and deeply. He leaned forward slowly to capture her lips, but suddenly she looked away from him.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, looking at her.

"Yes…" she whispered, even her voice was reserved. But he sighed relieved, and his fingers stroked her cheek.

"Me, too." he confessed, and she looked back at him. The fear vanished, knowing she was not alone. Both hands took her face, he leaned forward and kissed her. Then again, longer; and again, deeper and he breathed her into him. Her arms wound around his neck and shoulders as she yielded to him, the fox skin shawl forgotten. He took her from the warmth of the fire, and lay her down on the bed; his hands sliding over the skin of her throat, her breast, her stomach and her thighs. Then his hands brought her knees past him, and he lowered himself on her, his mouth dancing on her chest. Her heartbeat intensified, and her lips parted in sweet sighs. She felt him against her then, and her sighs changed to sharp breaths, and into cries; first of pain and finally intense pleasure as her husband claimed her, and made her his.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 – THE MOUNTAIN

She woke in his arms, and discovered a smile on her face recalling the day past. She tried to turn, reaching for a goblet of spring water left on the table nearby to sate her thirst but found that every part of her body ached from her back to her legs, and the muscles rippled in protest. His arms tightened around her, and she looked back into his open eyes. He stroked her cheek lovingly.

"Good morning, my beautiful wife." he greeted smiling, and her hands went to his face, cold fingers tenderly tracing the lines of the scars.

"Good morning, my dear lord husband." she returned, and they kissed. He held her close against him, their skin tickling where it touched. They managed to tear themselves away from the comforting bed, dressed and met their families and many of the guests in the feast hall where the feast never ended. Many lords made their way home that day, and lord Rychard Taugere thought it best to return home as well, and left Pale Haven that day. They stood on the steps that entered Pale Haven, Claira on the arm of her husband. His father approached them after seeing that the wheelhouse, properly protected pulled through the castle gates.

"All is prepared for our journey back." he announced as his great black warhorse was led to the bottom of the stairs. Claira looked up at Raeghun.

"Must we leave today as well?" she asked softly, and he looked back at her. With a soft smile, he kissed her hair.

"We can stay another day, or two." he agreed, and looked back at his father. Lord Rychard smirked at his son.

"Don't keep us waiting, Raeghun. Our vassals will mass at Mount Ardor to welcome you, and your lady wife." he said as he turned around and marched down the steps.

"I leave eight guards with you!" he called back, and then grabbed one of the nearby guards, hauling him closer by his neckband.

"Anything happens to my son and daughter, I'll use your face for a decoration in my hall!" he assured, and then mounted while the soldier corrected himself. He looked back at his family by law.

"Fair winds, and warm days to you; Tormonts. If you are ever in need, call on the lords of the Corridor." he offered, and then secured the reins and cantered off with the departing mass to assume his position at the front of the column.

"Your father is harsh..." Claira whispered, and Raeghun brought his lips close to her face.

"He is very harsh, and you'll see it a lot. But under his occasional unpleasantness, he is kind and just." he said. They spent the remainder of the day feasting with those whom have not left, and seeing off those whom did. Each of the nobles that attended, presented a gift before departing. A stag's head, a chest of silver, gold and jewels adorned with a lion's head lock. A fine yew-wood bow, pelts, dresses, spices, rugs, oils and other fineries. They relished the white castle and its people well into the night before returning to their bed chamber, and further revelled in each other's. In the early morning when mist still hung heavy over the fields, the lords went out on a hunt while Claira took charge of overseeing the packing of her personal effects. A wagon stood near the stables, crates and chests and bags were loaded and covered with a canvas. The lords brought back a boar that the huntsman and his loyal hounds tracked down, and they enjoyed the succulent roast at their evening along with lard-baked potatoes, buttered turnips, smoked cheese, greens, spiced wine and gooseberry pies with honey and curdled cream. It was the final great feast they would share before Claira would leave her old home for a new one. Claira retired to their chamber after her mother and younger siblings excused themselves, and Raeghun remained with her father and Gerald in the hall until the hearth-fire started to wane.

"You must long for home, Raeghun." her father assumed as he brought the chalice to his mouth, and he was met with clear smiling blue eyes.

"I should. But to be quite honest, I don't mind the foreign sojourn. I've never been north of the Corridor; I've been as far south as King's Landing, once." he said, and Gerald grinned as he set the goblet down.

"And how did you find it? The majority of people are quite outspoken about our great capital." he mentioned, and Raeghun scoffed.

"It's a beautiful city; but it stinks of shit and death. I wouldn't pay a visit to it again just for fun." he said, and they shared a laugh.

"Tell us about your home. It's sometimes called the ' _burning mountain_ ', isn't it?" Willmon continued.

"Yes, some refer to it that way. Mostly for it's position, though; when the sunlight catches the walls just right at sunset, the walls seem to blaze." he told with a smile, seeing it in his mind. Gerald sighed, staring into the red of his goblet.

"Do you believe that my sister will be happy there?" he asked softly, and then emptied the contents. Raeghun regarded him with his calm blue eyes, lord Willmon sat silently awaiting the answer.

"I hope that she will be. I will do everything in my power to see that she is." he said, running his finger along the edge of the goblet in front of him.

"Good. See that you have a full stable." Willmon said, and they laughed again. They talked and talked, until finally there was but smouldering coals left in the hearth and they took their leave from the hall. He found her already asleep, and stroked her long hair across her shoulder and arm before wrapping his strong arms around her, and sometime during the night he made love to her again.

The portcullis opened to a vast space, the long road spanning the way to the horizon. A skewbald mare was harnessed to the wagon, and stood prepared and waiting outside, stowed with chests of clothing and other personal items. Arima came from the kitchens and handed a small sack to Claira. "For the road, but I'm not sure if it will last very long." she pointed out, and Claira opened the bag. It was stuffed with golden baked crispels; and she chuckled.

"I'll have to hide these, or they'll be gone before we reach the horizon." The lord and his personal company's horses were brought from the stables to be brushed and saddled for their journey. The Tormont family stood on the castle steps to greet their daughter farewell, Carissa could not manage to keep the tears at bay. Claira held her soothingly.

"I'm not going that far, you can still come and visit us." she calmed, and the little minx wiped the sorrow from her eyes.

"Shall we prepare a wheelhouse for you, my lady?" one of the castle hands came asking.

"No. I want to ride." she declined, and left the castle hand silent for a blink of an eye, looking confused.

"It's a week's ride to Mount Ardor, my lady." he advised.

"I want to ride." she insisted, and they brought her horse to join the others waiting to be groomed. They shared their goodbyes with sure hands and lingering embraces; and when their company was fully prepared; they made their way to their waiting mounts and Oda followed. Raeghun stopped, as if a thought had befallen him and he turned to his wife.

"I have something for you." he said, and made his way to the wagon and got onto the back of it. He removed the canvass and opened one of the chest, after a moment of rummaging he closed it again and stepped off, leaving the attending castle hands to replace the canvass and finish tying down the free objects. He came over, and presented a folded soft velvet material to her, tied with a green ribbon. She took it, and spread the fabric after removing the thread. It was a long hooded cloak of deep red, as dark as wine and lined with silver on the inside.

"Thank you. It's lovely." she tied it around her shoulders, the seam dragged behind her on the ground. She tied the ribbon to her sister's braid, and then Claira looked down to rub Oda's head.

"May my dog come with me?" she asked, and her husband smiled at her from where he checked the girth strap to his horse and hen came to her.

"My dear lady wife; you don't ask me if your dog may come. You tell me that she will come, and that is that." he said as he helped his wife onto her pale grey mare before mounting his black stallion, as great and spirited as his father's; and they departed Pale Haven. Oda loped alongside her master. Two guards led the way, bearing the Taugere banners, four around the lord and lady, and the final two at the base of their column behind the wagon. The journey was blissfully uneventful as they travelled beneath trees, along streams and flower grown hills; between camps they were hosted at a small hold and one overcast evening stayed at an inn. The Ivory Pitcher was a large farm just off the King's Road that was used to harbour travellers. The kind and burly inn keeper offered them the best to his abilities, a large private chamber to the back of the building with it's own fireplace, a feather bed and a table arrayed with food and drink. The guards spent the night in at the counter drinking, singing, japing and gambling. Raeghun sat on the sheepskin rug next to the bed, allowing the heat from the fire to soak into his cool bare skin, while Claira's icy fingertips caressed his scarred shoulders from her position on the bed. They listened to the thunder from outside.

"What is Mount Ardor like?" she asked, curious about the place that awaits them.

"It doesn't have the high towers that Pale Haven does, but it's a sizeable fortification built entirely of sunstone. It sits on a cliff surrounded by ocean, a single bridge connects the only gate to the countryside. There's a little town a short ride from the castle called Garde's Post. From the Suntower, on a bright day you can see one of the Twins. The Corridor is called the "gold fields"; for all the honey farms, our countryside supplies the extent of Westeros from the Wall to Dorne." he explained.

"It sounds grand." she said smiling, then he turned around and looked into her eyes, frost blue eyes some shades lighter than his own.

"It's nowhere near as grand as you. When I saw you, I thought I died and stepped into one of the heavens." he said and kissed her. Her hand wound around his neck, and he joined her on the bed.

By mid day on the seventh day, they ascended the side of a green hill; and heard a horn blowing in the distance followed by the tolling of bells. As they reached the top, Oda trotted off ahead leading the way, and a great sunstone castle came into view.

"Welcome my lady, to Mount Ardor." A sense of giddiness washed over her at the sight of it; Mount Ardor – amply named, it lay like a mountain before them; and may well have been three times the size of Pale Haven. A bridge spanned a steep drop to the portcullis, sentinelled by two towers; high stone walls protected it from the elements and a heavy iron gate kept the way. They crossed the bridge and passed under the gate opened to them into the outer bailey. A stable and armoury lined the right side wall, and a short stairwell led to the barracks which was attached to the castle itself, and a storehouse stood to the left. They entered to find a horde of castle hands waiting for them, and lord Rychard Taugere coming down the steps with his lady wife Madryde and lady Mae beside him.

"Welcome home. It's about time you've arrived." he welcomed as he came over and Raeghun dismounted.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, father." he said, and went around to help Claira from hers.

"Get busy! Unload the carts, get everything in order! Have my daughter's belongings brought to the lords wing!" lord Rychard commanded, and the castle hands scattered like rats in the light, leading horses to the stables and unloading the cart as the family returned inside. They toured the castle on their way through to the private chambers. The Hall of Fire was immense, it resembled an expanded variant of the throne room of the Red Keep; the way it was once described to her. A great arched door stood open to their left, and revealed another great stone hall where people assembled amidst tables and glowing hearths. A smaller door cast a glow from the corner where castle hands exchanged old or empty items for new ones. A third door was set to the right, the sounds of guards clamouring and bickering or japing sounded through it. A throne loomed over the hall from atop the stone stairway, a great eagle perched on top like it was ready to swoop down and claim its prey; the armrests the likeness of talons, and behind it burned a great fireplace as wide and high as lord Rychard was tall. Two more sets of stairs astride the great hearth led to a third level, tall doors opened on each side leading to more chambers. Handmaidens and castle hands carried bottles of wine and trays and chairs and tables and goblets and sheets and other things up and down and across their view. A wide inclined plane led them further into the castle, dozens of torches lined each wall. In the hallway, several handmaidens were talking softly and giggling while they stared at the new lady. It made her feel uncomfortable, and she moved closer to her husband. Rychard looked at them sharply.

"Away with you! I'll have no squawking hens in my halls!" they scampered off, and they continued their way up the corridor, but he looked back at her. The power he had, the energy emitting off of him was as vast as this castle; but under that there was a gentleness.

"Don't mind them, they're not being bitter. They're fascinated by your hair." he said, and then turned his attention back to the way forward.

"You may choose any three handmaidens in the castle for your personal care." he offered. Finally they stopped in front of a huge dark-wood and steel door. He took the handles and pushed the doors, they swung open to reveal yet another great hall.

"Welcome my daughter, to the lords wing. This is our inner sanctum; a safe place for the Taugere family. Our sanctuary. The walls here are three times as thick as anywhere else in the castle." he said; she couldn't think of anything to say. Raeghun took her shoulders.

"Do you like it?" he asked softly. Oda immediately entered, heading out the door to explore the private garden.

"This place, is wonderful. I've never imagined anything so magnificent." she turned around to face him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"This is your home, now. I want you to be happy here." he assured, and their faces touched.

"Show your wife to the bath chamber; I'm sure you would enjoy a wash. After, you will join us in the southern hall, many of our noblemen have come to welcome you and your bride home." lord Rychard said, and headed back the way he came.

"Don't take too long." lady Madryde hinted as she and her daughter left behind the lord. Raeghun kissed Claira's cold hands.

"Come, I'm sure you will love this." he urged, and then led her further into the wing to a great chamber with a wide tiled bath. In the centre, a pillar raised with water fountaining from it. White flowers and green leaves floated on the water, steam rising from the surface. Black pods dotted the bottom of the bath. Golden sunlight filtered down from high set windows Again, she was speechless. He pulled on a gold thread rope, and a heavy red curtain closed over the entrance to the bath chamber.

"This is the Vanilla bath, there are two others like it. The Mint bath in the east, and the Lavender bath in the west." he said, silently removing the cloak from his shoulders.

"I... never... This is..." she couldn't think of anything, then his fingers were on her mouth and he hushed her. Then he moved forward, and kissed her while his hands gently released her from her dress. When they were both released from their garbs, he led her into the warm water until it splashed around her waist and steaming water spilled into the bath beside them. He took a silver pitcher from the base holding the pillar, filled it with water from the spring and spilled it across her shoulders, back and chest.

"What do you think?" he whispered.

"I do love it." she said laughing, then he replaced the ewer on the platform and wrapped her in his arms.

"I've just realized something." he said smiling, his blue eyes sparking with light.

"And what is that, my sweet?" she smiled back at him, arms anchoring around his shoulders.

"That I love you." she leaned forward and kissed him deeply; his arms tightened around her.

"And I love you, by every god there ever was or will be, I swear it." she whispered when her cheek found his throat. But she looked back at him.

"It just feels unusual, to have your father refer to me as ' _his daughter_ '." his hand touched her face.

"You are his daughter. You're my wife. I am yours, and you are mine. You are a part of me." then he kissed her again, deeply and passionately while her arms coiled around him. When they were finished lavishing in the bath, seven handmaidens waited outside in the hall, clamoured together like a flock of geese expecting a handout of bread, each holding a dress chosen for the feast. White and green and red and purple and blue and gold and black; all smiling excitedly.

"My lady. Please accept my choice for you!" they all seemed to cry at once. Raeghun stepped in front of her.

"Girls, please show some respect for your lady. You don't wish to overwhelm her on her first day here, do you?" he said.

"Our apologies, my lord." they lined up and displayed the dresses. She looked at her husband.

"Whatever you choose, you'll look endearing." he assured, and excused himself to dress for the banquet. She chose a gown of red and gold, and sat patiently in front of the fireplace while the maidens fought over who would have the honour of brushing out her bewitching hair, which again they did by taking turns. She laughed. ' _It's just like it was back home..._ ' Around her throat they hung a delicate string of gold and pearls. Finally ready, she descended the stairs to the hall where Raeghun was waiting or her.

"You look ravishing, my lady." he praised as he held his hand for her. Together, they made their way down the halls to the southern feast hall, where the banquet was well under way by the sound of laughter, song and music. They entered the hall, and silence took it like water washing over a stony shore. The lords stood as they passed and took their place beside lord Rychard. Lord Gerard Foch was the first of the vassals to extend a hand to Claira.

"Such a wondrous beauty, lord Raeghun." he complimented as she offered her fingers to the battle worn gentleman.

"We wish you every blessing, and a thousand years of happiness, lady Claira." he said, and kissed her fingertips politely. He, not much unlike lord Rychard was a large man; it was only fitting that the sigil embroidered on his doublet was a brown woolly mammoth with long arched tusks on a silver shield. Most of the other lords and their families shared his enthusiasm, but some did not. The evening pressed on, and Claira found herself drowned in the kindness and credence of the vassal lords and their dear wives and sons and daughters. Wine and ale flowed in abundance, dishes were cleared and replaced; and the hearths glowed warm. The night turned out to be sufficiently pleasant. She leaned over to Raeghun.

"May I be excused, my lord? Much to my dislike, I fear that a soft bed calls to me." she hinted, and he squeezed her fingers gently.

"Of course, my dear one." he acknowledged, and she moved to stand up. Suddenly, on the other side of a long table set out in front of them, a lord leapt to his feet; the chair crashing over behind him as he pointed at her; his face red and hardened.

"Look at her. She's not a woman, she's a wintergreen witch!" he accused, she paused as her heart skipped a beat. Raeghun stared at him, blue eyes burning furiously.

"You are addressing my wife, lord Coder. You will honour her just as much as any other Taugere, lord or lady." he ordered, calmer than was expected by the rebellious man. He leaned forward on the table.

"I will not bow a finger to a northern hag!" Lord Rychard stood abruptly, his voice roaring in the space so intense that the walls could have crumbled.

"She is my daughter! You will show the proper respect, or leave my hall and my lands!" he commanded, and lord Coder retreated; pushed back simply by the fierce energy. Raeghun laid an arm protectively across her lap.

"You've made a mistake." the man managed, and Rychard resumed his place.

"I expect that your estate will be evicted before the next full moon, lord Coder. It is not your place to question your liege lord's actions." he declared. Furious and defeated, he stormed out. Rychard scanned the remainder of his guests.

"Does anyone else wish to join him?" he demanded, but no one moved. If anyone did share the feelings of the recently dishonoured lord Coder, they would rather keep their silence than lose their seat. He replaced his goblet on the table, then stood and held his hand for lady Madryde.

"Well, I expect you all know where to find your chambers." he said as they prepared to leave, and made their way back to the lord's wing. Claira could hear the voices as they walked up the halls; it seemed that they resumed the festivities, there may have been a more subtle argument. With the handmaidens dismissed and the door shut, lord Rychard bid his wife and daughter goodnight, and assumed a place in front of the fireplace with a fresh chalice of sweet red in his hand.

"Good night, father." Raeghun bid at the bottom of the staircase, Rychard looked at them and nodded before returning his attention to the fire. He led her up the stairs, but she suddenly paused.

"Is something wrong?" he asked looking back at her.

"No, nothing is wrong. Go on ahead, I'll join you shortly." Claira said and kissed his cheek before turning around and returning to the hall. She found lord Rychard Taugere where they left him in front of the great hearth.

"My lord?" he lifted his head slightly.

"Thank you, for what you've done." she said softly.

"You're my daughter, Claira; just as much as your own father's; or my own daughters. I had three, you know. One was tragically stolen from us by fever; another is happily married and enjoying life in the sun kissed city of Pentos, my last will join her betrothed in the reach in a year or two. As a father, you do everything in your power to keep your family safe – your whole family. You are the only of my daughters whom will keep my name. It is the sons that carry the name forward, but the daughters that bind the family together. You're not only under the protection of your husband, but also mine as the liege lord. He is my only son, and in a few years, he will inherit this power, and all of its responsibilities." his attention never left the dancing flames.

"My only son... And we almost lost him, too..." his mind was wandering.

"He may have been ten and five, maybe six. We were out hunting; our target was an old stag. A lion – probably old or sick and starving pounced Raeghun. From where he received his strength that day, the gods only know. He killed it with his bare hands... He jests about it, but..." and then he returned to the present.

"It must have been appalling." she could feel the energy still, like seeing the memory.

"One of the worst days of our lives. He'll bear those scars his whole life. Maester Aldyn said if he survived the night, it would be by the mother's grace alone. And he did. This day he is a man." he smiled, sitting back in his chair.

"He will be a good husband to you, and I have every faith that you will be content here." he finished

"What lord Coder said..." she started, but didn't quite know how to continue.

"Don't mind what he said; he's angry that I did not accept his offer to wed his daughter to my son, and regretfully the wine and ale severed his will for sense. He may not have meant what he said, but words said can never be taken back." then his eyes went up to the sword on the mantle for a moment, and then he looked at her.

"We've always been more north than south. And I may not be from the deep north like you, my girl. But I know the things that have happened, things that were done… words that were said. When you were a tiny little thing, rumours gave you Targaryen blood for the white in your hair. But that… That's not the dragon's blood. _Thát_ is winter in you." she couldn't think of anything to say, then his attention went back to the fire and she could hear him sigh.

"You're gentle, Claira. Some... No, too many will try to take advantage of that." and she knew it to be true. He looked up and focused on the giant form on the wall above the fireplace.

"Look up there. What do you see?" he asked, pointing at the sculpture. She took some steps closer.

"An eagle." she identified, and he sniggered slightly.

"Close, but no. It's a phoenix. Do you know anything of them?" he corrected.

"I know they're strong. And they can't die." she tried to recall the mythology with their maester.

"Yes, they are strong. And proud. But they can die. The thing about them though is, they don't stay dead. They rise again. Our words, are not a boast, nor a threat. It is a promise, to other houses and ourselves. _From the_ _A_ _shes we_ _R_ _ise. Stronger we_ _R_ _ise_." she stared at the burning bird, taking in everything about it.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 – THE CITY

Banners fluttered in the wind, and the wheelhouse rolled idly on over the cobblestones on the King's Road. Raeghun stared out the little window, not seeming to take in their surroundings. He'd been quiet and reserved. He wore knee-high boots over leather breeches, a sleeved cotton tunic under a fiery quilted doublet, and a black mantle secured to his shoulders with their house sigil moulded from gold and ruby.

"Raeghun?" his attention went to her.

"You haven't said a word all day. Are you sure this was the right choice?" Claira watched him, and then he took her hand in his.

"It will do us both good, to be away. Besides, you've never been to the capital." his thumbs gently caressed the icy skin on her knuckles. A group of riders passed them, flying banners of yellow and black, and the city came into view beyond the trees as they reached a curve in the road. The king himself had issued them an invitation to 'The Wanderer's Tourney', which was to be an annual event in honour of the birth of his daughter – princess Myrcella. Maester Adlyn was adamant that they attend, to escape their home and the sorrow that lingered there.

"As long as I'm with you, I don't care where we are." she smiled softly. Burdens had lay heavy on him. Barely a year past, they laid to rest his father, lord Rychard Taugere in the Ardent Tombs. During a skirmish on the castle, he took an arrow to the knee and even their maester's skills were not enough to save him, and the contagion spread. Claira's thoughts went back to that night. Upon his deathbed through fever and laboured breathing their father saw them all, and she – only she was the last to leave. She sat at his side, cursing fate for its cruelty. But he, refusing to submit to the agony and misery managed a smile and raised a cold hardened hand to her cheek.

"The future of our house lies with my son, and within you. He is strong and brave, but quick to anger. Help him…" he breathed, and she took his hand in hers.

"I will. I will protect his honour, and your name." and with that, the great lord Rychard Taugere left this world, but left her with a parting gift, and many things changed that day. Even her. No longer the timid kitten, but a bright and burning bird, soaring high above all else. Scarcely a season after, his mother joined her spouse in endless slumber, and shortly thereafter his sister left to join her bespoken in the reach. They were left alone in the immense castle to to assume all of its rights, and obligations. They entered the city through the Gate of the Gods and found their way to the finest inn that was available for their stay. 'The Great Horse' was located near the Sept of Baelor. As members of their household guard and inn-workers started to unload the chests from the back of the wheelhouse, Raeghun held his hand to help Claira from the compartment. Morning light washed over her, causing stains of bright and dark on the fabric of her purple dress; and brought out the contrasting colours of her hair which was tied naturally and held in place by a braid, the locks hanging down to the small of her back.

"You were right about the smell." she said, covering her nose.

"If blades don't keep your enemies away, this stink definitely will." he said, helping her across a puddle between broken cobblestones where they stopped. She couldn't help but laugh, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I am happy, that we came." he said, and kissed her for all to see. Suddenly people dove out of the streets as a group of horses came cantering down, bearing the crowned Baratheon sigil. The guards stopped and circled the wheelhouse, Raeghun turned and stepped protectively in front of Claira, his left hand securing her behind his shoulder.

"Lord Taugere. You and your wife are to accompany us to the Red Keep at once." the foremost soldier instructed.

"A lizard-lion has more seemliness than you, ser. Return to your keep and tell whomever sent you that I refuse. Perhaps they should try again." Raeghun defied; the soldier seemed agitated at that.

"We've been sent by-" he started.

"I don't care who sent you. Return to your keep and tell them that I refuse to go with you." his voice was loud, and he properly emphasized whom he indicated. The guards and inn-workers paused to stare at them.

"My lord-" the soldier tried again.

"Are you deaf? I said go the-fuck back and stick your orders down your commander's throat!" Now, the attention of the people in the streets were focused on them. The soldier breathed in deep knowing that no words he'd say will cause a change of heart for the lord, and then left with his men following behind him.

"That was harsh, my love." she whispered softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to her.

"They needed it. Their mannerism needs some work. Shall we inspect our lodging?" they went inside, leaving the inn-workers and guards to complete their work. They found a table and proceeded to restore on sweet wine, Grana and batter-fried crusts.

"Are you sure you're al right? This endeavour may have been a bit much, right now." Claira asked as they shared a crust. He looked at her for a long moment, and then swallowed a mouthful of wine before replacing the goblet on the table. And then reached for her hand.

"I'll be fine. I just had a lot on my mind." he assured, and she returned the pressure on his hand.

"I know things have been hard, especially for you. But you're not alone, you know that don't you?" the sunlight spilling through the window caught his eyes, making them seem lighter than what they were, and like they were burning.

"I am the lord of Mount Ardor, Claira. I'm not allowed such luxuries." he said, his voice suddenly sullen.

"I'm your wife, Raeghun. Let me help you." Their eyes met again, and she recognized a harshness that was not meant for her.

"I shouldn't have to rely on you." the pressure on her cold hand increased, and she couldn't tell the desperation from the anger.

"Of course not." she pulled free from his grip, stood and left the inn to find clearer air elsewhere. She stood watching the people in the streets, smiths and tanners and merchants and farmers. Another group of riders flew by, bearing the green and gold of the rose. One rider stopped and circled, staring at her. A hand clasped her shoulder, startling her; and she looked back into his clear blue eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way." again his arms went around her.

"I shouldn't lay my responsibilities on you, you have enough of your own." he corrected, and lay his head against hers; and she surrendered.

"I'll help you. Always, with anything. I'll help you..." he pulled back, a new smile on his striking features.

"I know." he kissed her again, and they chuckled. The sound of hoof-beats drew his attention, and horses came galloping down the path. Raeghun turned to face them. A fierce black-bearded man leapt from a white charger and marched towards them.

"How dare you refuse my summons?!" he stood abreast to Raeghun, eyes fuming.

"Your men frightened my wife." he defended, and the man looked at her, still standing behind her husband. More people in the streets stopped to stare, expecting a challenge from either.

"My apologies, gentle lady." he took her hand and kissed her fingertips politely. Then he laughed, loud and merrily, the citizens resumed their duties, looking rather disappointed that no act will take place here at their doors.

"Welcome! Welcome." King Robert Baratheon received them like family, rather than old friends, and they returned his gaiety.

"The last time I saw you, lady Claira was on your wedding day. You are still as lovely as then." the king complimented, drawing a light flush to her cheeks.

"Thank you, your grace. You are too kind." she graced him with a curtsy.

"And you, lord Taugere. As fierce as your father." he further directed, and Raeghun bowed his head to him.

"Where will you lodge?" Robert asked, looking at the wheelhouse behind them.

"At the Great Horse. It's fair." Raeghun said, motioning to the building behind them, rather stately for it's location.

"I'll not hear of it! You will stay in the Red Keep, under my protection for the extent of the tourney." Momentary shock silenced them as Robert issued orders to the attending guards.

"What are you all standing around for? Move the lord and lady's belongings to my hold, now!" he ordered, and then directed his attention to another two guards behind him astride their horses.

"What do you think you're doing? Dismount, you shits! Relinquish your horses to the lord and lady!" they obeyed reluctantly and brought the horses over.

"Come along, my honoured guests." he invited, mounting his steed again. They followed his suit; and together they travelled through the city to the immense palace overseeing the streets and buildings from atop Aegon's Hill. The guards led the way while two brown geldings hauled the wheelhouse and it's contents to the keep, the two dismounted riders trailing behind.

"It's a damn shame about your father, Raeghun. He was a great man, one of the greatest I ever knew. We won an extraordinary victory with him at our side." Robert said as their horses walked up the street.

"Thank you for your condolences, your grace." Raeghun returned.

"Well, let us enjoy the tourney..." Robert's words faded into the background under hoof-beats, rolling wheels, the clamour of barrels and crates as they were unloaded from carts, rushing water, and the endless humming of distorted voices. The ride seemed endless, while Raeghun and Robert conversed Claira scanned the streets. Yes, this was a beautiful city, but the people seemed less than satisfied; and the thought occurred that King's Landing was nothing more than a rotten peach. Enticing to glimpse, but festered on the inside. Was there such a difference between those inside the walls, and the beggar sitting around the corner? Tales of the great houses spread far and wide, some kind and some cruel, and all the shades in between. Blue, red, green, yellow, purple, orange, gold, silver, ivory... But inside a black so cavernous hid, so deep it could swallow the entire city and remain ravenous. The gates opened, and for a moment it seemed lighter before the shadows made their presence known as it consumed the group. Light and dark, two sides that would never be escaped; as obvious as the strands falling about her shoulders.

"Claira?" reality returned to her, and she looked down to see Raeghun's arms awaiting her. She missed the point where everyone dismounted. She released the reins and slipped into his hands, and he gently brought her to the ground. Castle hands appeared to stable the horses and deliver the waiting items inside.

"How far has your mind wandered?" he asked softly,

"I was admiring the city." she replied, shooing the thoughts away.

"Come along. The Red Keep is quite a bit bigger than Mount Ardor, I believe." King Robert called.

"Higher, not bigger." Raeghun muttered, and he and his wife shared a laugh before following. They strode through the halls, the sunlight spilling into every open space there was. They entered the throne room, it looked exactly like she heard it to be, albeit smaller than the Hall of Fire. Cersei exited the small council chamber behind the throne, dressed in an apricot pink dress, displaying open shoulders above wide knee-length sleeves. Her golden hair was secured with four braids from her brow, and fell naturally down to her waist, and around her neck hung a golden amulet with the head of a lion. A blonde man of equal attractiveness to her beauty following close behind.

"Jaime, you sack of chicken lard! Where in the seven hells have you been? Are you not supposed to protect your king, ser?" he called out at the sight of them, his voice rising to the cap of the hall.

"I was escorting the queen, your grace. Also, one of my duties." the man responded mannerly. Golden hair fell luxuriously around a handsome face, bejewelled with eyes of emerald. A white cape was anchored to a polished breastplate fully decorated with a crown.

"Well, get your golden ass over here and address my honoured guests!" he approached half-heartedly, and bowed subtly.

"I present, the wardens of the Corridor. The Lord and Lady Taugere." Robert announced. Jaime took Claira's hand, and carefully brought her fingers to his mouth.

"My lord, my lady. Ser Jaime Lannister of the king's guard, sack of chicken lard to the king, and brother to the queen." he presented himself. Cersei in turn, came over to them.

"Welcome to King's Landing, lord Taugere." she received, green eyes flecked with gold resting on Claira.

"Lady Taugere. What a pleasure to see you in the south. Summer weather changes you." she welcomed them.

"Thank you, your grace. Your hospitality is most becoming." Claira returned with a curtsy.

"You must be exhausted after your travel to King's Landing. I remember our journey up to Pale Haven, it took us more than a month. Naturally, three weeks in a rolling cage tends to leave you smothered." Cersei folded her hands in front of her abdomen formally.

"The journey was surprisingly pleasant, your grace. We encountered no ill intent on the roads." Claira returned, and the queen smiled at her, feigning ease.

"Such a relief, the countryside is crawling with bandits and other manner of foul creatures." she said, and then Robert placed friendly hands on the shoulders of his guests.

"Make yourselves at ease within my walls. Tonight, we will feast together." He invited with excitement, and then left the throne room on other business.

"Will you walk with me? I find the throne room rather uncomely." Cersei asked as she motioned to one of the many open doors.

"It will be a pleasure, your grace." Claira accepted, and Jaime extended a hand to Raeghun, perhaps a bit more zealously than he intended.

"May I show you our stables, my lord? A dornish trader came to our fair city to trade for the tourney. Many knights acquired their steeds from his bloodlines." he suggested, and Raeghun nodded.

"I would enjoy that. I've been meaning to renew my stables." Raeghun turned to Claira, and he kissed her, truly and tenderly.

"I will find you later, my sweet." then they parted drawing the uncomfortable stares of both the queen and her guard, and then he and Jaime left her in the queen's attendance. After another moment of silence, Cersei slid her hands around Claira's elbow.

"Come." she said, and they walked down a long hallway with many open arches and sunlight spilled in.

"You must miss your own family terribly; being shipped away to a foreign place. I can surely share the sentiment. My dear Robert has told me so many wonderful things of the Tormonts." Cersei said, attempting to be decent.

"I do miss them, but nothing that was done was against my will. My husband is good to me, and I enjoy the burning mountain as much as I did my childhood home." Claira replied, and Cersei glanced at her.

"You sound so positive, I wish I could share that." the tone in her voice was almost sad.

"Are you not happy here, your grace?" Cersei turned towards her then, letting her grip slide from Claira's arm.

"Oh I am, I have my children, I have my dear family, and my darling husband of course." she tried, but the words were sour with sarcasm.

"Happiness comes in many varieties, I suppose." Claira eased.

"Indeed. Some come more easily than others." Cersei agreed.

"Forgive my asking, but I have yet to meet another brother you have?" Claira enquired, glimpsing a mass of soldiers passing the hallway some distance from them, and suddenly realizing she was utterly alone.

"Vile, disgusting little monster. I would advise you to rather keep your distance from him. He's been called a dwarf, and a beast among other things. He may have the tenacity to upset you." the queen warned and sat down on a stone balustrade joining the pillars.

"I have a tendency to judge one by character, your grace; not appearance." Claira advised, still standing.

"Interesting you should say that. Some have named you the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms." Cersei directed, her eyes obviously examining Claira's face, her hair, and the curves of her chest.

"I don't claim the title, your grace. Most people call me what they so wish." Claira said, feeling a light flush of heat down the sides of her neck. Then Cersei stood again, and approached her, stopping so close she could feel the warmth of her breath against her face.

"Your hair colour is truly interesting. How did you manage it?" she enquired, tracing each contrasting strand with her eyes.

"I don't go to great lengths, your grace. It's been this way since I could remember, and it remains so." then Cersei adorned her pleasant mask once more, slid her hands around Claira's elbow and led her down the corridor to a table in a small private garden inside Maegor's Holdfast.

"I would imagine that it takes a lot of your time, yes. Tell me, how long have you been married, lady Claira?" she further enquired.

"Three idyllic years, your grace." They sat down at the table, and the queen proceeded to pour wine into two small crystal spheres.

"How wonderful." she offered one to Claira who brought the glass to her mouth and allowed the dark liquid to touch lips before replacing the small chalice on the table. It was bitter, and more solid than the sweet red she allowed herself on occasion.

"You don't drink?" the queen asked, tilting her head slightly and her long hair fell to one side.

"Forgive me, your grace. I have yet to acquire the taste for deep red." she said, and Cersei smiled again, but her her green eyes danced with malignity.

"Your maester must be well stocked of Moon tea, at least one cup a day, is that correct?" she enquired, bringing her own glass to her mouth and drinking easily.

"I've never heard of Moon Tea, your grace." Claira said, bringing Cersei's hand down.

"You don't? Sweet mother, then I must propose extract of the Cradle orchid for you." She said laying a hand on Claira's cold fingers in a gesture of kindness.

"It does wonders to rise your natality. Unless, of course there is something else you're not so eager to admit?" she grinned spitefully, her words laced with venom.

"I have nothing to admit. And I will not submit myself to challenging the threads of natural events." she said calmly, and Cersei sat back on the chair, the chalice close to her lips again.

"You do realize, that if you are unable to bear him any sons, you're of no use to him. Your great house, will end with you." she clarified, still smiling, but Claira scoffed warding off the cruel intent.

"If I may suggest it, familiarize yourself with the promise of our house, your grace. You may be surprised one day." she suggested, and then stood to leave Cersei with a crack in her leering smile. Heavy footfalls drew their attention, and a tall man emerged from the narrow garden path with whiskers of gold and flecked green eyes.

"Cersei. I see you've officially met the lady of the Corridor. King Robert has issued an invitation for lord and lady Taugere to lodge in the Holdfast of the Red Keep for the extent of the tourney." he informed as he lay a hand on the backrest of the chair.

"Lord Tywin." Claira greeted him politely, but Cersei stood.

"Well, isn't that grand. I trust you will enjoy your stay with us, then." she said, and then disappeared; in all likelihood on her way to complain about such arrangements.

"Such an extraordinary wonder you are, lady Claira. Had you not been promised to your current husband, I might have set a marriage to my Jaime." he said as he took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

"What a compliment, my lord; coming from you." she returned, and he motioned to the chairs.

"May I offer you some wine, my lady?" she shook her head.

"Regretfully my lord, I must put down your offer. I'm afraid my stomach does not agree with a deep red." she declined as he sat down and poured a fresh goblet for himself.

"We have a sweet white from Dorne, may I have one of the handmaidens fetch you a decanter?" he suggested, but she remained standing.

"Thank you, my lord; you are a gracious host. But I must see that our belongings are properly prepared for our visit. Perhaps in the days to come, my dear lord husband and I may both join you for a glass of wine." she curtsied, and he smiled at her.

"Enjoy the tourney, my lady." he said, raising the glass.

"And you, lord Tywin." she vanished, wanting to avoid another onslaught of questions and accusations she had no answer or justification to.

Raeghun and Jaime strode down the long hall of the royal stables, watching the stable boys groom and feed the many fine steeds.

"May I offer you my condolences, for the loss of your father, lord Taugere. I heard he was a great leader, and equally skilled in battle." Jaime said, his armour ringing as he moved.

"He was more than that. I hope that I may honour him still, and keep to the path he left for me." Raeghun reflected.

"I'm sure you will. You killed a lion, once. Not a Lannister, a real lion, I heard. Not an easy feat." Jaime looked at Raeghun with a smile that could almost match admiration.

"The poor creature was hungry, and weak." Raeghun said modestly. They stopped at a stall where an ebony mare was nursing an ivory filly, and Jaime rested his arm on the stable door.

"A lion remains a lion, my lord. To be honest, starvation would make the beast more desperate, and leaner muscles make for sharper claws. By the way, did it manage to... damage you, before you killed it?" Jaime hinted, and Raeghun could tell exactly where this was going.

"There is no flaw with me." he said, and the knight nodded, contemplating that.

"Your wedding was marvellous, lord Taugere. I recall it well." he continued.

"You were there?" Raeghun did not remember seeing him, at all.

"I was. Not in the front lines, of course; but I stood watching you from under one of the many trees. I can still see your face when her father removed the veil from her. What was it that you were thinking?" he asked, still smiling but the admiration turned into a sour jest.

"That she was the most beautiful woman in all creation; and she was promised to me." the lord said, thinking back to that day.

"Really? Well, that was not the impression that I got. But as men, we do what we must for the good of our houses; we keep the promises our fathers make to honour our names... Even marry a creature of the north." Jaime said, willing his voice to mirror empathy.

"I honoured my house, yes. But I love my wife, ser Jaime. Neither the circumstances nor its location matter." Raeghun determined, and Jaime smirked.

"Oh? But your house hasn't grown? Is she capable-" he started, but Raeghun's voice suddenly silenced him.

"It will." Jaime took a step towards him.

"You know, I could always help you out. Not all Lannister guards are light of hair, they'd love to speed you on your way." he whispered menacingly, and Raeghun could feel the fire in his veins. But despite his urge to destroy the knight's comely face, he breathed in.

"I'll decline. There are enough whores in this city to keep them busy until their deaths." he said, and then stepped aside to pass the knight. But as their shoulders brushed he stopped and glanced back.

"And if you, or any of your people ever disrespect my wife again, I will rip open your chest like I did the lion's jaw; and present your heart to her myself." he left him there to reflect on that promise. He stepped out into a busy street, and looked up to see a late day sun. He turned to make his way back to the keep, and nearly knocked a poor man over.

"My pardon. I didn't see you." A small little man turned towards him, old and hunched over, draped with an old cloak that may have been brown at some stage, and leaning on a thick wood staff.

"Not to worry, sire. I have been meaning to speak with you. But perhaps not here, in the middle of the street. I would enjoy a walk down to the blackwater. May I ask you to join me?" He spoke softly, and slow; stretching each word like a breath. Raeghun accepted, and followed the doddering man down the street and out one of the gates to a beach where the blackwater broke on red sand. He was a fisherman, too old and crippled by bone worm to continue his occupation.

"Have you come simply for the tourney, sire?" he asked as he walked along the shore. For an old and crippled man, he was fast and had immense stamina.

"That was the main reason, but while I'm here I might acquire some horses for my stables." They passed peasants washing clothes and sheets in the water, and children playing and splashing between the rocks.

"A splendid idea. May I suggest that you add to your household guard as well, sire? Many strong and loyal men have come to compete in honour of great houses. And as the soldiers say, 'the bigger the sword, the bigger the shield'." Raeghun paused. He hadn't heard that expression before, and assumed it must be associated with these summer people.

"I may consider that. However, it may be preferable to recruit people from our own lands." he said as he continued to follow the little man, still down the beach. They were well past the people.

"It is not their birth that must be in the right place, sire; but their trueness. Do you not agree?" The man asked as he sat down on a rock, rubbing his knees. Raeghun took that in as well. Then the man looked up at the lord, eyes white as morning mist.

"How fares your lady?" he enquired, and Raeghun stepped slightly closer, scanning the water as it splashed and rushed about the sand. And a sudden desire to release his thoughts washed over him, like the water over the stones.

"I wish to believe that she is content, but I must confess that I've been less than courteous of late, with all that has happened. And she won't say it, but I think that the fact that she has yet to conceive has left her wanting, and somewhat mournful. And some nobles have been less than sympathetic to her for those circumstances." he said, and the little man nodded his head.

"Oh, yes. The spite of the mighty. To them, it is strange that a house has not grown within a year of a wedding as grand as yours. And a crime, for every year later." he explained, and Raeghun looked back at him.

"I do not wish to add to her strain, but I admit it leaves a longing not quite like anything else..." he confessed, and the man laughed knowingly and smiled at him.

"The loneliness won't last, sire. Frost and flame will join, and she will bear you a son in time." he assured, and Raeghun looked back to where the Red Keep sat on the hill, overlooking the vast city. To where he left his wife.

"I wish to advise you, my lord; keep her close. Keep her safe. There are those throughout the kingdoms whom do not hold your wife in the esteem that you and your people do. Lowly and high-born alike. There is ill intent everywhere, within and without; and devastation lurks in every shadow. Your house was meant for great deeds, sire. And greater still, is the future that awaits your bloodline. Watch over her, and find the stone that will support her. A destiny awaits that will determine many things for your family, and this very kingdom, come the long night again..." He looked back to the rock, but the man was gone. He scanned both ways down the beach, but there was nothing. Not even a telling footprint, only the rush of the water, its disturbance almost resembling a voice, perhaps a whisper.

"Keep her close. Keep her safe. Find the stone." he turned and made for the castle as fast as he could, as a sudden inexplicable feeling of dread grabbed him like an invisible hand from the air.

She had somehow managed to find her way to yet another garden outside the walls of the keep, and wandered aimlessly until the sun set low to the horizon. She sat down on the edge of a motionless fountain, running her hands through the water that felt warmer than it was. A tear stained her right cheek, and her thoughts went back to the rotten peach. So often, you will find worms eating their way through what was left of the unpolluted core. It may have been a mistake to come, and again she found herself cursing fate.

"Such beauty; I don't believe I've seen you before. When did you arrive in King's Landing?" she looked back to see a short man standing behind her, dressed in leather and red, locks of platinum gold around his face. Had she been standing, he would barely reach the base of her chest. She wiped the tears away.

"Earlier this day." she replied as she breathed in. He cautiously approached.

"Oh, and I'm assuming that you found it less than pleasant." he stood next to her then, but she could not breathe her feelings to him. He leaned forward slightly to see her face.

"You seem to be distraught, lady Taugere. May I sit with you?" he asked, politely. And she raised her head.

"Of course." she motioned to the unclaimed edge of the fountain. He sat down, and stared at her. A sudden desire to lighten her heart overtook her.

"She's right, you know." she uttered, and he cocked his head slightly.

"Who?" he asked, and everything came at once.

"The queen. If I cannot bear my husband sons, what good am I to him? Gods, how I've wanted it. Wished for it for so long... I'm so tired of it all! And every fucking noble wants to know ' _When_ ' and ' _Why_ ', ' _What's wrong with you?_ ' and ' _Is he fucking whores instead of you?_ ', ' _Are you fucking infertile_?'" She covered her face with her hands, and breathed in deep, stifling a cry. She kept it there until her heart rate slowed, and then breathed out slowly. He remained there, staring at her. Then she blushed, feeling discomposed.

"I apologise, that was inappropriate." she said, wiping another escaped tear from her cheek.

"Don't worry. I understand, I won't tell anyone." he shuffled closer, and took an icy hand in his, short plump fingers warm and comforting around hers.

"And, yes. Yes, she is right about that. By the way, how long have you been married?" he asked as his fingers rubbed hers, attempting to release the enduring chill off her hands.

"Three years." she replied.

"And you're how old? Ten and six?" he estimated, glancing at her face.

"Ten and seven." she corrected.

"Ten and seven... Are you barren?" he registered, and his eyes went back to her hand.

"No." she blushed again.

"Is he barren?" his eyes continued to switch between her face and her cold hand, like he was searching for the answer himself without her uttering it.

"No." He looked up at her then, eyes of emerald and amethyst glinting benevolently at her.

"Then you have nothing to worry about. You're still young, both of you." he scooted another inch closer, still rubbing her cold hand.

"If I may dare to suggest something so plain, my lady. Don't want it, don't wish for it. Enjoy your husband whenever you wish, and allow him to enjoy you. Your sons – and daughters will come. When you reach your thirtieth year, I would recommend the occasional essence of 'Baby's Bed' - that pretty blue lily. When you reach thirty and seven, try harder. But when you're gone over forty, then start to worry." he said, and managed to draw a smile from her, and they shared the first laugh she could with someone as close to a friend since they've arrived.

"Your children will come, my lady. The gods have strange ways; but never lose your hope. Who knows, you may even receive your child tonight, gods be good." she blushed again, and smiled at him.

"You're an absorbing man." she complimented, and he pet her hand gently.

"Thank you, I've heard many other things, though." he returned, and she breathed in again, still smiling and she looked at him.

"Thank you, my lord." she said, and he seemed puzzled.

"For what?" he asked.

"You gave me my hope back." she felt strong again, and he nodded.

"It was a great pleasure that I could give you something back, in this dismal life. Well, if you will pardon me, my lady. I have some matters to attend to." he stood, kissed her fingertips and turned to leave.

"Wait. Who are you?" she asked, and he turned around to face her a final time.

"Tyrion Lannister, my lady." he introduced himself. The sun just disappeared over the horizon.

Raeghun finally entered the keep, and rushed down the halls. He passed a door to a feast hall, and saw the queen enter with two white cloaked guards, but without his wife. Assuming she was preparing for the banquet he made his way to Maegor's Holdfast. He scanned every corridor for their household guards, or his wife. He came upon two of the guards that accompanied them.

"Aleyne, Hewlett! Where is lady Claira? Where is my wife?" he demanded. The guards glanced at each other.

"We have not seen her since this noon, my lord." one said, and the dread washed over him again.

"Find her! Find my wife! Deliver her to me unharmed, or gods help me, my hounds will feast on you for a week!" he ordered, and they ran off while others joined them. They searched the hold and its gardens, the corridors and the halls. One of the guards returned with a report that she was nowhere in the holdfast.

"Search the city if you must!" In that moment, Robert came down the corridor with several guards following.

"Lord Raeghun, in which hell are you? The feast has started." he said coming up to him.

"Claira is missing." he informed, and the king looked back at his guards.

"Well? You heard the lord! Find lady Taugere! Find her and bring her here, or I'll shove spikes up your asses instead of your heads!" they scrambled off to continue the search. Close to an hour passed before the first of the guards returned with their reports, panting and wheezing.

"We've searched every inch of the castle, my lord. She's nowhere inside the keep." Anxiety gripped Raeghun like the chill of a winter wind, but then Robert placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll find her." he promised, and then looked back at the guards.

"Move, you shits! Your search hasn't ended! Search all the way up to Winterfell if you have to!" Raeghun moved past them, the sudden suspicion driving him forward. Moments later he stood amidst trees and shrubs of bright flowers, a full moon's light shining down on him.

"Claira! Claira!" he called into the shadows, scanning the surroundings, every darkness deeper than the one next to it.

"Claira!" his cry carried through every space, and up to the highest tower; the talons of foreboding sinking deeper into his heart.

"Raeghun?" he turned, and she stood behind him, glittering in the moonlight. The fear left him then, and he went to her, throwing his arms around her and he breathed her in, the scent of vanilla filling his lungs.

"You're beautiful. I love you." he kissed her, and held her close, quelling her tiny frame against his, so much so he could feel the cool of her skin through the dress.

"What happened?" she breathed against him, and he kissed her again as he took her face in his hands.

"I've had... Nothing. Nothing happened." he pushed the thoughts away, and let his face rest against hers.

"Please... Don't go anywhere alone, ever. Promise me." he whispered, and she could feel his fingers trembling against her skin, knowing that there was a reason for his change.

"I promise." her arms went around him, discovering that it was more than just his fingertips that were shuddering. After another moment that he held her close, they went inside and found king Robert in the hall, and much to his relief that the lady was unharmed he herded them to the feast. They sat to the king's right side, and dined on honey glazed suckling pig, freshly baked bread and sweet lemon cakes, all while listening to flute and harp music and the many discussions of the lords, among them the king's brothers, lord Stannis and lord Renly; lord Tywin and lord Tyrell accompanied by his mother lady Olenna, and many, many others. Children ran up and down the hall while attending handmaidens watched over them. After most of the guests have retired, Raeghun leaned over to his wife.

"We've had a long, and tiring day. Perhaps it is time to retire." he said, and drowsily she agreed. He stood and held his hand for her to help her up, and they made their way down the hall towards the holdfast. At a window, overlooking the city he paused and brought her hand to his mouth.

"Go on, I'll join you in a moment." he urged, and let her slip away with three guards attending. He looked over the place called King's Landing, scanning every light in the shadows.

"Lord Taugere, may I offer you a last glass of deep red?" a short man offered as he approached down the corridor.

"Your deep red tastes like dirt, lord Tyrion. I might settle for a dark ale, though." he tempted, and Tyrion smiled.

"My thoughts exactly. Unfortunately, ale is not served at rich feasts like these. Suffice it to say, I've grown sick of the innate gossip here. If I could persuade you to take a walk with me to the holdfast, I have a pitcher waiting in my apartment. It's a short walk from your own chambers, and your lady wife awaits you, so I won't keep you long." he said, and they resumed their walk to the inner keep together, talking about the world outside and the expectations of the tourney.

"You're not going to start with a compliment and end with an insult?" Raeghun finally asked, and Tyrion looked up at him.

"Why would I do that? I would much rather start with an insult and end with a compliment, tends to keep your head on your shoulders a bit longer from what I've heard of the northerners." Tyrion said and approached a door, placing his hand on the wood he pushed and it swung open to reveal a spacious chamber.

"Do you find yourself curious about our circumstances as much as the others?" Raeghun asked as he entered, and Tyrion closed the door behind him.

"Not at all. I find it preferable to let things just proceed naturally." he said, and went over to a table awaiting then with a pitcher and a bowl stocked with fruit. Two silver plates sat waiting to be used on the smooth surface. Tyrion took the pitcher and filled two long goblets with dark liquid, a rim of foam resting on the top.

"I've met lady Taugere earlier this day, she truly is a fascinating woman. The gods favoured you, to bring love over such vast borders." Tyrion complimented as he took one goblet, and offered the other to his guest. Raeghun took it from his hand, and sat down on the chair facing Tyrion. Two glinting eyes of green and black took him in kindly, and he smiled.

"If Raeghar Targaryen had not started the war, she may not have been mine. I must thank him, when I reach the hell he's been ridden to." Raeghun said bringing the goblet to his lips.

"He has a lot to be thanked for. Robert is king, my sister is the queen, my brother is a king's guard, my father oversees many small council meetings, and I have the pleasure of lodging in one of the finest taverns the world has to offer." Tyrion said, motioning to the area around them.

"You're not at all like the others." Raeghun laughed.

"I have the name, but not the manner, lord Raeghun. My intent is to keep it that way." Tyrion said taking another sip of the ale. Raeghun rolled the chalice between his hands.

"I understand you've shown my wife kindness, I thank you for that." he said, and Tyrion nodded slowly.

"She is lovely. She has a kind heart, and a gentle soul. I can see why you love her so dearly. But she's stronger than you realize." Tyrion said as he took another mouthful of ale.

"In what way?" Raeghun brought the chalice to his mouth, swallowing.

"Well, having to endure all the vicious onslaughts regarding your house. Few ladies would stand there and have an answer ready. She might not hold a sword, but she can strike back with a keen word, or two." Tyrion said, refilling his cup from the ewer.

"Oh, that she can." Raeghun agreed and swallowed again.

"Her father is lord Willmon Tormont, isn't that right?" Tyrion further enquired.

"Yes, the Grey Tom." Raeghun confirmed.

"The great strategists of the north; their house has never lost a battle. I assume that she attended one or two war councils with him. It clearly shows in her, I've observed her exchange of words with my sister earlier today." Tyrion hinted as he drank again.

"They bickered?" Raeghun felt a rush of heat trickle down his neck and chest, but Tyrion grinned, again filling his goblet.

"Hardly. Cersei doesn't enjoy backlash, but it would have been interesting to see how it would have ended, had my father not interjected." Tyrion said as he brought the goblet to his lips. Raeghun studied him for a moment.

"What happened?" he asked as he drank again.

"Well, to put it bluntly; in a very lady-like and polite manner, lady Claira Taugere told the queen to go fuck herself." The laughed together.

"Given her calm and adequately calculated temperament for retaliation, your wife may be better suited to the life of a queen than my sweet sister. But I would appreciate if you kept that between us." Tyrion said raising the chalice an inch higher.

"Of course. I don't enjoy their company much, but the king has been a friend of my father for many years." Raeghun confessed, and Tyrion nodded at that again.

"Yes, he helped him win the war. Without the lords of the Corridor, I dare admit that the war may have went either way." Tyrion reflected.

"Here's to fate." They brought the goblets together in a gesture of friendship, and Raeghun emptied the contents.

"And here is where I must leave you, lord Tyrion. I did enjoy this, apart from Robert you are the only one that has shown us any true courtesy. Perhaps before we return to Mount Ardor, we will enjoy a day like this again." Raeghun said as he replaced the goblet on the table, and stood up.

"Oh, please do. Go keep your promise. And by the way, should your son arrive in this world, I would very much like to meet him. He will be a rare thing in this universe, to possess all great power, leadership, intelligence and the right name." Tyrion said, again raising his chalice. Raeghun proceeded through the holdfast to their chambers, finding the three guards he assigned waiting at the door.

"You may take your leave, enjoy the remainder of the night and return to your duties at dawn." he instructed, and they left after thanking him. Raeghun entered the apartment, and found her standing in front of a warm fireplace, releasing her hair from a faded green gown she may have pulled over her shoulders barely a few moments past after enjoying a bath. He went to her, and gently turned her around to take her face in his hands and kissed her deeply while her cold fingers wrapped around his wrists. His right hand withdrew to release the cloak from his shoulders, and remove the doublet and shirt from his burning skin. Then he took her in his arms again, and breathed in her sweet scent before kissing her again, his fingers undoing the lace of the gown and letting it fall to her feet. He buried his face in her neck and heard her gasp as he branded a kiss on her cold skin and her arms went around his shoulders as he pressed her against him.

"Raeghun... The windows..." she whispered softly, then he pulled back and ran his palm down her cheek and wove his fingers into her free hair.

"Let them watch, I don't care. I'll make love to you every night, even if it spites them." his mouth found hers again before trailing down her neck and shoulder as he picked her up from the floor and lay her on the soft bed, then relinquished his breeches for the cool air. His lips left warm point on the skin of her chest as his hands brought her knees past his hips and he took his place. Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck before she pulled him closer into another kiss, and his left arm wound around her, and he found her neck once again.

"You are mine..." he declared softly at her ear, and strained as he slipped inside of her, causing her to breathe in sharply; feeling him as he moved her sweet sighs gave way to soft moans of rapture.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4 – THE WARRIOR

The day broke in all its southern splendour, nobles prepared to make their way down to the tourney grounds where the entertainment for the day would take place. Raeghun and Claira passed down the halls, the lord Taugere dressed befittingly in leather and the colours of his house; and his lady dressed in a gown of sapphire blue and her throat adorned with a circlet of gold, diamond and aquamarine gems, and seven sentinels following closely. As they walked the path past the gardens, lord Varys made his appearance and smiled broadly.

"My dear Winter lady, the southern comforts truly enhance you. If I may bother our good lord to steal you away to the garden for a short walk?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Of course." Raeghun brought her hand to his lips.

"Be careful." he whispered, but Claira smiled at him.

"He can't hurt me." she said softly, and touched his face tenderly.

"I know lord Varys. It's not him I'm worried about." Raeghun said again, not looking away from her.

"Go on. I'll meet you at the grounds." she urged, and he left her reluctantly; ordering two guards to stay at her side. They wandered down the narrow path towards an edge overlooking the ocean; the guards lingered back allowing the lady and her accomplice an opportunity to speak freely.

"Such lovely weather we have, his grace chose a good season for a tourney." lord Varys said, the smell of sweet lavender coming off him.

"It's a good distraction for my lord husband; things have been difficult of late." she said, her hands folded in front of her stomach as they walked.

"Oh yes; the untimely demise of the great lord Rychard was hard set on everyone. I understand sweet lady Madryde was laid to rest beside him barely a season after. Such a tragedy to part of a broken heart." he affirmed as he glanced her way.

"It was a dismal time, and having to see off his gentle sister to her betrothed left yet another void." she added softly, then he turned to her.

"So troublesome, the difficulties of life. I understand that conception has also been difficult for you, yet another stretch to the emptiness. How long has it been since you relinquished your old home for the new, three years? It must add to the lord's longing that the house has not grown yet." he said sympathetically, the shine of the sun glinting on the still waters of the ocean.

"Some things take time, lord Varys." Claira reminded.

"Indeed they do. After all, frost and flame don't unite easily." he said grinning, but there was no malignity in his eyes. She smiled back at him.

"They don't. Many things don't merge easily; but I do find it interesting, lord Varys that someone who started out with so little melded so easily with the splendour of the court. Hard work rightfully is a measure to judge by." she complimented.

"Truly, hard work does pay off. But it is not the only method used to get by in the world." he said, scanning their immediate surroundings.

"No, but you. The master of whispers... The spider, a less enjoyed name I'm sure. You came from across the narrow sea at some point, and you travelled with a group of pretenders. But I understand, lord Varys, that beneath your bare scalp your hair is still white." she mentioned with a confident smile, and a look of surprise flashed across his features before he smiled again.

"I trust that we can count on each other's understanding." she said, and he bowed his head to her.

"Of course my dear lady, I wouldn't have it any other way." he said, as he straightened up.

"Wonderful. Now, if you'll excuse me my lord. My husband awaits me." she said, and hurried off to the stables with the two guards following. She mounted a grey mare and proceeded down to the road to the tourney grounds with her guards following close behind on the brown geldings.

A group of mercenaries occupied a local tavern near the Lion Gate, whom had come to compete in the tourney in the hopes of receiving a lord's bidding, or at least making enough off winning matches to support them for yet another few days. One sat at a table, secluded from the others, a fearsome great sword rested against the wall next to him and his left hand clasped around the rim of a horn filled with golden ale, while listening to the clamour and chatter and jovial music of the bards, his eyes staring at the wood of the table, how the threads of the wood seemed to flow along one another, like a solid river. He contemplated for a moment how intricate these threads seemed to be, like the many long years he spent just existing and searching for something to put meaning to.

"Nomad! Are you fighting today?" a lean man asked as he came over, then stood resting his hand on the table and leading forward.

"No. I don't feel like it." the sell sword declined, bringing the horn to his mouth and swallowing

"Come on, win us a match. You're the best of us, you can make us a lot of money." the standing man said, and dark eyes looked up at him.

"I'm not the only one, Baret." the Nomad reminded, but he smiled.

"The men's got to eat." he returned, and the Nomad scoffed.

"You can do it yourself, can't you?" he asked, and brought the horn back to his lips.

"Sure I can. But why should I when you can do it so effortlessly? I'm not about to break my back for these odorous lords." he said straightening up.

"But you expect me to do it?" Baret smiled,

"You'll enjoy it much more." he said, the Nomad shook his head.

"I'm not going to be around forever." he said, and Baret laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you're not. So while you are, I plan on making good use of you." he said, then turned.

"I'll arrange you a good one!" he called back as he strode for the door, and the Nomad's eyes scanned the tavern, his comrades as they drank and joked and quarrelled and flirted with the tavern women; and then went back to the table, to the horn in his hand. Was this the meaning he had? To move about the kingdoms with these lumps of muscle that travelled the land and took money for lives. What a pointless being...

Raeghun stood on the steps of the platform that was erected for the nobility to sit and watch the entertainments, waiting for his wife. The young lord Petyr Baelish passed him, and smiled.

"Do you place bets; lord Raeghun." he asked merrily.

"I'm not fond of gambling, lord Petyr." he replied, still scanning the masses that entered the tourney grounds.

"It's all in good fun. A grand champion will be dominating the fields today, ser Loren Masur the Steel Guilded. You can be sure that I'll be making some gold off him." he said smiling.

"Well, enjoy your fun." Raeghun urged, and then breathed out relieved as he saw Claira emerge from the crowd with the two guards following her towards the platform.

"Oh I will. By the way, you've been married to a fine woman for some years now. And still no sons to show? Some may start to wonder..." Petyr said as he looked back to notice whom it was that made Raeghun's uneasiness fade like a cloud in front of the wind, and then Raeghun looked back at him and their eyes met, clear and burning.

"Have them wonder all they wish. Perhaps you may enquire with your grand maester, the promise of our house, lord Petyr." he suggested.

"Perhaps I will. Come, lord Raeghun. One bet!" Petyr urged, raising a hand.

"Five hundred gold dragons, on the champion!" he announced as he turned and faced those around him, challenging anyone to meet his stake. Raeghun grinned, and breathed out.

"Very well. I might buy my beloved wife a new Dornish stallion." he said, and Petyr smiled at him before continuing on his way to find a suitable seat in the centre of the platform. Claira came up the steps then, the guards remaining on the ground. He held his hand for her, and she took it. They took their places on a bench in the front to see the fighters battle in the melee.

Three matches followed, between knights of house Tyrell against Redwyne, Tarly against Baratheon and Royce against Frey before a short breather ensued. The lords conversed on many different topics, and placed their wagers as many did. Wine and ale was served to the lords and ladies in the stands and breads, cheeses and fruits dispensed to the nobility. Finally, a tall man dressed in white, orange and blue emerged from the shadows under the arena gate and raised his hands to the people. The Nomad stood watching him from the darkness under the stands, and noticed all the staring faces excited for the duel to come. All the high-born in their silks and velvets of yellow, red, green, grey, orange and blue.

"My lords! My ladies! Your grace!" he called for the people's attention, and bowed low to the king before he continued.

"For your entertainment, a duel set to match as has not been seen since the great ser Barriston Selmy himself against The Iron Hammer of the Andals! Our champion – Ser Loren Masur the Steel Guilded!" he said holding an outstretched arm to a big fighter, clad from crown to heel in shining plate armour. He displayed himself to the crowd, holding a glinting battleaxe high above his head and roaring like a hungry bear. The Nomad scoffed as an image flashed in his mind, and he could only compare the knight to a peacock prancing in a garden, then the announcer continued.

"And the challenger – Nomad!" he said, motioning back to the arena gate. The warrior stepped out, long dark hair falling about his muscled shoulders. Compared to the shining knight, he must have seemed frail, clad in leather and simple mail armour, a brown cloak fastened around his shoulders and the hilt of a sword projected from behind his right shoulder. He walked across the sand like he was gliding, every step sure and confident. Then stopped in the centre of the arena, and suddenly looked up straight at a lady sitting right in front of him, dressed in blue. Her hair was black as midnight, with wisps of white marbling the lustrous locks falling over her left shoulder. For an instant, his breath caught in his throat when her eyes met his. Blue eyes... the colour of winter frost against in the morning light; and everything else dissolved into nothing. And for that moment, no one else existed. Not the announcer, still addressing the crowds; not the champion strutting like a dominant cock in front of the people, not the lords in their silks and golds; not even the king on the highest pedestal. Only her. A gentle breeze came over him, and the words he had paid no mind to in years rekindled in his head – The Breath of Winter.

"How dare they place you against me? A common sell sword against a knight?! I'm offended!" the knight suddenly called, and the warrior calmly faced him.

"I didn't choose the match, but you underestimate me, ser." he said, just standing there. He didn't make any attempt to ready himself for battle.

"Look at you! You look like dirt!" Loren said, attempting to insult the challenger, whom simply smiled.

"I am of the earth, yes. But so are you. It is the consistency that differs." he agreed, still not removing his weapon.

"I'll carve you like a rock-" the knight called, gripping the axe tighter in his hands.

"When stone strikes sand, it leaves a crater. Would you care to test my words, or stand there spewing your own all day?" the Nomad challenged again, but Loren laughed.

"I've won every match in this tournament, I never lose. No one has ever seen you fight, your name is a blowing leaf." he tried to insult the warrior again.

"My name is a blowing leaf, because none whom have faced me survived to spread it." the Nomad said simply.

"You piece of hog shit! I'll remove your head before you draw your sword!" the knight threatened, but the Nomad remained smiling.

"Come and take it then." he invited, rather heartily. Claira gripped her husband's fingers, seeing the vast difference in the fighters. He placed a comforting hand on hers.

"Ser Loren Masur-" the knight started, and then the Nomad turned slightly.

"If you're not going to do something, then I'm leaving. I have better things to do than to waste my time on a squealing coward." the warrior said, and the knight raised the head of the axe.

"Coward? Coward?! I'll have your guts for hall draping!" he shot forward, and the Nomad turned to face him again. Loren raised the axe, and brought it down hard towards his challenger's head, and steel rang against steel. In an instant, the Nomad's hand was around the grip of his sword and he pulled the sword up, leaning his head slightly to the right side. The beard of the axe caught between the grip and the cross-guard, and the knight struggled. The warrior stood firm, not seeming to apply any effort at all. A muscled arm released the sword from his back and he moved, gliding the axe away from him and the knight sprawled on the ground. The Nomad turned, holding a sword that was almost as long as he was tall, easily in his hand. The knight got up and charged. Three more times he lunged at the challenger, and three more times steel rang against steel before he was left with sand in his plates, or idling around the ring. The Nomad remained in the centre, watching him intently and warding off every attack like it was practice, like it was all a dance he had done time and time again before.

"Look at that. He's playing with him." one of the nearby lords commented, and his friend stood, gripping the railing with a gloved hand.

"Fight, you miserable lout!" he called, and ser Loren charged at the challenger again his axe held high. He brought it down hard, roaring. The warrior raised his blade, blocking the attack; but then he moved again twisting the long blade and taking the axe with it before drawing blood and a gauntlet fell to the ground.

"My hand! You bastard! You fucking crazy whore-son!" the knight cried out, attempting to grip the open wound where his hand once was, the blood spewing out and darkening the ground under his knees.

"Now, now. Be respectful; my parents loved one another." the warrior said, turning around to face him again. The knight screamed in pain and then in rage.

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! You're fucking dead!" Loren roared as his remaining hand gripped the axe and he flung it at the challenger, but it slipped from his blood-soaked hand and soared high through the air towards the lady in blue. As she raised her hands the blade of the great sword pierced into the sky and again steel struck against steel, and the axe fell and buried in the sand.

"Are you as blind as you are foolish?" he asked, and the knight stood. He pulled a knife from his belt and charged forward again. The warrior moved once more, swinging the blade to rest on his shoulder as he did, using his speed and agility to drive the edge through the remaining wrist and another gauntlet found the arena grounds. He looked back at the champion wailing on his knees in the sand staring at the open spaces where hands once were. Hands that would never again commit atrocities.

"I won't kill you like was expected; this match is over." he said, and then walked towards the lady in sapphire and her husband, he knelt in front them and lay his sword on the ground before bowing his head.

"I offer you my victory, your elegance; to honour your house." he looked up again, at her. Her hand clenched her husband's, and she glanced at him. With a soft smile he inclined, and she stood before showing her approval; and the entire crowd joined in with immoderate applause, cheering, whistling, some even laughed. The handless knight was escorted from the tourney grounds. Then the lord wreathed in fire stood.

"Win me three more victories; and I may offer you a meat and mead at my table, and a place in my hall!" he bid, and the warrior bowed his head low again.

"Three more victories shall be yours, sire." he assured, then stood and left the arena after replacing the great sword in its place on his back. He could hear the contrasting temperaments of the spectators, the demands for due bets and accusations of cheating. And a lighter tone when a lord said: _"_ _Come, lord_ _Petyr_ _. You can help me pick out my wife's new horse."_ There would be no further matches today, but he didn't feel compelled to return to the tavern yet; and spent his time wandering the fair erected near the tourney grounds, noting all the different objects. Dornish wines, silks from the reach, jewellery from the Lannisport, Spices brought from Pentos and oils from Myr, fresh game from the kingswood... all manner of novelty that would be shoved under the noses of any who dared pass the edifice. A party of guards went by him, wearing the gold of the city watch. What a bunch of rabble. The thought occurred, and then he looked the other way, his gaze floating above the heads of the people footling about trying to fill their time. For a time he remained there, pondering at the simplicity of what life came to. The high exchanged what they had in their pockets for the sweat of the lowest, and they in turn gave up what they could for what might or might not be called a roof over them for shelter in the rain from the high. On and on it goes, in a never-ending circle that could only be broken by the hunger of the earth. He thought then that it may be best to return to the tavern after all, wait out the night and meet a new challenge. He turned, and then stopped. Before him stood the lady dressed in sapphire blue, her bewitching hair reflecting the late day sun, and the cold of winter in her eyes. Clasped in her delicate hands, was a bottle of dried herbs bought from one of these merchants, three guards stood vigilant on all sides. He bowed low.

"My pardon, your elegance." he excused, but then she smiled at him.

"You fought well today, ser." she complimented, and he raised up.

"Not ser, your elegance. I'm not a knight." he corrected, his eyes fixed on her flawless features.

"Regardless. You saved my life today. Had you not raised your weapon, ser Loren's axe would have split my chest open, if not my head." she revealed. He bowed his head.

"I am glad, that I could have been of service to you, your elegance." he said, just as a guard came from the side.

"Lady Claira, your lord husband requests your soonest attendance." he issued, and she acknowledged him.

"Where is lord Raeghun?" she asked.

"He's at the stable yard, my lady." the guard informed.

"Where is the stable yard?" she asked, looking up.

"I know where it is, your elegance. If it please you, I may escort you?" the Nomad said, and she looked back at him, still gently smiling.

"I would like that." she said, and he bowed before extending a hand in the direction that would take them to the stable yard, and allowing her to pass him. The guards followed with mistrustful looks. They made their way through the throngs of people, he guided the way easily, being near to a foot and a half taller than the average man. They came to an extended wood building, the entrances barred with simple dock ropes and horses hanging their heads lazily over the twines to nibble on the straw strewn about the grounds. Then they glimpsed him, lord Taugere speaking with a dornish man clad in rich silks. They approached, and he looked towards her, smiling. The Nomad stopped, permitting her to continue the next few steps freely to her husband.

"You summoned me, my lord?" she enquired, and he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders.

"I did, my love. I would like to show you something." They stepped through a throng of people, to behold a man of bronze skin and black hair clad in red garbs; a lead of chain and leather in his hand. The other end of the chain led to a halter around the head of a prancing stallion, his mane and high raised tail drifting in the wind like banners. His pelt was of rose gold, with ivory points and a blaze of pearl white down his face; his thick mane and tail the black of onyx, and clear amber eyes regarded her from where he stood. She gasped at the sight of the animal, the shine of silk on his contours.

"He's beautiful..." the lady said through fingers clasped over her mouth.

"He's yours." lord Taugere said, his smile broadening.

"Raeghun... I-" she started.

"He's yours." he insisted, taking her hands and bringing them to his lips. Claira looked at the horse again, and the man with the lead came towards her, the stallion following eagerly.

"My lady, I present to you Brazier, the sire of horses. Powerful, sturdy and faster than the south wind." the man took a big brass bell from his belt, and tolled it three times. Brazier paid no mind to it, but kept staring at the lady with his big clear eyes. She smiled then, letting her hand run down the white on the stallion's face, a tear trailed down her left cheek.

"Thank you, my beloved. Thank you so much. There are no words..." she said as she wiped the tear away, and the lord went to her and put his arms around her.

"You deserve him. And so much more. I've been unkind to you lately, and I hope you may forgive me." he whispered, and her arms went around his shoulders.

"There is nothing to forgive." he kissed her. The Nomad looked on, and felt a joy he had not experienced in years revive inside of him. A love so pure that it reminded him of a past he would never again have, and a desire to be with these people, to be part of their lives and a part of their house grew stronger. He turned and made his way silently back to the tavern where he resumed his place in front of a lively fireplace with a horn of ale and a plate of bread and cheese. Baret fell down in the chair opposite from him.

"I told you I'd arrange something good for you." he reminded, taking a slice of cheese from the plate and stuffing it in his mouth.

"I don't kill for sport, or did you forget that?" the warrior asked, but Baret smiled.

"How did you know it was a death match? I didn't." he asked, still grinning.

"Firstly, because ser Barriston had to kill the Hammer, or he would have been killed. And secondly, that knight intended to kill me." he pointed out, but Baret sat forward.

"Well then, you made sure that didn't happen. And you made sure that he would not hurt another poor, innocent girl. Not to mention you made us a good bit of gold. Everyone wins. Three flies with one swat. Or is it three birds with one stone?" he said, seizing another slice of cheese.

"Your japes grow tiresome." the Nomad said as he looked away.

"By the way, were you serious?" Baret asked as he chewed.

"About what?" he asked, staring at the fire.

"About winning three more matches for that lord? I'll have to line quite a few up for you, you know." he mentioned, and the Nomad looked back.

"Of course I was serious. And I only need three, no more." he said, and Baret nodded.

"You're going to win them all, are you?" he asked, his fingers bringing another piece of cheese to his lips.

"I'm the best of you, you said so yourself. So make what you can off me, and be done with it." Baret sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"We've had a good run, Nomad. The men won't like you abandoning us. But all these years, I've considered you a friend, not just another rusted sword. I won't stand in your way if this is what you want to do. Igon may have his conflicts, but you've handled him better than most." he said and his eyes went to the fireplace.

"I told you, I won't be around forever." the Nomad reminded.

"I get that. You don't fight for us any more. It was good while it lasted." they brought the horns together, and spent their evening inside the tavern while the others did what they did.

Two days passed as expected with the nobility packing the arena and the commoners attending wherever they could. Baret managed to arrange matches against formidable foes, all with the expected outcomes, and then the jousting followed. Ser Gregor Clegane, _the Mountain that Rides_ came into the ring, heavy dark steel plates covered his body from head to heel, and his fearsome warhorse displayed the colours of their house draped across him in brilliant yellow with black hounds on his flanks. The knight had won every joust these past two days, unseating his challengers with shattering lances. His strength seriously injured two of his opponents, and killed another. The Nomad mounted his horse.

"You're not properly armoured ser." The squire came and took the reins to the warrior's horse.

"Not 'ser', I'm not a knight. And this is all the armour I need." he responded, taking up the reins.

"Are you seriously going up against The Mountain, looking like that?" the squire asked.

"Steel weighs me down, I'd rather be able to move freely." The Nomad said, checking the girth strap from his position on his bay stallion.

"You need a helm, ser… I mean… um.." The squire stammered, but insisted as he held up a steel helm with two narrow slits for eyes.

"I can't see with a helm. You can just hand me the lance when it is time." He said and rode out in front of the crowd; the greater part cheering and screaming. They rode to the centre of the arena and faced the king. Gregor opened the faceplate of his helm, looking stern and bowed his head to the king before glancing over at his challenger. The Nomad bowed to the king and looked at his opponent before bowing his head again.

"Ride well, ser." He greeted him, but the Mountain just stared at him, and then turned his horse to canter down and return to his position. The Nomad turned his horse and started down to his own position, but stopped in front of lord and lady Taugere before bowing to them again.

"Such a fine-looking man. And how well-mannered he is, lady Claira. I'd bet he fancies you." One of the court ladies whispered next to her, making her blush.

"Don't be ridiculous…" she whispered back, and then watched as the warrior made his way down to his position, the calm and gentle bay stallion from a moment ago now seemed wild with bright eyes and pricked ears, he seemed like his very hooves were burning on the sand as he hopped around excitedly. The competitors took their places and two brightly coloured lances were brought out to them. At the announcer's instruction, the horses reared up and bolted down the runways in a flash of black and bay, the competitors' armour clanging and ringing as their horses charged full ahead with nostrils flaring; the sound of thundering hooves on sand almost echoing in the enclosed area and the distance between them closed like ocean waves from both sides. Claira shielded her eyes with her hands, not wanting to witness the murder of another man, and in that single terrifying moment a deafening blow shook her and lances shattered, a horse was left galloping alone down the arena while a fighter sprawled in the sand; and the other rode on holding a brightly coloured broken lance high above his head to display a devastated shaft while the crowd cheered and bellowed and applauded. She looked to see Ser Gregor Clegane stumbling to his feet and then threw the helm from his head while his opponent turned and came back down the runway.

"You! I'll fuck your corpse!" he screamed and pulled a sword from his side before the sharp point of the broken lance rested against his cheek.

"You are in no position to make threats, ser." The Nomad said calmly from the back of his once again placid horse. Gregor looked up in to the eyes of the warrior, and for a moment felt hesitation strike through him. Strong as he was, this man's skill was above his own; and he had little chance if he faced him in fair combat.

"It's over." The warrior concluded before dropping the broken lance on the sand in front of the knight and then turned to bow to the king, and then continued on his way down the arena and then stopped in front of Raeghun and Claira again.

"Four victories I've claimed for the honour of your house, sire." He reported, and bowed low. Raeghun stood and approached until he stood against the wood railing.

"You have. You are both truly skilled, and brave, ser. To the point that some would call you fearless. A place among my sentinels may be yours, should you want it and if you are willing to serve." He said,

"It shall be a great honour, sire; to fight for your name. A pleasure, to lay down my being for yours, or that of your lady." He said, and Raeghun smiled.

"Good man. I will meet with you later." He said, and the sell sword bowed his head again before leaving the arena. Claira looked up the runway to where they were clearing the way for the next riders, the completely destroyed lance that the warrior in brown dropped, and held by ser Gregor, the yellow and black spiralled lance where the colours meshed together at a broken tip. The Nomad returned to the tavern, leaving his horse to be tended. He sat at the table at the fireplace as the day lingered on, rubbing his shoulder; the impact was harder than he'd expected. The Mountain earned his name rightfully. Some of the men came to congratulate him on his victory, and they shared a horn of ale. A guard stopped next to the table.

"Pardon my interruption, ser." he discontinued their conversation.

"I'm not a knight, don't refer to me as 'ser'." he corrected, and the guard bowed slightly.

"My apologies, then. Lady Claira Taugere has requested your presence, she awaits you outside." he informed, then turned and left. The Nomad swallowed a mouthful of ale, then stood and made his way outside. He found her with four guards attending her, her hands folded in front of her and her hair flowing in waves down her chest.

"You're the one named Nomad." she directed, and he bowed to her.

"It's a description, your elegance. Not a name. _The Nomad Blade_. But it does seem odd to call on one in a third person's perspective. I have no name that I care to share." he said, and she glanced at the tavern full of people.

"And the company you travel with." she indicated.

"The Black Bannermen, your elegance. A mercenary band, hired swords and bows." he said, and her eyes went to him again.

"You are no longer part of them. You will be Falgon." he knelt and bowed his head low.

"I swear to serve, to shield and to obey no matter the cost." he said, and she smiled.

"Relish your last night here, and join us at the Red Keep come the morn." she instructed, and he looked up.

"As you bid, your elegance." she left then, and he returned inside resuming his place and his company with the men he shared a part of his life with. Suddenly a large man approached and slammed his hand down on the table hard.

"You're leaving us? You're truly leaving us?!" Falgon looked up at him.

"I've spent five years with you; and now it's over." he said simply.

"You traitorous bastard! We had a good thing going here." the man accused.

"And I trust that you can keep it going, without me. Or are you so miserable to see me go, Igon?" he remained calm, bringing the horn to his mouth.

"You're turning your back on everything we've built!" his voice was loud, drawing the attention of those at the surrounding tables.

"I owe you nothing. My road takes me down a different path than yours." he indicated, Igon's face reddened.

"I'd rather fight and live off the land freely, than sell my balls to some delicate lord who'd expect you to lick his ass for breakfast." he said, and Falgon scoffed at him.

"As a whole, the Black Bannermen had to do a hell of a lot of ball licking to get by, before you found me." he reminded, and Igon breathed in deep.

"We were doing fine before you came along; and we'll do it again. We should have killed you." he reflected scornfully.

"But you didn't; and despite abhorring me you've been living off my actions ever since. My will is still my own; since you've been eager to prove yourself, go and do it. Leave me be." he brought the horn to his mouth again, and swallowed.

"Someday I will, and when I do; I'll take the castle you'll sit in with your beefed-up ass, slaughter your guards and castle hands, give the maidens to my men; and then I'll murder your lord and have my way with your lady. Over and over." Falgon stood, towering over the man, but he grinned spitefully.

"Oh, so that's what gets you, eh? Yeah, she's a pretty one, I saw you staring at her. Maybe I'll get to fuck her in front of you." he threatened, in a voice lower than before. Falgon breathed in, attempting to stifle the urge to break his face. Then Baret appeared behind them.

"Igon. He'll pound you like bread dough, you know that." he warned, but the mercenary remained where he was.

"He's a traitor. A backstabbing, lying, hedge born mongrel." he accused.

"Let him go his way. You've beefed up your own ass enough with what was bought with the gold made off that man's back." Igon turned towards Baret, his temperament not subsiding in the least.

"You're taking his side? You're just going to let him walk out on us?" he asked, challenging Baret for an answer.

"Where he walks is none of my business, and even less of yours. Go find yourself a whore and let it go." he instructed. Igon left then, knowing that he would not win this match. Baret fell down in the chair at the table as Falgon sat down.

"I'm sorry about that, Nomad. He's been living good with you around. Suffice it to say, many of the men don't want it to end." he mentioned, and looked at his friend staring at the fireplace.

"My name is Falgon. It is the name my queen gave me." he said softly, and Baret nodded.

"I hope that things go well for you, my friend." he said, and then excused himself to seek entertainment elsewhere. Moments later four guards clad in dark and red leather surrounded the table, and a tall man with gold whiskers and green eyes approached him.

"I want to congratulate you. I've not seen the Mountain unhorsed like that since his very first tournament. You're either very lucky, or you know exactly what you're doing." he complimented and Falgon stood, bowing to the lord.

"My thanks, lord Tywin. Long hours of training and the right horse does tend to tip the scale every so often." he said, and the lord picked up a crust of bread from the plate, and inspecting it before discarding it again.

"You're an expert warrior. You're daring, and you're smart. A man like you may be put to better use in my own guard. I will pay you three times as much as lord Taugere, of course; if you abandon his offer and accept mine." he offered with a smile.

"I'm not interested in gold, my lord." Falgon said, as an old memory resurfaced. Lord Tywin took as single step forward.

"Truly, so what is it that you do want, then?" he asked softly.

"My wants have little to do with it, lord Tywin." he assured, but the lord simply smiled at him.

"Such loyalty. And a learned man at that. Take up my offer, and I will pay you six-fold whatever lord Taugere offers you, I will persuade the king to knight you himself, and name you a castellan of one of my small holds." he offered again, and Falgon bowed his head.

"Your offer is truly generous, lord Tywin. But again, I'll decline." he said surely. The lord took yet another step closer.

"Only fools refuse a Lannister's offer." he said.

"Then a fool I am, my lord." Falgon agreed.

"Your first victory, you offered to the lady directly. Why?" he enquired.

"There is no specific reason for that, lord Tywin. Victors often offer their triumphs to honour a great house." Falgon indicated.

"Yes, yes they do. The victory is often offered to the lord, though. And your reference 'your elegance' may leave some confused." Tywin agreed.

"Is it only the house of royalty that must be addressed appropriately? Both rulers are addressed with the same words." Falgon said with a smile.

"You're a clever man, and well-spoken for a commoner. You know how to play with your words." Lord Tywin placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I hope that the lord will realize how fortunate he is, to have one such as yourself in his service. But given the fact that your attention was more on lady Claira Taugere than lord Raeghun, I'm assuming that you're not entering his service solely for him?" he observed.

"I will be whatever they need me to be. Sword and shield." Falgon clarified, and lord Tywin grinned almost knowingly.

"Stay close to her. Before too long you may find yourself handling more than one sword." he advised, and then left with his guards following close behind him. He was left to reflect on that.

Morning cam swiftly, and he left the tavern with what he had for the Red Keep. The guards met him at the gate, and granted him entry to the castle on the orders of lord Raeghun. He was met with stares from the castle hands and guards, both distrustful and admiring, but he moved forward. He was escorted to Maegor's Holdfast where the lord of Mount Ardor met with him.

"Four victories you've claimed for my name. Four times you've been undefeated." he mentioned, and Falgon bowed low.

"Four victories you ordered of me, four I gave you, sire." he said, and Raeghun smiled.

"You are a man of strength, and resolve; and more so a man of you word. This is a rarity of late." he mentioned, and Falgon straightened.

"A man is known for his word, sire. If your word means nothing, then so do you." he said, and Raeghun smiled.

"Truer words have yet to be spoken. I am glad to meet someone who still keeps to the old ways." he said,

"The old ways are all that I know, sire." he said. Lady Claira entered the room then, dressed in deep red and a belt of gold amulets; her hair brought back from her brow and pinned in a swirl before the strands fell down her chest and back naturally. He bowed to her.

"Good morning, your grace. You are as lovely as the sunrise, I trust you slept well." he greeted, and she blushed., offering her hand to her husband whom held his hand for her and brought her hand to his mouth.

"Good morning, ser. I did, thank you." she returned.

"I'm no 'ser', your grace. I've not been knighted." he corrected, once again. She looked at him.

"And I'm not 'your grace'. I'm no queen." he smiled softly.

"You are mine." he said. Raeghun looked at him, with an understanding smile.

"You will attend us for the remainder of the tourney, as a personal guard. Remain close, and vigilant at all times." he instructed, and Falgon bowed his head.

"As you bid, sire." he acknowledged. They departed the holdfast, on their way to attend the last of the tourney events. Ser Jaime Lannister met them in the hallway, smiling broadly.

"Are you contending, lord Raeghun?" he asked, and Raeghun looked away, debating his choices.

"I might, if I have a worthy opponent." he said, and Jaime grinned.

"I'll challenge you." he offered, and Raeghun looked back at him.

"You?" unsure of his motives.

"Why not? Some healthy competition." Jaime confirmed, glancing at the lady.

"Raeghun, please." she begged, but the lord kissed her cheek confidently.

"Don't be concerned for me." he assured.

"I'll accept your challenge, ser Jaime." he recognized.

"Wonderful. I'll have the preparations made." he insisted, then disappeared down the hall on his mission. Raeghun turned to his wife.

"I have a score to settle with him. Besides, I need the practice." he said, and she leaned against him, her arms winding around his waist.

"I don't want you hurt." she whispered.

"I'll be fine. I need a quarry for my thwart." he said, holding her close to him. They went down to the grounds, where he was informed that he would be the first to enter the arena this day. He ensured that she was seated, and turned to Falgon.

"Keep her safe for me. I'll return as soon as I can." he bid, and Falgon bowed.

"As you bid, sire." he acknowledged, and Raeghun left. She sat on the bench while Falgon stood at her side. Moments, what seemed like hours later, ser Jaime emerged a knight emerged from the gate in polished armour, a longsword held in his right hand and a broad shield on his left arm. The announcer took his position and introduces the fighters as Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, and his opponent as Lord Raeghun Taugere of Mount Ardor, the Warden of the Corridor. Claira gasped as her husband emerged, in light steel plating, no helm and a single longsword. Falgon looked down to the lady, the anxiety clear in her posture. He moved slightly closer, trying to offer the little comfort he could. Jaime raised his sword and laughed.

"Do you want to die? Your poor widow-" he started, but Raeghun's voice silenced him, loud and powerful.

"I'm not dead yet, ser. So either come at me, or surrender now." he offered his terms, and the duel started. Swords clashed as they met, the sounds of steel against steel ringing around the arena and each clash made the lady more worried. Falgon bowed down, low enough so she would hear him.

"If I may, your grace. Your lord husband won't lose. He is moving very well." he assured, and she looked at him.

"He doesn't use a shield, because it throws one off balance. He doesn't use a helm, because it limits one's vision. Most knights give up their senses for these limited protections." he explained, and she looked back at the fight, slightly more at ease than before.

"Strategic. He knew that ser Jaime would use everything that would be available to him." she concluded.

"Not all understand the importance of thought before action." Falgon further indicated. Suddenly, Jaime swung the sword back after a failed lunge, striking the sword from Raeghun's hand, sending the sword flying and landing in the sand some feet away. He swung again and Raeghun drew back sharp, avoiding the blade. Jaime swung again, and again, each strike failing. Then he arched the blade in another attack, the tip caught Raeghun's neck drawing blood, and Claira stood suddenly, her hands wringing the tips of her hair. Raeghun stepped back, and wiped the blood from his neck. With a smile, he shot forward, driving a shoulder into Jaime's ribs and the air from his lungs. Raeghun moved, and a hardened fist found the knight's jawline, he fell backwards dazed and breathless on the sand, then Raeghun took the sword and threw it to one side. He stepped back, grinning.

"Finally, you're serious!" he called, and Jaime slowly moved to stand up.

"Come, Lion of Lannister. Make me relive that day… the day I killed your proud symbol." Raeghun challenged as Jaime found his feet. He discarded the shield, and rushed forward to return the blow, but Raeghun stepped to one side and turned, sending Jaime straight into a padded knee, Raeghun's elbow found his spine and he dropped to the ground again.

"Are swords the only weapons you are capable of using, knight?" the lord asked as he circled, and Jaime raised to his knees.

"I'm afraid I didn't go brawling in taverns as much as you did, my lord." he said, and took a deep breath.

"Oh, tavern brawling has nothing to do with it, ser." he mentioned. Claira looked up at Falgon, for any explanation and he smiled.

"Your husband is a wise man, your grace. On the battlefield, your enemy won't wait for you to retrieve your sword. If you lose it, your hands are the only weapons you have left. You must know how to use them." he clarified, and she suddenly understood why lord Rychard Taugere insisted that the men practised unarmed combat for at least two hours during their training each day. The fight continued as Jaime lunged forward and threw his arms around Raeghun's waist, then Raeghun turned and they fell on the ground as Raeghun twisted and assumed a place above the knight and brought his fist up to land a blow; but Jaime brought his hands up to protect his face.

"I yield!" he announced, and Raeghun lowered his fist.

"So much for the fearsome lion." he said, and stood. He held a hand to help the knight to his feet, which he accepted. The announcer decreed that lord Raeghun Taugere was the victor of the melee in front of the spectators, and they hailed him heartily. They left the arena and attending squires prepared the field for the next match. Claira turned to leave the stands, but Falgon blocked her way.

"Falgon, please I must go to him." she said, but he remained standing there with his back to her.

"My pardon, your elegance. But, please don't move." he advised, not turning towards her, his attention fixed on the people below the platform. She glanced past his arm to see a large man in leathers standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at him with venomous eyes. Then he grinned, and vanished between the moving people. After another moment, he stepped aside and allowed her to pass him. She hurried to the other side of the arena where she entered one of the pavilions to find her husband sitting on a wooden bench and a squire assisted him in removing the armour plating. Falgon remained at the entrance while she went to her husband and knelt in front of him, then he smiled at her.

"Raeghun, you're hurt." she said as her fingertips gently touched the scratch on his neck.

"It's not as bad as it looks; it doesn't even hurt, and it won't leave a scar." he assured, and her hand went to his face.

"It could have been worse." she whispered, and he took her hand in his.

"It could have. I expected more from him." he confessed, and with the last of the armour removed, he placed his arms around her and held her tightly.

"I offer you my victory, my lady." he whispered, and she buried her face in his neck.

"You've already given me everything I need." she praised. Falgon found himself smiling. What these people shared could be found once, even in multiple lifetimes. When they were together, when they held each other, when they spoke to one another, it was something you could feel; a sweet scent dispersing through the air around them. What an honour to be able to witness something like that, and he would be able to give himself to defend it.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 – THE SENTINEL

The final day of their stay in the capital came, and the guards with several of the castle hands were hard at work loading the back of the wheelhouse and a small wagon for their journey back to Mount Ardor. Falgon had been fervently welcomed by the members of their household guard, and the lesser hands that accompanied them in this journey. He learned that some members of the guard were named Sentinels of Flame, their charge was the attendance of the lord and lady. The leader of this elite group was named Berit. He was the third son of a lord to the Corridor, but chose life at the burning mountain as a sentinel to the lord and one of his close friends. For his skill and tranquillity Falgon had been assigned to the lady's side for the time being, until they reached Mount Ardor, something he was thankful for. He stood at her side in the garden as she watched the still water of the ocean from the garden grounds, and how the sunlight reflected off of it. She wore a wide sleeved dress of deep green with a delicate string of pearls around her neck, her hands folded comfortably in front of her. Quick footsteps drew his attention to a refined woman coming down the pathway with two guards in white cloaks following on each side. She stopped for a moment when she saw Falgon, then smiled at him confidently and passed him. The guards however, seemed to be debating their choice to follow or remain where they were. Then she stood next to the lady, following her gaze across the waters.

"You're leaving for the Corridor today?" she asked before turning to face Claira.

"Yes, your grace. There are matters that need our attendance." she confirmed, and the woman lowered her eyes to her hands before returning her attention to the horizon.

"I must apologise to you, lady Claira. My behaviour was not befitting of a queen." she said, seeming sincere.

"I accept your apology, your grace." Claira said, and then finally turned to her.

"Truly, I've been unmannerly towards you. And to make up for my discourtesy, I wish to present you with a gift." she said, taking a gold amulet with a fiery red ruby set in the centre from her sleeve and presenting it to Claira.

"It's lovely, your grace. Thank you." she took it and looked at the beautiful gem laying in her hand.

"I hope that you will wear it. Your husband is very capable. I've never seen my brother beat down like that. More than that I can see that he truly does love you." she took Claira's cold hand in hers, and held it for a moment.

"I wish you safe travels, lady Claira." she blessed, and then cast a glance at the sentinel standing nearby.

"But seeing that you have so many powerful men surrounding you, I don't think you should be concerned." she said, and with a final smile.

"Fair winds, and warm days to you, queen Cersei." Claira greeted, and with a pet to her cold hand the queen departed, strolling down the narrow garden path. Falgon watched the queen disappear through the shrubs with her guards following, and then turned and stepped closer to Claira.

"Shall we make for the departure, your elegance?" he asked, and she turned towards him.

"Yes. I believe that it is time we headed home." he bowed, and allowed her to pass him before following closely. As they neared a split in the garden path, a small man appeared and smiled at Claira.

"Lady Claira." he acknowledged, and she smiled back at him.

"Lord Tyrion. Have you come to see me off?" she asked as he approached.

"I would, if you don't mind it too much." he agreed, and then looked up at Falgon having to strain his back slightly.

"Oh, you're a big fellow, aren't you?" he said, examining the warrior's features.

"This is Falgon, lord Tyrion. The newest member of our household guard." Claira introduced him, and Tyrion smiled pointing up at him.

"I saw you fighting in the tourney as a mercenary. Lord Raeghun took you into his service quite recently." he recalled, and Falgon nodded.

"Very recently, my lord. But I am happy to be of assistance to her elegance." he said, and Tyrion's smile widened.

"Her elegance? Now that is something I will remember." he looked at Claira.

"Powerful, and polite. An unheard of combination, my lady. A wise choice." he said, and together they made their way to the awaiting mass to return home. They talked as they passed down long sunwashed corridors and went by nobles and castle hands alike, all sparing a glance at the small man, the fascinating lady and the tall warrior. Finally they descended the steps to the waiting procession and saw Raeghun speaking with two attending castle hands, and the king standing beside him with three kings guard in attendance. Tyrion bid the lady farewell with a polite kiss to her fingertips before returning back into the keep on other business, then she approached her husband as a castle hand came up to him and bowed his head.

"Everything is prepared, my lord." he announced, and then Raeghun turned to his friend.

"Fair winds, and warm days to you, king Robert." he said as they took arms, and the king smiled.

"And safe travels to you and your wife, lord Raeghun." he returned, and then looked at Falgon before raising a hand to indicate him.

"By the way, I wish to buy this man off you." he said, and Falgon bowed his head to the king.

"Pardon my bluntness, majesty. I am a man, not a bull. I cannot be bought." he said politely, and Robert turned to him.

"Then take up my offer. Fight for me, and I will sate every desire you have." he promised, and Falgon smiled.

"Tempting as your offer is, majesty. I'll respectfully decline. I wish to remain in the service of lord Taugere." he said, bowing.

"No one refuses a king." Robert said stepping forward, and then Falgon straightened up.

"Then I'll be the first, majesty." he said, and then Robert laughed heartily.

"Majesty?!" he bellowed, and then looked at Raeghun.

"This is a good one, Raeghun. Rock solid resolve! Hold on to him." he said, pointing at the warrior and Raeghun smiled as he put his hand on Claira's waist.

"There is only one thing that will tear me away, majesty." Falgon said as he glanced at the lord and lady.

"Good man. Very good. Fortune not always favours the rich, or the powerful." Robert reflected, and then held a hand to the lady to greet her. Falgon faced Raeghun, and bowed his head.

"With your consent, sire. I must retrieve my steed from the stable yard." Raeghun took Claira's hand and turned for the wheelhouse.

"Of course. Have several of my guards accompany you, and bring the horses I've acquired. We leave by the gate of the gods before noon." he instructed, and then led his wife to the wheelhouse to help her inside. Falgon bowed again, and then took his leave from the Red Keep and headed to the stable yard with several of the guards with him. The yard was packed with people, but they managed to retrieve a number of twelve horses that lord Raeghun acquired for his stables, among them six mares of which four were expectant, three young geldings, and three stallions including the lady's gift and the black warhorse Falgon had won off ser Gregor in their joust. He saddled his horse, and then felt the presence of someone beside him.

"Nomad!" he looked up into the face of his former companion.

"It's Falgon, Baret." he corrected, and the sell sword smiled.

"You'll always be Nomad to me. You're leaving today, too?" he enquired, and Falgon nodded before returning his attention to fastening the girth strap.

"Yes. And you?" Baret stroked his horse's nose.

"Yes. Which way are you going?" he said with a smile, and then looked back at Falgon.

"Through the gate of the gods, up north." Falgon said, and then they heard a call from further back where the mercenary party was preparing to mount.

"Baret! Which way?" one called, and Baret looked back.

"The god's gate." he instructed waving his hand to them. Falgon turned back to him after finishing fastening the saddle.

"You're travelling with us?" he asked, and Baret shrugged.

"Only as far as Harrenhal, so why not?" he mentioned, and Falgon glanced away thinking on the outcomes of such a joined venture.

"We won't obstruct you. We could help you, if anything." Baret insisted, and then Falgon looked back at him and their eyes met.

"If Igon-" he started, but Baret raised his hand knowingly.

"You'll kill him. I told him as much." he assured, and Falgon breathed in deeply. They mounted their steeds, and started heading out from the stable yard and through the city to the gate of the gods that would take them north. They waited in the field just beyond the gate of the gods, most of the party allowing their horses to graze on the green grass while Falgon kept watch on the road with Baret beside him. They registered the different people passing under the gate, merchants and farmers going in while nobles and their parties of guards left.

"Do you think we've missed them? We've been waiting a while." Baret asked from his place on his roan gelding, but Falgon remained looking at the gate.

"Lord Raeghun Taugere said before noon, we should see them any moment now." Falgon assured, and then smiled as the black banners with the fiery phoenix came into view. Four sentinels led the way, bearing the Taugere banners, then Falgon bowed his head as the wheelhouse followed dragged swiftly past by the brown geldings, and then two more guards followed by the small cart and then the remainder of the guard party with the horses. Falgon glanced at Baret, and then fell in behind the column. Baret looked back at his company, the Black Bannermen.

"Let's go make some gold!" he called, and they followed along the road behind the guards and the horses. The Kings Road led them over great fields with farms on both sides where farmers tended their lands with baskets and oxen, stalks of grain already raising high. They stopped near a wooded area with a calm stream to allow the horses to drink and the company to stretch their legs and enjoy a late lunch of bread, cheese and salted meat. Baret approached and bowed low to Raeghun and his wife before looking at Falgon.

"Nomad, you haven't introduced me to your liege yet." he mentioned with a smile. Falgon raised a hand to them.

"I present lord Raeghun and lady Claira Taugere, rulers of Mount Ardor and wardens of the Corridor." then he turned towards them, and bowed his head.

"Sire, your grace; may I present to you Baret. The leader of the Black Bannermen." Baret took her hand in a kind gesture.

"It is a greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance, milord and lady. May I offer you our services as well, for the extent of our journey together." he offered. They conversed for a short while on the many journeys of the Black Bannermen, and several recent victories against small rebellions and bandit raids. When the animals were well rested, they mounted and proceeded down the King's Road. Raeghun took to riding the fierce warhorse for the remainder of the day, but remained close to the wheelhouse. By the time the sun touched the horizon they stopped to make camp for the night. The horses were unharnessed and a rope spun between nearby trees to secure the mares, and the geldings, the stallions were haltered to a rope on the other side of the camp. A great fire was made in the midst of the camp site while guards set up pavilions to house the company for the night, and several hunters left into the woodland to find their supper. By nightfall, the fire was burning brightly and several smaller torches distributed around the camp site for light. Falgon stood brushing his horse with one hand, and a sweet red apple in the other that he shared with his steed after the third bite before continuing to groom over the muscled flanks. The wind was cool on the bare skin of his shoulders, back and chest; and he thought of the many things that awaited him.

"He's so calm." he looked back to see the lady stroking the stallion's nose.

"His name is Galeo. He's a warrior of sorts himself, your grace. He used to belong to a warlord." he said and her hand glided over the soft fur of the horse's neck.

"How did you come by him?" she asked as she drew her fingers through the shiny black mane.

"The same way I did your lord husband's new steed." he mentioned smiling, and then her hand went back to his nose and his lips gently nipped a piece of carrot and drew it into his jaw before chewing.

"I've never seen him accept delicacies from anyone." Falgon laughed, and she looked up at him.

"He's a lot like you." she mentioned, again stroking the strong neck, and Falgon brought the brush over Galeo's back once more.

"There is a time for war, and a time for peace, your grace. The wise know to distinguish between the two." the warrior said looking up into the breeze, then she turned towards him.

"How interesting you are, Falgon." she wondered, and he bowed his head to her.

"I've had interesting experiences, your grace. Perhaps, one day if it please you, I may share my stories with you." he suggested, and her smile lit up while the new light of the stars danced in her eyes.

"I would like that, very much." she accepted, and then she turned after a last stroke down the horse's neck.

"Well, good night, Falgon." she greeted.

"Sleep well, your grace." he bowed low and watched her leave. In the distance he could hear the jabbering of the returning hunters from the woodlands. She followed the torchlight and rounded the wheelhouse on her way to their pavilion, and then a large man stepped in front of her, his arm resting against the side of the wheelhouse and blocking her way forward.

"Pardon, ser." she tried to pass him, but he stood his ground and lowered himself to bring his face closer to hers.

"You stole an ace from us. I would expect some kind of compensation for that." he said in a low voice, and her eyes met his.

"We stole nothing. He accepted the offer freely." she defended, and could smell a telling odour of ale coming off him.

"He belonged to us. He took five lives from us." he said and she felt the Taugere name screaming inside of her, the phoenix fire blazing from her chest, but her eyes remained their ever cold blue.

"And how many did he have to take for you? His debt has been paid long ago." she determined, but the man moved closer to her.

"I've never seen Nomad as enamoured with anyone, as with you. Countless whores have offered themselves to him, he wouldn't have one. You're a special kind of hag, aren't you?" he said, his other hand coming around and leaning against the wall of the wheelhouse to block her in.

"How dare you!" the phoenix fire was screeching, but he came even closer, his cheek almost against hers.

"Would I be able to break your hold on him, if I broke you?" he whispered threateningly, when a hand suddenly dug into his shoulder and hauled him backwards, and he tumbled on the grass.

"You fucking blot of hound puke!" he yelled, Falgon stood in front of her, facing the enraged mercenary.

"My pardon, your grace. I believe it best that you return to your lord husband at once." he said, and without question she hurried away to safety.

"You deceitful piece of snake gut. You belonged to us!" Igon called.

"I never belonged to you. I am hers. Have been for a long time, longer than you could try to imagine." Falgon clarified as Igon got to his feet.

"So you want her, eh? Which parts of yourself will you offer to her? On which parts are you hoping to feast behind her man's back? Are you that selfish? A woman like that, there's enough to go around." the mercenary said as he started to circle Falgon. He could no longer feel the cool of the breeze on his skin, but a warmth like dragon flame rush over every part of his body.

"Hold your tongue, Igon. Or I'll rip it out for you!" Falgon said as he watched the man slowly come around him. Then he raised his hands slightly in a gesture.

"Tell you what, I'll make the first offering to her. I'll start with your balls!" he lunged forward and thrust a fist towards Falgon's face, landing a blow to his jaw. He staggered, and saw Igon come at him again from his left shoulder with a raised fist. He pulled back sharply and the strike missed, and Igon plummeted by him. Like a constricting serpent, Falgon's arms went around Igon's shoulders and throat and he forced him to his knees in a vicious hold, then he pulled back and the mercenary strained to try and bring air into his body.

"If you ever threaten her again; if you ever come near her again, I will snap your neck." he promised, and then Raeghun emerged from the shadows with Baret close behind.

"Enough!" he called, his voice drifting over the field, and Falgon released his victim and threw him down on the ground, hard enough that his face met the soil before he stood up and stepped back. Baret came forward and threw a bag at Igon's head.

"Igon, take your raiders and ride ahead." he instructed, and Igon rose to his knees.

"It's dark, Baret." he breathed, and Baret scoffed.

"I don't care if it's dead! You have torches! Take your men and fuck off!" he ordered again, and Igon found his feet before reluctantly moving away while rubbing his neck. Baret turned to Raeghun.

"I'm so sorry, lord Taugere." he apologized, but Raeghun remained where he was.

"Your men attacked one of mine." he insisted, and Baret looked at the ground somewhere searching for an explanation.

"I'll deal with him, milord. Igon has been somewhat... unstable, for the past week or so." he finally managed, and Raeghun scanned the remaining men, and listened to the departing hoofbeats.

"See to it then. At the very least, no one was killed." he determined, and then returned to his former activities. Falgon moved through the camp site to the tents on the east side close to the fire, and leaned against the crates that were removed from the wagon earlier this day. From a water skin, he soaked his face, shoulders, back and chest, attempting to douse the flames with it. The rage he'd just experienced, was something lost to him for years; but when he saw the mercenary standing so close to her, everything about his posture screaming his intentions it flamed like the fires of hell in him… He could have killed him, he should have… gods knew he wanted to. He had no right, even the thought of anyone going close to her angered him, and he couldn't tell why. There was only one man that would enter her inner circle, that could have the freedom to touch her; to hold her, to caress her, to kiss her. Only one man that would be her lord, was there not? Only one man…

"Falgon." Berin stood beside him, and he turned.

"I'm al right. I'm uninjured." he assured, and the sentinel grinned.

"He swiped you good, you know." he said examining the area where the fist struck him.

"His muscles are all air." Falgon said with modesty, and Berin motioned to the burning fire.

"Come, we've had a long day. The rabbits are nearly done, and the vegetables are steaming nicely." he invited. After throwing on a faded shirt he joined the guards, hands, remaining 'Bannermen' and sentinels by the fire while their evening meal was distributed, listening to the many different conversations between laughter. The remainder of the evening passed without incident, and Berin walked with him back to the tents.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" they stopped in front of one of the smaller tents, and Falgon turned towards him.

"Ask away." Berin smiled at him.

"You've been in our company for a few days, but you're severely protective of lady Claira. Why?" he asked, and Falgon had to look away from him.

"I don't know, Berin. I can't give you any answers... other than I belong to her." then he looked back at him.

"I have no words to make you understand. I could describe it as a thirst, but that would only be touching the pinnacle of the reality of it." he couldn't think of any way to clarify it. To bring sense to the feeling or any of the circumstances that led him to this.

"You love her." Berin said intentionally, and Falgon's eyes went to the large pavilion several feet away; where he knew she was safe in her husband's comfort.

"How could I love her, when she belongs to another?" he diminished the thought, but Berin remained gently smiling in the soft light of the torches.

"I'm not reprimanding you, Falgon. The more you love, the stronger you are, despite many telling you otherwise. And to do what you've done, to give what you've given, you must love fiercely." he turned and started heading away to a different tent just down the line from his. Falgon stood for a moment longer before entering the tent and assuming is place on the bedroll, he looked up at the canvas of the tent stretched out over the ground and his mind wandered from the past to the present and into the future, but again sleep would not find him.

Several days passed without incident as they followed the King's Road to the north, and by late noon the hight towers of Harrenhal came into view on the horizon. Falgon and Baret paused on a small hill where the roads split, and watched as the Black Bannermen parted from the column continuing up to the north. Baret extended a hand to Falgon.

"And so our paths part. We head to wherever the fuck it is our next meal comes from; and you my friend, head for Mount Ardor, The Burning Mountain." Falgon took his arm in a gesture.

"You've heard of it?" he asked as they shook wrists.

"Only from tales." he turned his horse around.

"Fair winds to you, Nomad. I wish you happiness in your new duty; and I hope that you find that what you've been looking for so long." he said, and Falgon's gaze went back to the column still passing by heading to their destination, and finally his eyes fell on the wheelhouse.

"I think I might just have, Baret." he said, and they parted ways. Baret put his heels to his horse, passing to an easy canter towards the front of the group, and Falgon took his place close to the back of the wheelhouse. Another week passed without incident as they journeyed across fields and between farmsteads and past towns, the broken towers of an old ruin passed them at some point. They made camp between being hosted at a hold, and two estates. They stopped at an inn just after mid day on the 17th day of their journey. After stepping inside to speak with the inn keeper, Raeghun emerged and signalled for their company to dismount.

"We'll stay here until morning." Raeghun instructed as he helped Claira from the wheelhouse. Guards and hands started unloading necessities from the back of the wheelhouse and bringing them into the inn. The horses were stabled, groomed and fed while the party restored on chicken stew with bread and sweet mead before settling in and letting a sense of euphoria take them. After feeling well rested, Claira approached Raeghun.

"If you don't mind, my lord; I would enjoy a ride to the fields for a while." she suggested, and he nodded before standing up and winding his arms around her.

"Of course, I'm sure the wheelhouse has left you somewhat dejected." he said, and placed his lips against her in a gentle kiss.

"I won't wander far. Five guards will accompany me." She promised. A small group made their way down the road, and circled the small valley around the small hold towards a wooded area, a quiet stream drizzling in the quiet of the late afternoon. The guards brought up their experiences during the tourney, emphasizing the great matches. Falgon rode close to Claira's side.

"Your hair is beautiful, your grace. I once read a book, in which a fair maiden displayed locks of copper and onyx." he mentioned, drawing her attention from the narrow path that stretched out in front of them towards a wooded area.

"You can read?" she sounded slightly surprised.

"I can, your grace." he smiled, looking down to the ground.

"Who taught you?" she asked slowing Brazier to bring Falgon and Galeo up beside her.

"A maester, from one of the castles we served." he told, and they moved forward again.

"He must have been a kind man, to take the time to teach a sell sword how to read." she thought, imagining kind maester Adlyn back at Mount Ardor.

"He was. He spent his days helping those who stood under their lord's protection, and those who didn't." he said, remembering his days spent in the maester's chamber.

"Do you have any other skills, apart from reading and swinging a sword?" she asked, and he laughed modestly.

"I can play the lute, your grace." he mentioned.

"Strange interest, for a sell sword?" she thought, and he looked back at her.

"I didn't start out a sell sword, your grace." he said, and she looked away from him, a sense of sadness veiling her clear eyes.

"No, of course not. You wanted to be a knight, I suppose. But life took you down a different path." she assumed while reflecting on the many fates life threw at people. But he moved his horse closer, still smiling.

"Paths take many turns, your grace. They go up peaks, down hills and around bends. But all lead to the same place in the end. We don't always get to choose the pathways we take, only the way we walk them." A light breeze whistled through the treetops, and he looked back.

"My apologies for asking this of you, your grace. Can you race that magnificent steed?" he asked, and she halted her stallion, looking back at him.

"Of course, Falgon. Why?" he resumed his way forward.

"For any event you may have need of it, your grace." They continued down the path, and in a sudden horrifying moment blood spewed from the neck of the guard leading the way in front of her; a bolt lodged in the soft flesh unprotected by his helm and mail armour, and he fell from his horse. The remaining guards clamoured around her, desperately trying to shield her from the onslaught. Falgon drew his sword from his back at the sound of hoof-beats coming through the trees.

"Ride now, as hard as you ever have." he said, and she set off with two guards following; they left him and one guard there to face whatever came. Through the trees they raced, and came to a sudden halt as seven men leapt from the bushes lining the forest path. Two more arrows found fatal entry points through the armour of her remaining protectors.

"What have we here?" the men surrounding her laughed, hostile and ill. Rough hands grabbed her and dragged her from her stallion's back. Another hand grabbed for his reins, but he reared and sped off in the direction of the inn.

"Such a lovely thing, all alone in the woods?" the man approached, bringing his face close to hers.

"Release me." she demanded as she struggled against the firm hold on her.

"Lovely, and spirited. What a combination." he grinned, and looked at the others as they came closer, laughing heinously.

"Let go of me!" fear drenched in anger fuelled her body, and her muscles tensed in the unavailing effort until the hands tightened around her and crushed her against a brawny frame, driving air from her lungs, and the strength from her heart.

"Would that I could, but I'm afraid these men have not been with a woman in three months, I believe that you can understand that our situation has left them a bit... unsaturated." he laughed again, cruel and despicable as the men surrounded her. One forced her to the ground as another's hand grappled with his breeches. She tried to fend him off, but soiled hands grasped her wrists harshly and held her down. Others gripped her ankles, pulling at the protesting muscles. The man in front of her dropped to his knees and grabbed the seam of her dress, bringing it up past her knees.

"No! Let go-" another hard hand pressed tightly on her mouth, stifling the cry and limiting her breathing. A racing heartbeat pulsed in her ears, so loud it drowned out everything else, and she was left staring at the grinning faces of demons, and she resolved to close her eyes refusing to yield, and the only thing she could think of was Raeghun. ' _Please forgive me, my love..._ ' Animalistic screams filled the woods, and blood dripped from the bark of the trees around her; the unkind hands that restrained her vanished.

"That's no way to treat a lady." A cloak the colour of earth covered her then, and she looked up to see a dark warrior standing over her; a massive sword clasped in his hand. The remaining men stepped back, four lay dead about her. She clasped the cloak, holding it close.

"You fucking bastard!" they drew swords and lunged at him, but with a swipe quick as lightning he severed a head, opened a gaping wound to another's gut and plunged the great sword into the last bandit's chest. He gasped, and slid from the steel to find his final resting place on the woodland trail in a patch of deep red. Falgon replaced the sword on his back, and went to Claira.

"I apologise again, your grace. I must have come sooner. Are you injured?" he said, kneeling beside her. She threw her arms around him, shaking uncontrollably and after a moment of uncertainty he allowed his hands to gently rest on her back, comforting and sure.

"They... They..." The words were soft, but nothing else would be uttered.

"It's al right now, they can't hurt you." he assured, then picked her up and made his way to his bay stallion waiting nearby. He lifted her up onto its back, and mounted behind her; then they made their way back to the inn. Crossing a hill, they saw riders coming their way, Raeghun at their front.

"I do believe that your lord husband has missed you." he said calmly, but her shuddering had not eased. They met in the field, and Raeghun dismounted.

"What happened?!" he demanded as he came to them, his arms held out for her.

"We encountered ill intent on our way, sire. The lady is in need of your presence, she has been greatly alarmed." Falgon answered, allowing her to slowly slip from the saddle into his hands. He held her close, feeling the quiver of her body.

"Find them! Find them now! I want their heads!" he ordered, and several guards raced off to the woodlands.

"You may have their heads, sire. But I apologise that I stole their lives from you." Falgon reported.

"How many?" Raeghun asked as his arms constricted around her shaking frame.

"Eleven men, sire." Falgon concluded, and Raeghun could feel his skin burning with rage.

"And the guards?" Falgon shook his head dolefully.

"They fought bravely, sire. But I'm afraid our party became overwhelmed." Raeghun's paused for a moment, pressing his mouth against her hair, and even here felt the tremors like ripples through her.

"Did they-" he started, but stopped. Not knowing how to continue.

"By the grace of the gods, no sire." he reported. The lord breathed in deeply, but couldn't think of any way to further comfort her, to bring her closer to him while his arms held her like those of the feared sigil of the Greyjoys, and his lips found her brow gently; then he looked back at Falgon.

"You have done me a great service. I will not forget this." Falgon bowed his head; and they returned to the inn. Bodies and heads were brought back, a total of fifteen men. A pyre was built to burn the bandits, the bodies of the guards were prepared to be taken home so they may be laid to rest by their families. Claira had not been seen since she was brought back to the safety of the tavern, but Raeghun's voice could at times be heard as he issued orders to guards and hands. The sun disappeared from the world, and the company supped on butter baked goose and parsley sprinkled potatoes with sweet carrots and creamed spinach while long horns of ale washed it down. For a sweetness they were served 'Sunbird tails', a fried pastry soaked in sugar syrup. Long after all else had retired for the night, Falgon remained in the main hall in front of the fireplace watching the flames dance and flicker in all their shades of red and blue. He heard a door to the back open and close before footsteps sounded over the wood flooring towards him, and Berin sat down next to him with a fresh horn of ale in his hand. He brought it to his mouth and swallowed slowly, then he sat back in the chair, and joined in watching the ballet of the flames.

"What happened out there?" he asked softly, but Falgon's eyes never left the flames; the flames he could feel touching his skin this very moment.

"Men ambushed us, it seems they knew what they were doing. They targeted the guards first. They intended to rape her, perhaps hold her for ransom after they did that, most likely." he said, and allowed his eyes to momentarily dwell away from the light of the fire and scan the outside through a near window.

"Thank the gods then that you were there, Falgon." he said, bringing the horn back to his lips.

"I saved her, but I couldn't save the others." he said softly, but Berin nodded.

"The lady's safety is paramount, she is the only one you need to be concerned for. The others knew the risks of their duty, and they were willing to face whatever came with it. They died for it, and you didn't. This says a lot of your capabilities." Berin said, and Falgon looked his way.

"I've not been wounded in combat in years. And as long as I am able to move I will not allow any harm to come to her." he determined.

"You're well experienced then. Taking this in to account, I will mention to lord Raeghun to have you named one of us; as far as I am aware there has been none other that would be better suited to the lady's personal guard." he said, and Falgon's eyes went back to the fire, listening to the silence that held the inn in the deep of night.

"Claira. You need to eat something." Raeghun insisted, glancing at the untouched plate of food on the table and then back at her where she sat on the bed.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, and he went to her side.

"For what?" he asked as he knelt beside her.

"I shouldn't have gone so far. I shouldn't have gone out... It's my fault... I shouldn't have... I'm sorry..." her hands covered her face, and her shoulders shook in light sobs. He put his arms around her again, holding her close against him.

"It's not your fault. Not in the least." he comforted, and her hands crumpled the fabric of his tunic between her fingers.

"I'm so sorry..." she breathed against him, and he moved to sit next to her.

"Claira, listen to me." he pulled back and took her tear stained face in his hands, bringing her eyes to his.

"It's not your fault. Don't ever think it is." he told her, and then took her close to him again with his arms tightly around her, and she cried until she finally fell asleep against his chest. With the sunrise they left the inn, watching as the smouldering pyre from the night before disappeared behind them. Claira distanced herself from their household guards and the hands that accompanied them, she kept to the safety of the wheelhouse and only left it in her husband's presence after the camp sites had been fully prepared. She ate very little to nothing as the sight of food left a disgusted feeling in her bowels; she fell asleep in his arms each night and would wake screaming before strong arms held her and she recognised Raeghun's voice. One late afternoon they passed a stately farmstead, and the kind farmer, a large man with dark auburn hair and a full beard invited the company to remain there for the night and share his comforts. The guards erected their tents on the grounds as the farm worker, an elderly ebony skinned man herded cattle into a corral while his son, a youth that had seen his twentieth year chopped firewood next to the stone farm home, a smaller stone home stood off to one side already alive with candle light inside. A selection of livestock roamed the farm-grounds, four ewes and a ram stood grazing on the grass while a flock of chickens and geese pecked at the ground and sounded their calls into the twilight air. In a thatch roof stable a pair of great plough horses nibbled on fresh straw as a small foal nursed on his mother, and in a pen aside the home several pigs were chewing on their supper of discarded vegetables and grain while others lay in a muddy pool. The lord and lady was offered lodging inside. They shared supper with the farmer and his family, and the farmer's wife, a woman of equal size to her husband with soft strawberry coloured hair under a headdress and a kind face offered to have a bath prepared for her honoured guests. The house worker, a short plump woman stirred a great cauldron of beef stew while the farmer's wife prepared bread and had her son, a boy with the likeness of his father that could have been ten, roll a barrel of mead from their stores to sate their thirst, and a long blonde haired little girl aged around six or seven was charged with wiping filth from wooden spoons. On Raeghun's instruction, the sentinels would take their watch in the main hall. Amidst their feast they conversed on topics of the land, and many other light events. Raeghun lowered his goblet to the table after the plates were removed from the table, and the farmer's wife and her assistant led the lady away to a warm bath, the little girl skipping along excited at the prospect of being allowed to brush out the beautiful marbled locks. Raeghun remained in the company of the farmer while most of the guards took their leave to retire for the night. Berin took a place in front of the fireplace to begin his watch.

"You treat your people well, my good man. It is something that, sadly, not all get to experience." Raeghun mentioned.

"Thank you, my lord. That man is not just my helper, he's like an older brother to me. We built this farmstead together, from a tiny little vegetable patch to what it is now. Our families have spent many winters together, in front of one fire. He came to Westeros from somewhere across the Narrow Sea as a boy, and my father took him in. We've been tilling fields together ever since." he told, and Raeghun smiled.

"It is good that there are still people that value the lives of others, no matter their origin or their circumstances." he said, and drank from the horn.

"What is the value of gold, against a life, my lord? Slaves are bought and sold, but the life we have here, what that man and his family helped me build, could not be acquired with a hundred chests of silver." the farmer said, and a moment later the aged ebony face of the house servant glowed in the fire light behind him.

"Your lady awaits you, milord." she announced, and Raeghun emptied his horn.

"I wish you a peaceful night, and thank you for your hospitality." Raeghun said as he stood, and the farmer smiled at him.

"Any time, my lord. It is not often that we are graced by finery such as yourselves, and your lovely lady." he said as he raised his horn to bid the lord good night. Raeghun ascended the steps and made his way to the room that had been prepared for them while the farmer's son laid his head to rest on a soft sheepskin bedroll on the floor of his sister's chamber down the corridor. He found Claira sitting on the feather bed, dressed in a soft blue gown of chiffon. She stood as he entered and closed the door behind him. He went to her, and put his arms around her.

"We've had a long day." he said, intending to make use of the bed. She leaned against him, her arms winding around his waist.

"I don't want to sleep. When I sleep, I dream; and in every dream they are there around me, on me..." she trailed off, and his lips pressed against her brow. He cursed himself for feeling so useless, for not knowing what to do. How do you protect the one you love, against something you can't see or touch? She pulled back slightly and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him longingly while her arms circled his neck and he could feel heat stirring inside of him. His hands went up to her shoulders to release her from the dress, but then he drew back and laid his head against hers.

"Claira, I won't." he said, and her arms tightened.

"I don't want you to feel this way. I don't want you to feel like you can't touch me, that you can't love me. I want things to go back to the way they were." she said, hoping that his passion will break the hold that what happened, and the recurring the dream had on her. He breathed in.

"Claira..." her left hand touched his face, icy fingertips running down his cheek to his jaw.

"Please, Raeghun." he leaned forward and captured her lips with his, and gently pulled the dress ribbons from her shoulders, and the dress fell to her feet; her bare skin softly glowing in the candle light while she returned his caress. He rid himself of his clothing, and lifted her from the floor before retreating to the comfort of the bed. Her skin was ice against his fire, and his hands gently caressed the contours of her figure. She breathed him in, her hands straining against the flesh of his shoulders. His mouth traced the line of her neck down to her chest and her skin rippled under his touch. He gently brought her knees past his hips and closed the distance between them, then kissed her again. He heard her gasp when she felt his bare skin against hers, then he strained and moved, making her breathe in sharply as he entered her. His hands gripped the furs on either side of her face and hers clawed as his back, prohibiting him from retreat. He moved again, bringing soft sweet moans from her chest as he made love to her. Slaked, they lay close together with his arms around her, and her breaths against his chest. Sleep took her then, deeply and securely. She was riding again, through a woodland where dark shadows cast long masses over the field. The field was a haze of grey, and thick mist veiled the heavy hooves of the horses as they trudged along an invisible trail. A calm breeze rustled through the thicket, but made no sound. She could see the guards around her talking to one another, but their faces were featureless, only shadows where eyes and mouths should have been. _"_ _Your hair is beautiful, your grace. I once read a book, in which a fair maiden displayed locks of copper and onyx."_ she looked around, but could not pinpoint where the voice came from, it seemed to flow by her like the wind through her hair. _"I didn't start out a sell sword, your grace."_ the voice was calm and comforting, it made her feel safe in this grey fog. She could make out other voices, far in the distance. Urgent and aggressive, but the words were muffled and unclear. The guards around her did not seem to notice the humming. _"_ _My apologies for asking this of you, your grace. Can you race that magnificent steed?"_ the earth pounded as the sound of hoof beats rushed across hills, all on the horizon that she could not see. The sound of a sword being drawn brought her hands to her chest. _"Ride now, as hard as you ever have."_ the world shattered into shades of red, and the guards around her were riddled with arrows and bolts protruding from every possible angle and they fell slowly to the mist covered ground; large deep shadows drowned out screams from their faded mouths. Dark masses emerged from the fog around her in a circle, eyes glowing yellow like embers and lips grinning with teeth like snarling wolves. Rough hands took hold of her and dragged her from the back of a horse that was not there.

"Let go of me!" the scream was dry, bereft of any sound as the air was driven harshly from her lungs. _"_ _Would that I could, but I'm afraid these men have not been with a woman in three months, I believe that you can understand that our situation has left them a bit... unsaturated."_ those words tore through her like a stone through a pond, leaving a tormented surface behind.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" was little more than a breath as they tore the dress from her, the fabric ripping like parchment. She fought, but her limbs felt like lead and she was easily overpowered by the shadows and forced to the ground where cruel hands restrained her. A shadow dropped to its knees in front of her and fumbled to release himself before leaning forward onto her. She screamed until her chest ached, but every cry was drowned out by the intense pounding of her racing heartbeat. She closed her eyes and wished for death when he entered, every muscle wailing in resentment as she tried to resist the onslaught, while the shadow painfully destroyed her. The sound of a blade slicing through air and flesh made her gasp, but this time she did not wake like normal and the pain suddenly vanished as gentle arms brought her up from the ground. She opened her eyes to see a lush green field while snowflakes dropped on the breeze from the sky, and the sun cast its bright rays upon them, and a feeling of complete calmness washed over her. Glancing down she wore a warm fur lined dress of blue silk that kept the cold of the frost wind away. And then her eyes went up to the face above her, dark hair falling around powerful shoulders. For a moment she thought of Raeghun, and then he moved and blocked the sun from her eyes. Bright eyes the colour of blood looked down at her from her sentinel's face; and then she realized where they were. He was standing with her in his arms, in the midst of the standing stones. She woke with a start, breathing in deeply and trying to suppress the prickling in her muscles. She looked to see Raeghun at her side, still asleep and she breathed out calmly. She stood from the bed and ventured through the silence of the farmstead, making her way down to the main hall where a warm fire still burned. She found him sitting in front of the fire place, his attention on the flames and she approached him softly.

"Falgon?" he stood and turned before bowing to her.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he asked, and for a moment she couldn't think of anything to say.

"I never thanked you." she confessed, and he smiled gently.

"No thanks is needed, your grace." he insisted, and then she looked up at him, the shadows casting dark lines across his face.

"But still, you saved me, again. So, thank you." he bowed his head to her, then she glanced to the sword leaning against the wall next to the hearth.

"This is an astonishing sword." she noted, and he looked back.

"Thank you, your grace. It is named Summit. It belonged to my father, and his before him." he said as he took it and traced the blade's edge with his eyes. She held out her hands.

"May I?" she requested, and he rested the blade on his free palm to present the sword to her.

"Of course. Do be careful, I've just sharpened the edges." he warned, and her fingers slid around the leather woven grip. His hands slowly eased away from the sword as her hand strained to lift the blade, but she lifted it with less effort than she thought.

"It's lighter than I expected." she mentioned before turning and bringing her arm over to rest the flat of the blade on her palm while the tip rested on the floor behind her.

"It's Valyrian steel." he clarified, and she studied the face on the sword.

"The carving, I've never seen anything so... frightening." it had the likeness of the front features of a horse skull, with long jagged teeth. Long horns curved out from under what seemed like a bristled mane from the sides to form the cross guard, and deep, dark crimson eyes leered at her.

"A representation of... something old, and lost." he explained, and watched as she examined the fine edge.

"How did your family come by this sword?" she asked, tracing the carved lines with a thumb.

"Old family heirloom, your grace." he said.

"Only noble houses have these kind of weapons." she mentioned, bringing the blade back around her and resting it on her hands again.

"Perhaps, somewhere in my history there was a nobleman." he shrugged, and she smiled before looking at him again, and their eyes met.

"You bear it very well, Falgon. You deserve a sword like this." she praised as she handed the sword back to him, and he bowed his head again.

"It kept me alive all these years, but it was made for better things. Now I may use it to defend you, and bring honour to your house." he said, placing the sword back in its place next to the hearth and turning to face her again. He lowered himself slightly, to bring his face closer to hers.

"I will never allow any harm to come to you." he promised truly, and a light red flush lightened her cheeks.

"I know." their eyes met a final time.

"Good night, Falgon." she said, and he bowed low.

"Sleep well, your grace." she turned and then paused, turning back to him as he sat down on the chair on the hearth.

"By the way, how did you know?" she asked, and he looked back at her.

"I didn't, your grace. But I spent five years with mercenaries, we flushed out rats from places like that before." he said, and she nodded. She made her way back to the room and resumed her place next to her husband who drowsily wrapped her in the safety of his arms, and they slept until the sun peeked over the horizon. They departed the farmstead that day, leaving a purse of gold coins as compensation for their stay. The road took them over and between green hills where honey farms produced the name of the gold fields. They made camp and for the first night in days, she slept without torment. By noon the day after, the burning mountain loomed from atop its hill with banners fluttering in the breeze. The column passed by the road that led to Garde's Post to the portcullis and they spread out into the bailey. Castle hands emerged from the doors to stable the horses and unload the cart to bring the chests and crates inside. The court master dressed in black and crimson waited on the steps to welcome them home while the smiling court maiden waited behind in the doorway dressed in summer green velvet. Bright eyes regarded them from a beautiful face and long ash blonde locks fell down her back. After issuing their greetings and the lord and lady entered the hold, she came down the steps to the dismounting guards. Berin handed the reins of his horse to a stable boy, and opened his arms to her as she hurried to him. Her arms wound around his shoulders in a warm embrace as his closed around her waist in a gentle swing.

"Welcome home." she said, and he drew back taking her face in his hands.

"Gods, how I've missed you." he leaned forward and kissed her. Then he looked up and called Falgon over to them.

"Milla, this is Falgon. I hope to have him assigned to the sentinels, he's a skilled warrior and a loyal friend." then his eyes went to him.

"And I have the great honour of presenting lady Claira Taugere's court maiden, Milla. The sunflower of the Corridor, and my light in the dark. We trust to be wed in the sept by the next full moon." he said wrapping an arm around her.

"Such a pleasure to meet you, ser Falgon." he bowed to her.

"The pleasure is mine, lady Milla. But please, I'm no 'ser'." he corrected politely.

"It makes no difference to me whether you were knighted or not ser, you are a part of our order now. I shall address you accordingly." she said, and Berin laughed.

"Beautiful, and strong willed. I was favoured by the gods." Falgon shared his laugh,

"If your gods favour you any more, you'll find yourself with attempts on your life." he said, and she blushed.

"Come, there are many others that have yet to meet you." and they led him inside the hold. Milla resumed her duties as Berin showed Falgon the barracks where they would be housed. A stone hall with several long tables and a warm hearth connected to the Hall of Fire, while another door led to the tower with its many bed chambers. A second door opened to a level with stairs going down to the outer bailey, and a third led to an inner bailey where the guards trained on dummies and straw targets. He found Mount Ardor as pleasant as it was fascinating, and for the first time he could say he felt like he had come home. The day passed on, and later orders were issued to prepare the Hall of Fire for an accolade the following day. Milla stood rummaging through a long wardrobe, helping Claira choose a garment for the coming ceremony while she sat on the bed. She pulled an ivory dress and displayed it to Claira.

"May I suggest this one, my lady?" Claira glanced up.

"It's lovely; but perhaps something more suited to our house name. Light colours are not befitting of the occasion." she dismissed, and Milla continued her search. They finally decided on a deep red cloaked gown with wide sleeves and a gold thread sash. A gold string of pearls and rubies would adorn her throat along with a gold and silver intricate circlet set with a garnet around her brow.

"Thank you, Milla. You may retire for the day if you so wish. The court master Metron can see to the rest. I'm sure you would relish some time with your betrothed." Claira said, and Milla smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, my lady." she said, but remained a moment longer.

"Are you al right?" she asked, coming over to her.

"I'm fine. It's been a long journey." she said, and looked up and out the door to the balcony overlooking the fields.

"You've met Falgon?" she asked.

"I have, my lady." Milla replied, and then Claira looked at her.

"What do you think of him?" she asked, and Milla reflected for a moment.

"He's pleasant. He is well mannered, and strong for many reasons. Some less obvious than others." she said, and sat down on the bed next to Claira.

"Does he worry you, my lady?" she asked, and Claira chuckled.

"No, not in the least. He saved my life, more than once. The gods may curse me for saying this, but I am glad that he is here. His presence makes me feel safe." Milla leaned forward.

"Then that is good. I've heard tell that Berin wishes for him to join their order of sentinels. He may even be assigned as your personal sentinel, given his devotion to responsibility." she mentioned, and Claira breathed out slowly.

"I trust that my lord husband will make the best choice, and regardless of his position he will remain here at Mount Ardor as a member of our household guard." Milla nodded.

"I'm sure he will. Good evening, my lady." she stood up, and Claira smiled.

"Good night, Milla." she left the room, and Claira lay on the bed finally free from the confines of the road. Deep and peaceful sleep took her suddenly. She dreamed of the endless green fields, the summer blue sky and clear rivers of the Corridor; and woke to a lightening sky with Raeghun next to her. The morning was busy with the final preparations for the ceremony, and by mid day their people massed in the Hall of Fire, and Raeghun took his place on the throne in front of the blazing hearth. Claira stood on his right side with Milla and Metron behind her, and Berin to Raeghun's left. He accepted several young men and boys into the castle guard and service before his attention went to Falgon.

"Come forward, and state your name." he called, and Falgon moved forward. He knelt on the steps, and lay his sword at his feet before bowing his head, and then looking up to the lord.

"I have been named Falgon, sire. It is the name your lady wife chose to give me." he said, and lowered his eyes again.

"Lord Raeghun Taugere, sire of Mount Ardor. I offer my services to you, and to your lady, Claira Taugere. I will shield you, and keep your counsel, and give my being for yours if need be. I pledge my sword, my very existence to you, for every reason you may need it. I swear it by every god there is, or will be." he vowed, and Raeghun smiled.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new." he agreed, and Falgon raised his eyes.

"I am yours, lord and lady. Now and always, until I am reclaimed by the earth." he further added, and Raeghun stood. His voice filling every corner of the great hall.

"Arise. Let it then be known throughout my halls, and my domain – you have been named Falgon. I further name you Falgon of the Fire Hall, and Sentinel of Flame. It is the highest position in my power to grant." he announced, and was met by applause from the attending people.

"You honour me, sire. Beyond merit. To the best of my abilities, I will not fail you." he promised, and Raeghun's smile broadened.

"Keep your promise to me. I assign you as my wife's sentinel. Shield her life with yours." he said, and Falgon found his words swept away from him. Raeghun held his hand for Claira, and brought her fingers to his lips. A girl emerged from behind them with a brightly coloured pillow in her hands, on it lay a pin fashioned from gold in the likeness of a flame. Claira descended the steps towards him with the girl following, then took the pin from the cushion and fastened it to the cloak around Falgon's shoulders on the left side, just above his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 – THE PHOENIX

Since coming back home from the tourney, days had been long and peaceful, the nights deep and silent; until recent raids on the honey farms started. Following reports of a new group of bandits that named themselves 'the red bears' Raeghun had sent parties out to investigate, and bring an end to the attacks if they could. By sunset two days past, a scout returned with confirmation that the band had set up in a cave near the Flint Cliffs, and he went out himself with a party of soldiers to extinguish the threat; returning with a new scar. He sat on the edge of the bed holding his left arm above his head and resting his wrist against his neck as his wife helped clean and dress the wound. He stared at the wood floor as he felt the cold fingers run across the broken skin just under his shoulder blade and around to his chest, where the armour did not reach.

"It's healing well." Claira mentioned as she replaced a small jar of green Myrrh and Achillea ointment back on the table before covering the injury with linen bands. Maester Adlyn assured there would be no need of bandages as these strips would adhere to the skin for several hours before falling off. Raeghun nodded, and returned his attention to the floor underneath his feet, feeling the cold pressure as she pressed the viscous cloth to his skin. It may have been a foolish decision to go, even ser Austinus Schmidinger, their master-at-arms advised him against it. But he wanted to go, he needed to. It was his duty, to keep his people safe, wasn't it? It's what his father would have done, or he believed it would be. Then the hands left him, and she sat back.

"Al right. Don't go straining yourself." he lowered his arm and took a shirt from beside him before turning to her.

"Thank you, my sweet." he kissed her before pulling the shirt over his head and shoulders, letting it fall to his waist.

"I need to attend to our court matters today, so I won't be able to go off the castle grounds. And then there is the matter of what to do with the remaining red bears." she lowered her feet to the ground.

"What are you planning, to do with them?" she asked, and he breathed out slowly.

"They will most likely be hanged, for their crimes." he determined, and she nodded.

"I should go and visit our wounded. Then I'll speak to Jeody, and see to the rest of the matters." she said standing up, the seam of her grey dress rustling around her feet as she smoothed down the front of the dress. He took a brown doublet from atop a chest, and pulled it over the cotton tunic then fastened the front laces; and departed the lord's wing for his duties. After ensuring that all was in order, she left the lord's wing, finding Gavin one of her sentinels waiting at the door.

"Good morning, my lady. I trust you had a pleasant evening." he greeted, and she smiled as she closed the door behind her.

"Good morning, Gavin. Our night was peaceful. And yours?" she returned to the short, stocky guardsman with thick chestnut coloured hair and dark eyes. He returned her smile.

"Good, but too short I'm afraid." he said, and they shared a laugh. He raised a hand.

"Shall we begin our tour, my lady?" he asked, and she obliged. Of her four sentinels, Gavin was the most cheerful one. He was the son of the castle smith, who had grown up and trained alongside Raeghun and Berin. Not wanting to follow in his father's footsteps he joined the household guard, and became a sentinel. Whatever negative thoughts you had, he could quickly jape away, and he loved telling tall tales from the Age of Heroes. They made their way down the halls towards the barracks; the guardsmen at the tables stood as she entered, giving her their full attention and a fond greeting.

"Good morning, everyone." she returned before continuing on her way to the infirmary to see their people. Seven men waited while nurses tended their wounds, and assured that they administered the medicinal aid from the maester.

"How is your arm?" the lady enquired as she came to the last of their injured, and he looked up smiling despite a long cut running down the length of his fore arm.

"Healing, my lady." he reported, and she smiled.

"Good, and the fever?" she further asked.

"Gone. Maester Adlyn is truly gifted. It is no wonder why he is called 'the healer'." the guard praised.

"I'm so glad to hear it. Don't exert yourself too much before you feel better." she advised, and the guard nodded.

"Thank you, my lady. Your compassion truly speeds our recovery." he said, and then noted that a face was missing from the hall.

"Where is Falgon?" she enquired, and Gavin stepped forward from her side.

"He should be with Maester Adlyn, my lady. He complained of a burning in his chest earlier." he advised, and her attention went back to the hall behind them.

"Oh, then I had better see him as well." she mentioned before turning back to Gavin.

"Is anyone else missing from my visitation list?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No my lady." he assured, and they turned to leave.

Falgon sat on the chair next to the little hearth, looking through the window towards wide green fields, bordered by forest and dotted with farms.

"This is a lovely country. I've found it quite enamouring." he said, and then looked back at maester Adlyn who sat mixing a white balm.

"It is a beautiful place. The Corridor stretches all the way from the west where we are, here on the highest cliff of Cape Kracken, all the way across to the shores of The Bite on the east side. White Harbour is just a few miles above our border to the north, and The Neck to the south." he told, his hands working continuously for a soft texture.

"You've served the Taugere family a long time, maester?" Falgon asked as he sat waiting, watching as the maester's hands moved in circles, first to the left, then to the right, and then in a figure of eight.

"Yes, for many years. My service here started under lord Varin Taugere. When it was his time to leave this world, I served his first born son, lord Rychard Taugere. And now I serve the late lord's only son, lord Raeghun Taugere. Perhaps, gods be good, I'll have the privilege to serve his son as well." he confirmed.

"The names sound almost Valyrian." Falgon noted.

"Yes, that they do. Many have associated them directly with the Targaryens; but the Taugere name is ancient. They have been here for much longer than that. Aegon the Conqueror's rule was around three hundred years ago, the burning mountain has been the seat of the phoenix for thousands of years. I'll confess that they share some ancestry with the dragons from marriage pacts made in the past; something rather clear in the colour of lady Mae's silver-gold hair." he told, and could imagine he saw the sentinel's posture change from calm to unease for but a moment.

"Are you al right?" he asked looking up.

"I'm fine, maester." Falgon assured, seeming just the same as he did.

"Nonetheless, as I was saying: lord Veyron Taugere started building this hold, its completion was seen by his great grandson, lord Rhendan Taugere. There are many stories. One of the most prominent is the tale of Baderon 'Blackwing' Taugere. He resisted the Andal invasion. It was said that he entered battles wearing a cloak of black phoenix feathers; and that simply his voice could send arrows off course." Maester Adlyn said with a smile.

"Black phoenix feathers." Falgon tried imagining it in his mind.

"So the story says, but if anything like that could ever exist, it has been long lost to the family. But the lord's sword remains. A Valyrian steel blade with a hilt fashioned to the likeness of the house sigil. It grieves me to have to admit that some houses do not have a particular fondness of the Taugere family, as tales depict them as rather brutish. But I assure you, this is misunderstood. While they are harsh and forthright, they are not unkind. Theirs is a long and proud bloodline of strong people." the maester said, then he sat back for a moment, his hands still on his knees, and a far off look in his features.

"I remember the day that lords Stark, Baratheon and Tormont came to the burning mountain to negotiate an alliance. With no lands or treasures to give, they were left with one alternative option. However, the Baratheon succession was left to three sons. House Stark had a daughter, but she had vanished; and the rebellion initiated with the intent to retrieve the lady. Seeing little options, lord Willmon Tormont stepped forward, offering his oldest daughter in marriage to lord Rychard's only son to seal their alliance. He requested the night to reflect on the offer." then he continued his work.

"He had doubts?" Falgon asked, and then the maester looked up at him with a gentle smile.

"With the dawn, and fifteen thousand men at their back lord Rychard Taugere rode south with them, to war." he finished. Then removed the pestle from the mortar and shook off what he could from it.

"Al right, where did you say the burning sensation was?" he asked, and Falgon removed his shirt. The maester sat stunned for a moment, taking in what he saw before him. Then he handed the tub to Falgon, still watching the area of discomfort.

"That should ease it." he said softly, and leaned forward to study the sentinel as he spread the salve over the area.

"What happened to you?" he asked, and Falgon looked at him.

"I don't know. I woke up with it one day." he said lightly, and then placed the mortar back on the table, and wiped the excess from his fingers with his shirt before readying it to redress.

"This brand is truly fascinating; I've never seen anything like it." Maester Adlyn mentioned, and then looked up at the door, where the lady stood. Falgon turned to face her, and she too gasped slightly at the sight of it. A scar blemished the left side of his chest, a mark in the shape of a ring, with a long shaft and five bit lines, resembling a dangling key stretched from the clavicle to the base of his pectoral muscle.

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt." she said, but he smiled at her.

"You interrupt nothing, your grace." he said, and pulled the shirt over his head.

"I was told you're feeling a bit morbid this morning?" she enquired, as pulled the shirt down over his body.

"No, your grace. I'm perfectly well." he assured.

"Good. But take the day for yourself, make sure everything is in order." she instructed, and turned to leave them.

"There is really no need, your grace." Falgon insisted, and she turned back; her clear eyes meeting his.

"Do it anyway. Return to your duties on the morrow." she said, and duly left with Gavin at her side. Falgon sighed, and looked back at maester Adlyn.

"She cares about her people." he reflected, and the maester shared his smile.

"Oh yes, she visits the sick and wounded as often as she can." he mentioned, and then looked up at him.

"And you have cares for her?" he directed, and Falgon glanced away.

"Of course. I respect her, and I want to see her safe. While there is a level of affection, it's not licentious." he clarified.

"Say you now. She's a truly exceptional woman, Falgon; loved and reviled by many, north and south. You were chosen out of hundreds to be one of her few personal guard. Thousands will kill to be near her, thousands will kill for her, and some thousands more will try to kill her. Thousands of people with intentions good and bad." the maester said, and Falgon stared at him.

"I realize that; and I will die a thousand times over before I allow her any harm in my attendance. But what I can't fully comprehend, is why anyone would be driven to harm her." he spared a glance at the door where she vanished, and then fastened the lace of his shirt.

"True. Lady Claira has done nothing to justify any ill intent. But let me tell you a little something about people, Falgon. They do strange things, for no apparent reason. It's part of being human. They single out the strange and exceptional, simply because it's different. The timid and reserved, because they want excitement in the otherwise consistency of their every day lives. I remember, years ago when I was still at the Citadel training as a maester, I too was singled out. I worked hard, for the simple reasons that I wanted to help people, I wanted to make proud those whom I've learnt from, and those I would serve in the future; and I was good at what I did, but so were many others. But I kept to myself, had very few associations with others; I spent days with little more than dusty tomes and scrolls on the history of healing and medicines. Later it was said that I did illegal experimentation to further myself, which naturally wasn't true. Many heard the stories, some believed them, and some didn't; it all depends on what you choose to believe. Again, there was no legitimate reason for these claims, and they persisted for a while before disappearing altogether. I knew who started the rumours, which at first struck me as very strange because he, too; was severely skilled in his subject. But it's something people do. You don't always do something specific to deserve someone's resentment, but doing something, or not doing something doesn't found either good, or bad feelings. It just depends on them, who they are and what they think. What they choose to do or say or believe, and what not. Humanity is a strange and complicated thing, and I wish there was a better way to explain it; but it's what we are. It's why we are who we are. But on a more directed note, are you familiar with the story of the Wail of Winter?" he told, and Falgon thought for a moment.

"I've heard it. But it's just a story." he confirmed.

"Also true, it is just a story. But many believe it. The story tells of a beautiful woman with pale skin, eyes blue as the rime, and hair the shade of fallen snow from the north, born in winter. The hold of ice so strong, that her mother died in childbirth, claimed by the frost. Further, it tells that those who reached out for her affection, died slowly as the frost claimed them as well in the cold she brought with her. She became known as the North Witch, and she brought about the end of several great houses." maester Adlyn told.

"What does that have to do with the lady?" Falgon asked, deciding that it wasn't the same. Not at all.

"Lady Claira is from the deep north. Eyes blue as the rime, and pale skinned. The North Witch had the same black in her hair, just as the lady has white in hers. Some believe that she has the same coldness in her. That she may lead to the destruction of more great houses, just as the North Witch." he explained, but Falgon scoffed.

"This house still stands. Others still stand. She is no more a witch than I am a Man of the Rain." he determined, but maester Adlyn looked at him with confused eyes.

"Man of the Rain?" this was clearly something, he had not yet heard of.

"The Men of the Rain, to be more specific. Ancient and powerful sages, small men with eyes white as the clouds. Stories tell that they appear to those in need of guidance, and that they possess powerful magics. But this, just like that of the North Witch, is just a story." he said, and then noticed that the maester was again smiling, seeming fully satisfied with the answer he'd been given.

"Good. Remain true to your duty, it is that, that will strengthen you." The maester said, then took the mortar from the table and filled a small jar with the contents and handing it to Falgon.

"I am hers. Always." he said as he took the jar from the maester.

"Perfect. Go, your day awaits." he instructed, and the sentinel left the tower. Maester Adlyn sat back in the chair, trying to place the strange man. In all his years he'd never met someone quite like him.

Around late afternoon, Falgon exited the arched door to the inner bailey to meet with Berin.

"Falgon. You are my sparring partner today." Berin said.

"Are you sure about that?" Falgon asked him, watching as the sentinel removed his shirt and threw it onto a stack of hay bales against the outer wall. Other members of the guard sparred in the bailey, swords and fists.

"Oh yes, but here's the twist. No swords, just hands. With your sword, you'll serve me to our lord and lady like a festival ham. I would like to see what you can do unarmed." Berin said smiling as he turned back to his friend.

"If I manage to connect with you Berin, I'll break bones." Falgon warned.

"I know how strong you are, so my key is to be faster than what you are." Berin calculated as he prepared himself, hands raised loosely in front of him and feet set apart for power as well as balance. Then he looked up at Falgon, watching as he let his shirt drop to the ground, exposing scarred skin and a strange brand on his chest.

"Don't hold back. I need the practice." He instructed, but Falgon stood.

"Come at me, then." Falgon urged, making no effort to ready himself for battle; and Berin knew why. Posture by default, had a habit of betraying your intentions, and emotion just made it so much worse. When you stood with your left foot forward, you intend to move to the right, and when your right hand is in front of you, you intend to strike with the left, that's basic perception. But with Falgon, there was nothing, just those dark eyes staring at you, watching you like an eagle would watch a hare in the field. Berin needed to move first, this he knew. The man that stood before him, never initiated the match, he would wait you out for a week if he had to; a trait that made him very difficult to read. He had patience, which so many others did not and he knew it. He used this to his advantage a lot. Berin studied him for a moment, the way he stood – straight back, feet apart, facing him evenly, and completely calm. This very simple deception he applied to something as unassuming as standing, it brought a sense of ease to his opponent, and rose their confidence; which was exactly why they lost. In any instance, his first strike would miss, but then he had to make the next one count; Falgon was on no occasion one for weightless words. A silence had taken the bailey as other guards gathered and circled them to watch. Then Berin breathed in deeply, suddenly and swift as the strike of a snake he shot forward, right fist raised. He swung at Falgon, who drew back sharply and the blow missed, just as Berin predicted. Then he twisted his body, and brought his left elbow around in an arch, again aimed for his opponent's face. His elbow struck something hard, and for a second he thought it was the wall. But then he looked, and saw Falgon's right hand raised, blocking the blow. In an instant, he saw his opponent's elbow come down, aimed for his ribs; resounding his words in his head, he dropped his weight to his dominant knee, avoiding the strike. Berin pulled back sharply, and twisted aiming a fist to Falgon's ribs; and connected. He heard him grunt as air left his lungs, and aimed another fist for his stomach. He blocked the blow with a right hand, and swung with the left, aiming for Berin's ribs again, and he ducked away. Falgon moved, throwing a right fist for Berin's chest, who missed the blow by inches, then another fist from Berin went for his opponent's stomach and connected. Suddenly, Falgon's strong hand took hold of Berin's shoulder, and pushed him down into a rising knee. Berin threw his weight to the right side, the knee grazing his left; he wrapped his arm around the raised knee and moved forward, throwing Falgon to the ground. He lay on the ground, dust floating around him from his force to the ground. He chuckled slightly, confessing that his hand-to-hand skill was indeed not what it should have been.

"Have you had enough?" Berin asked, rubbing his hands.

"Not yet." Falgon said as he got to his feet; the circle around them grew.

"Are you even trying?" Berin asked as he turned to face Falgon again.

"Trying to hit you? Yes. Trying not to break you? Yes." He said.

"I need you to be serious, Falgon." Berin encouraged.

"Your Milla will have my head for her wall." Falgon joked slightly, it did bring a smile to Berin's face.

"I won't improve without someone to challenge my limits." Berin insisted, and Falgon breathed in deeply before looking up, straight at Berin.

"Al right, I'll try." Falgon agreed, and this time prepared for the spar along with Berin.

"Three coppers on Berin." One of the guards whispered from amidst the sizeable circle around them, followed by others saying, _five on Falgon, two on Berin, six on Berin, four on Falgon…_

"Come." Falgon urged, seeming more prepared now than before. Berin's eyes searched him, his right arm was tucked against his side, the left raised in front of his face, left foot forward, right behind balancing his tall, muscled mass. _Right… whatever he'll do, it will be right._ Berin thought, _No, Falgon is as unpredictable as he is calm. don't expect. Be ready for anything..._ then shot forward. A fist went for Falgon's face, and he drew back, Berin brought his left hand forward to block what should have been a retaliating strike, but Falgon's left elbow came down at him. He was faster this time, aiming decisively devastating strikes; the onlookers growing increasingly lurid as the match continued.

Milla stood in the southern hall, inspecting tables and feast ware for this evening's banquet. She saw that the hall was sufficiently cleaned, and even had garlands of flowers hung on the walls with the house banners. She loved her occupation; it was as challenging as it was rewarding. By lady Claira's instruction, they would be served roasted boar with buttered and spiced steamed vegetables, mead and apple pie for supper. A scullion brought a tray with silverware to her for further inspection. The maiden held the tray out to Milla, whom took a spoon from its surface and inspected it. It had the expected even surface, and a clear reflection, she replaced the spoon on the tray and waved the maiden away to place them. Loud voices from outside drew her attention, and for a moment she spared a glance through the doors towards the sound. Then she returned to her business, seeing that the high table was properly set. The voices drew her attention again, they seemed elevated. She knew that the guards were sparring, but they've never been this visceral before. She dismissed it again, spacing the goblets inches from the plates while other scullions placed goblets and charger plates on the tables. Another sudden disturbance made her knock over a chalice. _What in the seven hells is going on out there?_ She thought, and then discarded her current activity to find out what the unusual excitement was about. She made her way through the Hall of Fire, seeing a handmaiden come her way.

"What is going on out there?" she asked, the maiden looked anxious.

"It's Berin and Falgon, my lady." she reported.

"What about them?" she asked, a sudden increase in her pulse.

"They're brawling." the maiden said, and Milla rushed ahead. She crossed the barracks hall and exited the door to the bailey just as a rush of cheers and excited wails assaulted her ears, seeing a crowd pressed together around two fighters.

"Excuse me, please let me pass." she said as she pushed between soldiers, and then she saw the struggle fully. Falgon's arms were wrapped around Berin's shoulders and throat while forcing him to his knees, and he pulled back, straining his airway.

"Move Berin! Get out!" one of the guards called, just before Berin turned his head and dropped his weight to his free side; slipping from the grip. He touched ground, and brought a fisted hand around to Falgon's ribs and connected, forcing him back. Then he stood, and brought a knee up to his face; Falgon pulled back, avoiding the strike.

"Stop this!" Milla cried, but no one around her seemed to notice. She grabbed the arm of the closest man.

"Someone, stop this, please!" she begged, and the guard looked at her.

"Are you jesting? This is the best brawl I've seen in years." he said, and turned his attention right back to the fighters, another roar of cheers rising as a fighter fell on the ground. Milla turned and ran for the hall, desperately searching for someone of greater authority than her own. She hastened up the steps and to her relief saw the lord descending the right staircase with maester Adlyn at his side and a sentinel following.

"My lord!" she called while running up to him, and he looked at her in surprise.

"Milla? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Please help!" she begged as she came closer, and he raised his hands to her.

"What is it? What happened?" he asked as she reached him, breathless from the shock and the sudden sprint.

"It's Berin and Falgon. They're fighting." she said, desperately. His expression was one of disbelief.

"Where are they?" he asked, and she turned.

"In the bailey. Please, please hurry." she pleaded, and he followed. They glided down the steps across the hall and through the barracks to the bailey, where the crowd was still in full circle; and he could witness the skirmish between the two sweaty and dust covered sentinels. Berin's fist shot forward at his opponent, he blocked the blow and then moved forward, a powerful arm wrapping around Berin's waist while his shoulder pushed into his ribs; then he circled throwing Bering over his side in an arch towards the ground, but his feet touched the earth first, and with his momentum he pulled forward, throwing Falgon down. He lay on his back, Berin's weight holding him down and a fist drawn up high.

"Enough!" Raeghun's voice shattered the atmosphere in the bailey, and the guards turned to look at him while a breathless and seemingly exhausted Berin's fist lowered slowly and he acknowledged the lord,.

"This is my home, not some back-alley tavern for your entertainment!" he said, and the guards exchanged nervous glances.

"It was just a bit of fun, my lord. We meant nothing ill by it." one of the guards tried to calm him.

"Fun? You can have your fun in your own time, at your own hovel. Not here!" he said, he looked around at the staring faces.

"Any bets that were placed on this incident, will go to the treasury." he concluded, and nodded to the by-standing sentinel to claim the wages; and the group dispersed. Then his attention went to the two sentinels.

"And you, get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the Hollow." he instructed before leaving. Berin had stood up, and held a hand to Falgon to help him up.

"You don't anger easily, do you?" Berin said as Falgon took his hand.

"It takes a lot to get under my skin." Falgon admitted as he got to his feet. Milla stood to one side, breathing in deeply, calming the nerves that shuddered through her body, but then saw them smiling.

"Well, we have been summoned. I'll see you later." Falgon said, and took his leave. Milla went over to Berin as he sat down on the hay bales and reached for his shirt.

"What in good graces happened? A full out fight with Falgon? What were you thinking?" she demanded, and he wiped a smear of blood from his brow.

"We weren't brawling, Milla. We were sparring." he corrected, and then sat back as he took a deep breath.

"Fuck, he's fast. I had to work hard to get away from him." he said through a satisfied smile, and looked at her as she pulled back slightly.

"I've seen you spar with lord Raeghun before, Berin. This was nothing like that." she said, and he shook out the pieces of straw from his shirt to pull it over his skin.

"Al right, so I pressured him. I wanted him to get angry, wanted him to test my limits. I wanted a challenge, a real challenge." Berin confessed.

"This wasn't challenge enough?" she asked, indicating Berin's bruised knuckles, and he looked down at them.

"I was able to evade his strikes, but every time I connected with him it was like hitting a wall. His muscles are really hard. I suppose that could be accounted to his many rough years in the field." he mentioned, and she knelt beside him.

"Please don't take it this far again." she pleaded, and he reluctantly agreed. Then he stood and kissed her cheek.

"I'll see you later." he left for the barracks to clean himself and pull on fresh clothing before proceeding to the sun tower where Falgon already waited in the Hollow. He was studying a tapestry on the wall, depicting a fiery phoenix capturing a black ox from a field.

"So, we're in trouble?" he asked without looking back, and Berin closed the door behind him.

"Oh, hell yes. Practise has never received that much attention before. And seeing that it went so far, it's understandable that it was perceived so mistakenly." Berin said as he came closer, and then the lord entered the Hollow and closed the door behind him again and then turned to them.

"So, if you don't mind telling me: What the fuck were you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the walls, and Berin stepped forward.

"We were sparring, my lord. It was not a fight, it was training." he insisted.

"Training? Never in my life have I ever seen training do that. The two of you were bludgeoning each other like drunken pit fighters." he said.

"We meant no disrespect to your home, my lord. I wanted to test my limits, and I'm afraid that I pushed Falgon too far." Berin insisted, and Raeghun looked at him.

"And what say you, Falgon? Are you going to plead that this was but a play for you?" he directed, and the sentinel smiled modestly.

"It was indeed nothing more than a practise match that got out of hand, sire. I do find myself in need of further training." he agreed, and Raeghun put his hands on the wide table, leaning forward. After a moment of silence, he looked up at them.

"Listen to me, both of you. You are my strongest sentinels, I can't have you beating each other to a pulp every time you throw a fist. So, train and share your knowledge with each other; but if you make a spectacle of it again like you did today, I'll have you both thrown off the bridge." he promised.

"Yes, my lord." Berin agreed, not wanting to further test the lord's annoyance.

"Understood, sire." Falgon added, and Raeghun turned to leave. But at the door he stopped and turned back to them.

"You are both confined to the barracks for the next two days. We can't have the other guards going around thinking it's acceptable to slap each other silly while training." he concluded, and then left to attend to the business he'd been disrupted from. Berin stretched out, and looked over at Falgon.

"That went well." he mentioned, and smiled.

"Two days of jail time. What to do with the time." Falgon returned.

"Reflect on our sins, I suppose. It's a steep drop from the bridge." Berin suggested, and threw a fist at Falgon's shoulder.

"Maybe I'll pay maester Adlyn another visit." he decided, and they departed the Hollow.

The banquet ensued with the liveliness of the castle, the guards, hands and maidens all joining the feast. Milla looked over the smiling faces, and listened to the song and laughter of their people. Two faces were missing from the hall. She looked over to Raeghun and Claira. She had assumed that Berin and Falgon would be rebuked, but didn't think that they would be denied an evening meal. She leaned over to a nearby guard.

"Have you seen Berin and Falgon?" she asked softly, and he leaned closer to her.

"They've been ordered to stay in the barracks, my lady. They created quite a stir this afternoon." he informed, and she looked up to the lord again.

"Oh well, I suppose it's not unjustified." she muttered, and resumed her conversation with another of the handmaidens beside her, and long after the feast had ended and the hall cleared she went to the kitchen to request two more plates be served. After thanking the cook, she took the plates and headed to the barracks to retire for the night. She met Berin at the door, heading back from the servants' bath chambers and a quick visit to the maester; light bandages wrapped around his bruised and scraped hands, smelling of Myrrh.

"We missed you at dinner." she said handing a full plate to him.

"Oh, thank you my sweet." he returned gratefully as he kissed her cheek.

"Is Falgon inside?" she asked, glancing at the other plate in her hands.

"Yes, he's in front of the fireplace, stocking his brain." he confirmed, she smiled.

"Stocking his brain? With what?" she asked, and Berin laughed.

"Whatever he could find in maester Adlyn's assemblage." he said.

"Al right, I'll just leave this for him then." he escorted her inside the barracks, and bid her goodnight before leaving for his chamber. She made her way to the fireplace, where Falgon sat with a book in his hands. He seemed comfortable, with one foot resting against the pillar that bordered the warm fireplace. A selection of other reading materials lay stacked on the table next to him. She looked at the covers.

"I didn't take you for a scholar." she mentioned as she placed the plate next to the books.

"It keeps my mind active." he said as he looked up at her. She took one of the books and held it up to read the title: _Hundred Thousand Bodies._ Then she looked down at the others. _The Sinner and the Slayer, A Frozen Rose, Black Dragon's Breath, A Message from a Raven, The Woodland Crown, The Lonely Field, Six Stones, Firestorm, Glass House, Purple Blood, The Great Feast, A Blade Edged Bone, The Ivory Chalice._ Books on history, war, romance, humour and many others, no thinner than at least two hundred and seventy pages each.

"What are you reading now?" she asked, and he closed the book.

" _A Trade of Sorrows._ " he named, and she smiled.

"Poetry. A variety that it seems is not read enough." she said, and then looked back at the plate on the table.

"I've brought you supper. Try to eat something." she said, but his attention went back to the book in his hands.

"Thank you. I'll have something before I retire." She moved forward and stood in front of the hearth, studying him.

"Falgon. Are you al right?" he closed the book again, and looked up at her.

"Lady Milla, I'm fine, thank you." he assured with a kind smile. Her eyes went over every contour of his face.

"Are you sure?" she pried, and he chuckled.

"I'm uninjured, I promise. But your care is moving." he secured again.

"Berin beat the stuffing out of you." she said, recalling Berin's sufficiently hard hits to Falgon's body.

"He went easy on me. I regret to confess that my hand-to-hand skill is not as advanced as his. Berin moves very well, he has a level of control over his body that is rare. There is a good deal that he could teach me." he said, and Milla saw the broken skin of her intended's hands.

"His hands and knees are scuffed and bruised, and you…" she just couldn't make sense of it, but he remained smiling.

"I have a tough skin, that's all. Your concern is not needed, sweet lady. I'm perfectly fine. But, I sense that you are troubled." she looked away from him, suddenly trying to disguise the emotion that lay so close to the surface.

"You're angry with Berin?" he judged, and she sighed.

"No, I'm not angry. I'm disappointed, and not just in him. I know it was just a sparring match, but with the way you moved... both of you, it truly seemed that you intended to do harm to one another. And the other guards just stood there watching, they enjoyed it. It's been a long time that I was that scared. Everyone in this hold, the nobles, the servants, the guards... we're more than just that. We're a family. We need to watch over each other..." she said softly, the dancing flames throwing long shadows in the darkened hall.

"I'm sorry, Milla. It won't happen again." he assured, and then she could issue him a smile.

"I hope not. Good night." she turned to leave.

"You're from the deep north, like lady Claira, aren't you?" she turned back to him.

"Quite the assumption. How did you know?" she asked.

"You dress the same way. You talk the same way. The northerners are very magisterial people." he said smiling, but instead of returning his attention to the book, his eyes went to the flames of the hearth.

"I thought you came from the south?" she said turning back to him.

"I came here, from the south. I've been north before, past the sunflower towers." he said, and she smiled.

"My home and seat to the Scharer family, Citrine Arch; where we _Face the Light_. It's the only place in the north where sunflowers grow, despite the weather." she recalled her house words. It brought back good memories, endless fields the colour of sunlight. Her family was a lesser vassal, vowed to the Tormonts. Her father, lord Luitpold Scharer, resented his only daughter's decision to leave while her mother, lady Bea did not question her.

"Why did you come here?" Falgon asked.

"Because I wanted the opportunity to do something with my life, to make my own choices, with my own strengths. I was fortunate though, lady Claira was a close friend of mine growing up, just as our mothers had been when they were young. At some point though, I thought our lives might turn out differently, as I was two years older than she was. That I would marry to a lord before she did, and she may become my court maiden. Up until the day she was promised to lord Taugere." she told.

"You feel resentment?" Falgon asked,

"No, not at all. I love my life. Had things not turned out this way, I would not have met my Berin. My first moments here, I couldn't stop staring at him; the tall, fierce mounted warrior. Dark haired and green eyed, something about him made me think of home." she said, then then chuckled.

"The first time he approached me was in the garden, I was looking for flowers for the tables. He gave me a blue flower, the petals lined with bright yellow." she recalled the sight of it, a hand reaching around her with a beautiful lily; and when she looked back, there he stood inches away from her.

"A building, is just a building. A home is where you feel loved." Falgon mentioned, she approached him again.

"That is true. This is my home. And it will be one for you as well." she said, and he nodded.

"How did it come, that you came here?" she asked.

"I travelled with a group of mercenaries called the Black Bannermen for five years, after returning from the Basilisk Isles. The leader of the group, Baret; he arranged for me to fight in the melee against a knight. I didn't expect to be struck down the way I was, that day." he recalled, and she laid a hand on the backrest of the chair.

"You lost?" she asked, and then he looked back at her.

"No, no weapon in existence could do that to a man. When I saw her, the lady in blue with hair black as midnight, with white like the stars; everything I ever thought life came to was shattered in that single moment. This is where I was meant to be; and I finally found it." he said, and she could almost feel the absolute conviction he felt.

"I wish you every happiness, Falgon. And that you will find it here." she said.

"I believe I have. For the first time in years, I belong somewhere. Of all the places I've been, of all the things I've seen; here is where I found a peace like I've never known." he said, softly as if he wasn't speaking to her but to a shadow in the corner, and his mind was no longer there. She lingered another moment, then turned.

"Good night, Falgon." he turned back to her again.

"Good night, lady Milla." he greeted her, and returned to his book when she left the hall to her own quarters. He truly did feel at peace; all the long years spent wandering the stretch of Westeros, his journey across the Narrow Sea to Essos, all the miles he connected and every night spent under the stars or in front of a foreign hearth seemed so meaningless now. Everything he'd been searching for was here, all along. Everything he'd lost came back to him, in this place, and it resonated with the words that he read here, before the fireplace in the barracks of Mount Ardor, The Burning Mountain. Home, peace, family, honour, pride, value... love?


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7 – THE FESTIVAL

After completing their respite in the barracks, the attention of the castle citizens and those of the nearby town in Garde's Post went to the preparation of the Horn Festival, an annual celebration to connect the people of the countryside. The stretch of land around the settlement, and much of the expanse between the village and Mount Ardor was prepared for the merriment and many farmers and merchants erected their edifices and tents. The sun set low over the horizon as castle hands prepared for the evening, and Gavin approached Berin where he warmed himself in front of the hearth.

"Some of us are heading out to the tavern at Garde's Post. Do you want to join us?" he asked cheerfully.

"Sure, why not. We've been holed up in here for three days." he agreed, and followed the others into the Hall of Fire. He looked up to see Falgon with lady Claira; he'd retaken his place at her side early this morning. He waved at him for his attention.

"Some of us are heading out, if you want to join us." he informed. Falgon turned back to Claira.

"Go, take the night for yourself. I'm sure you're frustrated with these walls." she allowed, and he bowed to her.

"As soon as I have delivered you safely to your lord husband." he said, and she smiled.

"Go, Falgon. I'll be fine." she insisted, but he took a step forward.

"My place is at your side, I will not excuse my duties for an extra horn in the tavern." he said, and proceeded to escort her to the lord's wing, and only left after she had closed the door behind her. He returned to the Hall of Fire where the others awaited him, from where they made their way from the hold to the village tavern, registering the many structures along the way.

"It seems like we'll have a larger festival than usual, this year. We can expect quite a few disturbances, I suppose." Gavin mentioned as he looked around.

"Let's hope that the guard is sufficient." Berin added as they walked. A wide cobblestone pathway entered into an immense circled town centre with a well in the heart of the expanse, wooden structures were set up around it where merchants sold their wares during the day. A long stable set to the left side of the road to accommodate the townspeople's horses, a forge stood next to the stable where a smith was still hammering away at a new horseshoe. Far behind the stable, a vast enclosure held flocks of sheep and cattle herds. Buildings lined the edge of the town centre, to the right smoke rose from the chimney of the first building, and the sweet scent of freshly baked bread floated through the air. Barrels stood against the walls of the second building to the right, awaiting their journey to the many taverns, or the festival tenders. A board hung above the door of the third building, displaying grapes above a green chalice. The building next to that was evidently a carpenter's workshop, judging by the wooden logs stacked next to the left wall and the newly made wagon wheels being rolled out before another path led out of the village between more buildings, two brown dogs chased after a grey cat in front of the guard's office only just visible around the bend. An alchemist's outlet stood to its left. A small high towered sept stood looming over the centre of the town, flanked by an infirmary to its right and an orphanage to its left, next to another road leading out of the settlement. Animal hides were stretched out over racks in front of a tanner's shop on the next corner, and another sign shaped in the form of a scale hung above the door of the building to its left indicating the home of a general merchant. They approached a large building, a board above the doors displaying the name in dark-wood: _The Greasy Hawk_ _s_. Falgon looked at the words. _Really? I can't believe people come here..._ Berin turned back to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and Falgon's attention went to him.

"Captivating name, for such an establishment." then moved forward, seeing his friend smile.

"I know, right." They entered into a lively atmosphere, candles and firelight chasing the shadows away. Men and women sat at tables laughing and conversing on their activities of the day, tavern women moved up and down the stretch of the tavern with horns and trays in their hands, and a robust inn keeper with a bald head and full red beard in a stained shirt, and white apron stood behind the counter wiping horns for use. Barrels were stacked under a stairway behind the bar leading to an upper level, and more shelves with bottles lined the wall behind he inn keeper. Several girls stood at the bottom of the staircase, focused on the new arrivals. The inn keeper looked up at them, and waved merrily at them.

"Welcome, milords! Settle in, have a horn, have a whore!" he called to them, indicating the barrels behind him, and the surface above him. Gavin threw his arms around Berin and Falgon's shoulders.

"How about both, my good man!" he returned, and Berin and Falgon glanced at each other before Berin returned his attention to the inn keeper.

"We'll settle for the horn, my friend." he said, and Gavin looked at him.

"Your wedding is in a few days, you won't have this chance again." he mentioned, and Berin removed his arm from around his neck.

"I don't want any chance, thank you." he declined, and then Gavin's eyes went to Falgon.

"And how about you? What's your excuse?" he asked, and Falgon slipped from his grasp.

"I'm not partial to the exchange." he said, and Gavin frowned.

"Oh, you're no fun." Edur, the other guard that accompanied them and yet another member of the sentinels put a hand on Gavin's shoulder.

"Come, leave the old men. They'll just kill our night." he urged, and they left to claim their prizes. Berin and Falgon settled at a table close to the fireplace against the far wall. A tavern server brought two horns of ale and set it down on the table.

"Enjoy, milords. May I interest you in a plate?" she smiled. Berin's hand went around the horn.

"White cheese, and a heel of bread." he looked over to Falgon.

"What will you have?" Falgon brought the horn to his lips.

"Nothing for me, thank you." he declined, and swallowed a mouthful of ale. The server left to fetch the food. They glimpsed Gavin heading up the stairway with his arm around a girl in a soft pink, nearly transparent gown. The night proceeded rather pleasantly as they shared their lives.

"Mount Ardor is the only true home I've ever known. I never had the chance to know my father, he died when I was three. On the insistence of others, my mother married again; a man with two sons older than me. For a time I accepted him as my father, I wanted to have that figure in my life; but as time went on I realized it was only the daydream of a naïve mind. He treated my mother as little more than a maid. He took over our hold, and replaced my father's banners with his own and his own sons were always favoured. I couldn't stand the man, and he did not attempt to hide his disdain for me. There was no love, perhaps just a little bit more than common decency… I believe I may have been seven the year my mother's husband saw fit to attend the Horn Festival. I befriended the liege lord's son with the luck of the gods, and lord Rychard offered to take me as his ward, and I grew up with Raeghun and his sisters. To each other, we were the brothers we never had. We made a pact when we entered our tenth years, that we would share our first experiences together; from our first kill to our first kiss. I joined the guard at ten and five, and became a sentinel at ten and nine, and then I met my Milla. I've had blissful years here. How about you?" Berin told, and Falgon smiled.

"I've had a typical childhood, with two younger brothers, Draune and Haelgon and baby sisters, Valla and Rella. While my father loved us, he was a hard man. Strength was everything to him, if you couldn't be strong, you couldn't protect your family; and ours wasn't exactly small. One day, my brothers and I went hunting in the woodland, and one of them got hurt. My father beat me senseless." he recalled. Berin looked at him, tilting his head.

"Why would he do that? Accidents happen." he said.

"Not like this one; I was the eldest at ten and four, Draune had just entered his tenth year and Haelgon was just about to turn nine. I was supposed to watch over them, and I didn't. It was one late afternoon, and I wanted them to work on their archery, so we went after a deer. I had Draune hide in the brush while Haelgon and I directed the deer towards him. Initially, we were supposed to avoid the open areas, but you can't anticipate everything. Draune released the arrow too soon, and instead of the deer's chest, it impaled Haelgon's left arm. I was lucky he didn't completely lose the use of that arm, my father would have killed me then." he said.

"Was it your father that taught you how to use a sword?" Berin asked.

"It was. He was an accomplished warrior." Falgon said, hearing his father's voice in his head. _The sword, is not just the blade! Do you think the tip is the only dangerous part?! The cross guard is there for a reason, use it!_

"He would have huge logs tied to tree branches, and we would have to practice while other people swung them at us. I definitely received my count of blows from that." he further explained, and Berin nodded.

"That is an interesting method." Falgon brought the horn to his mouth again.

"It increases your acuity of the expanse and activities around you. You need to be aware of your surroundings." he said before emptying the horn. _Your enemies are not going to stand and stare at you! Whether it's one or thirty, they all want you dead!_

"He taught you well, Falgon." Berin complimented.

"I believe he did, too. It brought me far, and saved my hide many times." A woman approached with two girls following in light garments.

"Well, well; look here my bunnies. If it ain't the finest of the sentinels, young lord Berin and his new friend gracin' us with their desirable company." she said smiling, and then leaned slightly on the table, revealing more skin.

"How about it, milords? Feel like tasting my girls' sweet fruits?" she tempted, and Berin leaned back.

"I have a whole garden waiting for me. But perhaps my friend here will consent." he said, glancing at Falgon.

"Oh, no thank you. I'm sated." he declined, then one of the girls winked at him.

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us." she offered, and they left them. Falgon sighed, and glanced at the sentinel at his side.

"You're well known here." he noted, and Berin laughed.

"A lot of people are well known here, they come here often for the pleasures it offers. When lord Raeghun and I came here, the only thing we enjoyed was the ale. It was simply to escape the walls of the burning mountain, nothing else." he clarified, and Falgon nodded.

"I see. That is something I've heard on very rare occasions. You were the better men." he said, and a server passed to refill the horn. After thanking her, he brought the horn to his lips while Berin stared at him.

"I haven't seen you with anyone, except for lady Claira, of course." he mentioned, and Falgon chuckled.

"Let's just say they don't fall within my preferences." he said as he lowered the horn to the table, and Berin grinned as he brought the horn in his hand to his mouth.

"Saving yourself for someone, eh?" he teased, and a short pause followed as he swallowed; but Falgon did not look at him.

"No, I don't think so. I just don't have those urges, any more." he said.

"So, what was your first?" he asked, changing the subject.

"My first?" he seemed confused for a moment.

"Experience. You mentioned a pact that you and our lord made as youngsters." Falgon directed.

"Oh, yes that. My first kill was at ten and five, it was a horse thief that escaped the vaults, I was the first to catch up with him. Obviously, he wasn't willing to go back to the cells, so he drew his dagger on me. He took me down, of course. But at some point my sword found his stomach. Lord Raeghun's was a lion." he told.

"A lion?" he asked, intrigued; and Berin chuckled before swallowing another mouthful of ale.

"When it wants to kill you, it counts. More to the point, the lord was unarmed. He killed it with his bare hands, it puts a new meaning to 'tooth and nail'. He somehow managed to take hold of the beast's jaws, and ripped it open, as far as the throat. Some have said that it was The Warrior himself that entered Raeghun's body that day, and lent him his strength…" his mind went back to that day. He heard the roar, the cry and the neigh of a panicked horse. When he looked back, the great beast had his best friend pinned to the ground with his arms raised in defence, paws the size of his chest inhibiting his movement, and clawing at him, tearing skin with clothing while the jaws searched for an opening to the throat; a thick black bristly mane and protruding ribs etched into his memory. More screams filled the air around him, and he drew his sword as he put his heels to his horse. Terror fuelled him as blood soaked the earth, the clearest voice echoing in his mind: _Don't! You'll hit my son!_ He didn't know who the command was meant for, the archers or him. But he was intent on killing the creature. The jaws opened, and as it moved forward to close over the young lord's face his hands gripped the jaws, fingers locking between the incisors and canines; and with a cry as loud as the lion's frightening roar he pulled, forcing the jaws apart and ripping skin as far as the throat. The animal gagged, and then fell limp onto him; its body covering his entirely. He leapt from his horse then, casting the sword aside as he ran, then fell to his knees and pushed the carcass of the emaciated creature over, revealing the young man he accepted as his brother, severely bleeding and utterly weak. He looked up at Falgon, dismissing the thoughts.

"And yours?" he asked.

"I was forced into the role of a man rather young. But that was the choice that was given to me, kill or be killed. I elected to live, and my father placed greater responsibilities on me since that day. I think I was ten and one, perhaps two. It's the price we pay for being born as men, I suppose." Falgon said, remembering some of the events. His father took them into the wilderness for training, and it was late at night. He was half asleep in one of the tents, and a man he knew entered, gripping a sword in his hand. Only one question kept sounding in his mind. _Why?_

"What happened?" Berin asked, bringing the horn to his mouth again.

"I don't remember, exactly. It was a long time ago." Falgon said, dismissing it and the memory faded to a foggy grey.

"It's a high price, but some are happier to pay it than others." Berin said replacing the horn on the table.

"That they are, my friend." Falgon said smiling, and Berin stretched.

"And who was the girl that shared your first kiss?" Berin asked, and Falgon looked at the roofing.

"A beautiful girl, with dark hair and green eyes. She was everything to me; another moon and I would have asked her to marry me. Her name was Ayla." the memory of her face was the clearest.

"Why didn't you?" Berin asked as a tavern woman came to refill their horns.

"Destiny had other plans for me, apparently. It happens when we think we are in control of our lives. Who was your first?" Falgon ran a finger along the edge of the horn before bringing it to his mouth.

"One of lord Violet's pretty daughters. Raeghun was the first to taste a lady's sweet lips, though; and of course, I followed. The vassal lord was here as counsel to lord Rychard on taxing matters, and his lovely daughters accompanied him. We ended up spending some days together." Berin said, and drank from the horn again, and Falgon chuckled.

"How nice, the young lords escorting the ladies about the castle, showing them the long halls, the ballrooms, the stables, the gardens… I take they weren't interested in the dungeons?" Falgon teased, and Berin shared his laugh.

"That they weren't." he agreed, Falgon sat forward slightly. Berin watched him, trying to make sense of the man next to him. So much of him was shrouded in mystery.

"Why did you leave your home?" he asked softly.

"I left because I had to…" Then his attention returned to him.

"You're excited for your wedding?" he guided, and Berin smiled again broadly.

"Oh yes, very. I can hardly believe it's only a few days away. Which reminds me, lord Raeghun's name day will be upon us within a fortnight as well, he'll see his twenty and first year." Berin reminded, and Falgon nodded making a mental note.

"Such an event, will call for much attention. And yours, too; is not far off." he said looking at his friend for confirmation.

"Not for another few moons, though. It will be interesting to see, what the next year holds for us." he said, scanning the tavern. His attention went to a group at the other side of the tavern where Gavin and Edur were involved in a game of knuckle bones. Their opponents seemed riled.

"Oh, fuck. Not tonight, please." he breathed as he stood up and made his way to them. He could make out that they were arguing as he came closer.

"I didn't cheat, your eyes are at the back of your skull." Edur defended.

"Of course you did!" Berin raised his hands between them.

"What in the hells is going on here?" he asked, and the man turned to him.

"These two with you?" he demanded, and Berin dropped his hands.

"Yes, they are. Why?" he said, and then the man pointed at them again, clearly intoxicated.

"They are cheating!" he again accused, and Berin glanced at the table.

"With such a simple game, there's no way you can cheat." he decided, and the man stepped closer.

"You calling me a liar? I'll have your teeth on a wristband." he threatened, but Berin remained where he was.

"Back off." he warned. There was a moment of silence as the two men determined their odds.

"You think because you're the lord's finest; the rules of the common world don't apply to you, eh? You're just like any other man in this shack." the man said, stepping even closer.

"That I am. Difference is, I don't go accusing people of shit when I grow desperate." he said, and the man's teeth bared in rage.

"Berin, I believe we've had quite enough for one night. It may be time to leave." The man's eyes shot over Berin's right shoulder, at the tall figure behind him. Berin nodded, agreeing that Falgon had the correct notion. He looked at the other two.

"Let's go." he ordered, and they reluctantly stood, giving a handful of coppers to the tavern server passing by. The man who had accused Edur of cheating blocked their way.

"You're not going anywhere. First you cheat, and then you flee. What kind of men are you?" he said.

"Men who don't have time for your bullshit." Berin moved to pass him, and the man suddenly threw a fist towards his face. He ducked out of the way easily, and as he came back up retaliated with his right elbow into the man's jaw sending him backwards. Another of the men wrapped his arms around Falgon's shoulders from behind in a strong hold, he bent his knees reaching back and taking hold of the man's tunic; moved forward and hauled the man over his shoulder onto a table. The man lay there for a moment before attempting to get to his feet, and the other who started the fight raised up.

"You cheating, lying bastard!" he cried, and Berin looked back at Falgon as more men rose to their feet.

"You ready for some more jail time?" he asked, and Falgon sighed.

"Oh sure, why not?" Gavin slammed a horn onto the head of an attacker, knocking him out.

"You're not getting the barracks to yourself again." he joined them, and suddenly it was a free-for-all skirmish, the grizzly inn keeper hunkering behind the counter for cover while the girls rushed upstairs, avoiding flying plates and horns. Moments later the town guard rushed in to restore order. After detaining the instigators of the fight, and taking statements from the witnesses and determining that the sentinels acted in self-defence; they were allowed to leave the tavern. Halfway up the road back to Mount Ardor, Berin stopped and Falgon turned back to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and Berin looked up at him.

"Did we pay for the ale?" Falgon smiled,

"Of course I did." Berin chuckled.

"Good. Let's not add theft to cheating, lying and brawling." Gavin said with a laugh, and they continued on their way up to the castle.

By mid day the following day, the festival was in full action and citizens from the reaches of the Corridor started to arrive for the celebration. Among the first of the vassal houses to arrive was lord Gerard Foch of Earndale Palace under his mammoth banners, with his wife, two sons and their wives and young children. Lord Florentius Violet of Longdale Citadel under the violet flower circled by a ring of thorns accompanied by his wife and two daughters, and lord Ernaldus Rames of Hurlton Fortress under his rams-head, who was also the overseer of Ramshorn, the sheep capital of the Corridor with two sons, one with a wife, and his daughter; with her husband. Raeghun welcomed them enthusiastically. Most set up camp sites on the grounds around the village and between the castle. Milla and two other handmaidens aided Claira to decide on her attire for the occasion. She finally decided on a red dress with silver stars embroidered on the bodice and down the side length of the skirt, grey flat slippers, and a pendant shaped to the likeness of a phoenix holding a glimmering red stone at its chest which Raeghun had commissioned to be made, and presented to her on her seventeenth name day almost three moons ago.

"We won't be heading down before sunset." Claira said as she waited for the handmaiden to finish brushing out her hair.

"I know, but it's better to be prepared." Milla said, scanning through the wardrobe.

"What will you be wearing?" Claira asked, and Milla thought for a moment, imagining her garments.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps the green with the silver neckline. It seems appropriate." she said, and then turned back and Claira waved the maiden away before standing up.

"Well then, make your preparations. I'll take a short walk in the gardens, and then I'll come back to finish up. I'll help you with your hair, if you want?" she offered, and Milla smiled.

"Just like old times?" Claira smiled back.

"Just like old times." they departed the lord's wing, and found Falgon waiting outside at his post.

"Not ready to depart for the festival yet, your grace?" he asked, and she glanced out a window set between the maester's tower, and a stairway leading up into the sun tower.

"In a while, I'd like to pay a visit to our garden first." Claira said, and he bowed his head respectfully.

"As you wish, your grace." he followed as they made their way down the incline to the Hall of Fire, from where Milla took her leave to prepare herself for the festival. They made their way outside to the castle gardens, overlooking the Sunset Sea and admiring the many colourful flowers with their sweet scents. She stopped, taking in the breeze, and then looked at him as a thought crossed her mind.

"You've never spoken of your life, before you came here. Do you miss it?" she asked, and a short silence followed.

"I do, sometimes. But life is better now than what it was then." he said, she looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

"You were discontent?" he smiled, following her along the narrow pathway.

"I had a happy life, your grace. A warm home, kind parents, mischievous siblings and good people around us. We did what many people filled their days with, hunting, fishing, learning all of life's lessons, and playing, of course. As boys, we had great 'battles' in the fields." he told, and she shared his nostalgia.

"I'm assuming you won most of these battles." she said, keeping her eyes on the little path.

"Some of them, but mostly just because I was the tallest, and the loudest." he said, thinking back to those times.

"You grew up in a warmer climate than here?" she noted that he made little effort to cover his arms against the northern climate that oft times unexpectedly swept through their home.

"I did. We had fortunate few uses for the warm furs that is so abundant here. It was a wonderful time in a wonderful place among wonderful people… And eventually, as childhood left me, I fell in love." he said, again picturing the face in his mind. Claira glanced at him.

"What a special woman she must have been." she reflected.

"She resembled you, slightly. Her hair was the colour of the earth, her eyes the green of sunlit meadows. And like you, she was kind and compassionate; but she was strong and stubborn. She swung an axe with greater accuracy than an archer with his arrows at close range." he told.

"A trait better than mine. I couldn't swing a broomstick to save my own life." she joked, and then he turned to her.

"That's why you have me, your grace." he reminded, bowing slightly; and she again thought of his constant formality before continuing down the path.

"You would have married your earthen maiden?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I would have. But fate turned me down a different path, I'm afraid. I have not experienced any powerful affections for anyone since… until quite recently." he said, bringing a slight laugh from her.

"A fair maiden from our own hold?" she teased, and he laughed with her.

"I definitely have strong feelings, but I haven't quite decided what exactly it is I'm experiencing. I am hoping that it will turn out positive, in some way." he said, then she stopped and turned to him.

"I wish you every happiness, Falgon." she said sincerely, and his features softened as he faced her.

"I am happy, your grace. Since coming here, I can truly say that I have felt more content than I have in a long, long time." he assured, and they resumed their leisurely walk through the garden before returning inside to prepare for the festival. The day progressed quickly and after redressing for the festival, and helping one another with their hair, Claira and Milla made their way down to the Hall of Fire where Raeghun, Berin and the sentinels, and most of the castle hands awaited them. They exited the great doors and headed down the steps; a group awaiting them at the bottom of the stairway. A litter stood ready to the left.

"We've prepared a palanquin for you, milady." one of the men said as he bowed. She smiled as she wrapped hand around her husband's elbow.

"Thank you for the gesture, but I'll walk." she declined, and the men moved away to store the litter again. In a group, they left the grounds of Mount Ardor across the bridge, a young boy flying a banner. Lord Raeghun and Lady Claira Taugere led a column with Berin and Falgon to their sides, Milla and Metron the court master in the centre followed by the eight remaining sentinels, handmaidens and whomever else wished to attend the festival following behind them, and the sun touched the edge of the world. As the stars made their presence known in the night sky, the night turned bright around a great fire, and many torches lighting the field. Travelling merchants sold their wares from their stands, the townspeople sat at the many tables in a stretch of field where they talked and laughed while enjoying the abundance of ale and mead. A band played next to a piece of field cleared and lined with hay bales for a dance ring, children ran and played and laughed, their voices sounding into the night. The citizens were lively and mirthful. Milla looked over the people around them from her place at Claira's side at a long table, plates stocked with fruits and nuts set on it's surface every few feet for their consumption. Others had found their places among other tables with either nobles or commoners. It was a lovely warm night filled with music and voices of the townspeople and castle inhabitants alike; the women smiling and the men frivolous. She glanced over her shoulder at a well sized stand in front of a wagon, a cow tied to its back. A heavy horse stood grazing to one side while a young suntanned woman handed out small glasses to all who visits her. A worn cloth hung above her head, with a picture of a bright red cherry with blue, yellow and green stripes painted onto it. Then she brought her attention back to Claira.

"It seems the men are enjoying themselves." she mentioned, and Claira leaned over slightly.

"I just hope it's not too much." she said.

"That new vendor is drawing a lot of attention, I wonder what she is selling." Milla said, again glancing at the stand.

"Something exotic, I'm sure. Everyday items don't get that kind of consideration." Claira decided.

"Do you want to find out?" Milla asked, moving slightly back to move off the bench.

"Heavens, Milla." Claira said, tilting her head somewhat, and Milla took her cold hand in hers.

"Just a peek. I'm curious, and please don't tell me you're not, my lady." she urged, and then Claira sighed.

"Al right. One quick look." she agreed, then they stood and made their way to the stand. The young woman smiled broadly as they approached.

"Welcome, my beautiful ladies, to _The Banded Cherry_! What may I interest you in? A fruit? A cream? Perhaps a fantastic dream?" she greeted them warmly. She was dressed in a colourful shirt beneath a brown leather corset, a black skirt with bells chiming around her ankles to draw attention, and a faded pink headband kept thick curly dark hair from her face.

"What is this?" Claira asked as she scanned the many bottles of liquids of purple, red, green, orange, deep amber and white. Three large barrels stood behind her where a brown and white blue-eyed flock-hound lay on the ground in front of them, and a large cauldron stood over a fire filled with a white foamy fluid.

"Nectars of the gods, milady. Some make you warm, some make you cold. Some taste sweet, some taste bitter, some taste sour; but they all let you see the stars up close. One or two might even bring out your deepest desires. Make your most colourful dreams come true. Choose any one of my sweet fruits, let them dance on your pallet. Or perhaps, something a bit lighter to the touch?" she offered, as she motioned to the many bottles; she even handed a small glass of a yellow liquid to Milla. She took it, and brought it carefully to her lips letting the fluid touch her tongue. She winced and swallowed, before taking a deep breath.

"This is… certainly different, than what we're used to." she said, coughing once and handing the little glass back to the woman, who chuckled.

"I see that I will not persuade you so easily as I do the men. But they seem to enjoy the peach the most, I'll make sure to ask my brothers to bring me three crates more for next year's festival." she said, glancing at the people.

"You have quite a selection available to you, here." Claira said as she still marvelled the wide range of colours behind the woman.

"Our parents have a large distillery, I create liqueurs from a wide range of fruits, herbs and spices: Blueberry, Lemon, Mango, Nut, Passion-fruit, Peach, Raspberry and Strawberry. A speciality I have for the ladies are _Velvet Cream_ and _Ivory Milk_ , and for those with a need for a more pungent taste I have _Black Mist_ and _Devil's Blood_. But I often advise not to take these two together, they're prone to illusions and… momentary insanity." she warned, two men approached and paid two silvers for two small glasses of mango liqueur, they swallowed eagerly before returning the glasses and venturing off again. The woman rinsed the glasses in a pail of water before wiping them clean with a cloth, and replacing them on the table.

"So, you're from here?" Milla enquired.

"Yes, milday. Our farm is close to White Harbour, my brothers are dock masters there. They bring me crates of fruit from exotic places every few weeks, that allows me to create my special nectars. But I can only make enough for special occasions; this is my first festival." the vendor told.

"You've had no trouble coming here?" Claira asked, noting that the woman was alone. She smiled.

"Oh, no one ever bothers me." she said, glancing back at the dog behind her.

"The roads are usually peaceful, and Jo keeps me company." she said, and then looked back at the ladies.

"Well, it was very nice to meet you. But before we leave you, we'll each have one of your favourite speciality." Milla said smiling, and winking at her friend; the woman again smiled broadly.

" _Ivory Milk_ it is. Then I will definitely see you again." she said, and turned. She brought two sizeable wooden goblets from a large tub under her stand and moved to the cauldron behind her, then took the handle of the ladle and stirred the contents around four times before bringing it up and filling the goblets. She replaced the ladle and then moved to a table set to the right, setting the goblets down on its surface. She took a bottle with dark liquid from a crate and added several drops of the fluid into each of the goblets, before replacing the bottle and taking up a different bottle filled with finely ground powder before adding that to the mixture as well. Finally she brought a jar with raw honey down from a small collapsible shelf and stuck two long wooden straws into the honey, swirling them around the jar to take up as much of the sweetness as it could, then brought the straws over the goblets and let them sink into the liquid. She replaced the jar of honey and then stirred the fluid of each goblet in turn before bringing it back to the ladies, and handing each a goblet.

"Enjoy, my ladies. I will see you again, so this round is free." she insisted. After thanking the vendor, Claira and Milla headed back to the table. Claira brought the drink to her mouth, and found it extremely satisfying. The liquid was light, sweet and warm; with a slight spiciness to the after-taste; and they did indeed return to the vendor several times during the merriments before returning to the hold to retire for the evening.

More festive days followed, the atmosphere in and around the festival taking on an increasingly bibulous state under the night sky as the servers kept the horns and goblets full with flowing wine, ale and mead; and of course the new magical liqueurs. Everyone became orgiastic, save for Falgon. This night, he sat at one of the many tables with several of the sentinels, talking of various subjects and some of his travels. Once, he spent two years among the horse lords of the great grass sea of Essos.

"Can you speak their language?" one of the men asked, and Falgon laughed, bringing the horn to his lips.

"I can, a little bit. I had to learn it, and fast." he confirmed. The sentinel smiled.

"Go on, then. Ask me something. Ask me if my sword is sharp." he urged, and Falgon looked at him.

"Is yeri az has?" he sounded the words precisely, and the men glanced at each other. Falgon chuckled, and then emptied the horn in his hand before holding it out to the guard.

"Gwe get anna eshna chiva." he said again, the man laughed before standing and taking the horn, and the hint.

"Anha'm athayozar." Falgon said as he sat back, and the man left with another to refill the horns from a barrel. Then he looked at the others.

"If you will excuse me, I need to check on something." he said before standing and wandering off into the stir of the festival. He walked up the pathway, and then stopped as blue eyes looked up at him, a wooden goblet with white liquid in her hands and a dress of deep purple velvet hugging her contours.

"My pardon, your grace. Is everything in order?" he enquired, and she smiled at him.

"Yes. And how are you finding the celebration? Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"It's pleasant. I haven't seen a festival like this for quite some time. But I'll be careful not to abandon my responsibilities." he said, and she glanced around his arm to the fire.

"It's a festival, Falgon. Go and savour it, I'll be with lord Raeghun the entire night." she insisted, just then Milla appeared next to him, bright in a light orange dress.

"Ser Falgon, come dance with me." she urged, wrapping her hands around his elbow. He looked at her.

"I really shouldn't. I'll step on your toes." he tried, but she pulled on his arm slightly.

"Come, Berin is busy." she encouraged, and he looked back at Claira.

"He and my husband are entertaining the vassal lords. Go on, you might regret not taking up this offer, later." she said, and he laughed.

"Al right, but if Berin pulls my lungs out, I'm blaming you." he relented, and followed her to the clearing where villagers were dancing, and the band kept performing their music. How they didn't tire of the constant playing was a marvel. She led him into the little ring just as the song died out. He breathed in and out slowly before bringing his hands up to take hold of her left hand with his right, and gently laid the fingers of his left on her waist. The music started and he moved, leading her easily. Back, back, forward, arch; his memories revisited yet another blissful time of his life. The dance ended, and he stepped back bowing to her, his right hand still holding hers. When he rose, she was staring at him and he released her hand.

"My apologies, did I hurt you?" then she smiled.

"No, that was lovely. You dance like a high-born." she said, and he shrugged.

"I learned." she glanced towards the tables.

"Why not ask lady Claira for a dance, too?" she suggested, and he followed her gaze.

"That would hardly be appropriate, a commoner asking the lady for a dance." he said, and she looked back at him.

"You danced with me." she reminded, and his eyes met hers again.

"I did, but you asked me, not the other way around." he said smiling again, and she took a small step closer.

"I could always persuade her to ask you." she hinted, and he laughed.

"That's kind of you, but our lord would carve out my heart with a fork." he bowed to her again.

"If you'll excuse me, lady Milla." he left then, returning to the table and finding a full horn waiting for him.

Claira sat next to Raeghun at the long table, listening to the conversation of the lords. They had evidently taken a liking in the _Black Mist_ this night, a serving girl with a large tray made her appearance every so often with small glasses filled with a deep blue, almost black liqueur. Lord Rames advised that the sheep count of Ramshorn had more than doubled within the past year, and that they might be able to expect better prices from selling flocks and exporting wool to farther reaches, especially towards the north in colder climates. Lord Foch in turn advised that the coastal fishing villages had seen a shortage of eels and pilchards, but that harvests of salmon, haddock and turbot remained constant. Some fishermen even started harvesting crab and oysters in small quantities to try and make up for any insufficiency. Lord Violet assured that the honey farms that had fallen prey to the 'red bears' were rebuilt, and producing once again; however it may take some months before the trade levels out to where it had been before the pillaging started. Raeghun listened to each of them, and shared his thoughts on possible solutions to any problems, and further betterment for their citizenry.

"It is they who are the lifeblood of our country. Without them, everything goes to oblivion. We rely on them for full storehouses: food, clothing, firewood; just as much as they do our protection. We must make every effort to ease their lives." she heard him say, and gently smiled. He was good at this, he understood people, recognized their needs. Then she felt pressure on her leg, and looked down to see a little girl with big bright eyes and brown locks staring up at her. She may have been a little past two years of age. The little girl's hands reached up to Claira, and she smiled.

"Pretty." she said, the tiny little voice bubbly and expressive. Claira reached down and picked the little girl up, setting her down on her lap, the little eyes gazing at her in wonder.

"Well, hello. Where did you come from?" she asked, smiling.

"Pretty." the little girl said again, reaching for the lady's hair with one hand. Claira took a lock of hair hanging over her shoulder, and gave it to the toddler who took it eagerly and played with the strands, giggling as firelight shone off the contrasting strands of black and white. Just then, Raeghun looked at her, and noticed the little one sitting on his wife's lap. He turned.

"And who's this little lady?" he asked with a warm smile, and Claira glanced at him.

"I don't know. She just kind of appeared." she said, and Raeghun extended a hand to the little one.

"Hello. And what's your name?" he asked, and the little one looked at him.

"Mia!" she said, and took hold of his fingers squeezing gently and they laughed. Berin sat forward to see what had taken the lord's attention, and spotted the little girl on the lady's lap; then smiled taking in the scene of kind and smiling faces. _How could you be so cruel, to keep something like this from them?_ He thought, before returning his attention to the current conversation. The little girl sat with them for quite some time, until she started yawning, signalling her time for sleep, and an idea came to mind. Claira placed a hand on Raeghun's knee.

"I'll be right back." she whispered, and then stood up moving the child to her hip. She walked along the pathway to _The Banded Cherry_ , finding the vendor still handing out her glasses of elixirs. The woman, who they had come to know as Syla smiled broadly as she approached.

"Welcome again, my beautiful lady!" she greeted, and then looked at the little one.

"Your daughter is as fair as you are, milady." she complimented, and Claira blushed.

"Thank you, but she's not mine." she corrected, glancing at the girl sleepily rubbing her eyes; and then returned her attention to Syla.

"I'd like to purchase an _Ivory Milk_ , but without the spice and drops, please." she said, and Syla nodded. She brought another smaller wooden chalice from the tub under her stand and filled it with milk from the cauldron and added the honey before presenting it to Claira, who felt around her girdle, suddenly realizing that her coin purse lay forgotten on the table.

"If it would be al right with you, Syla; I will bring your coin before I retire for the night." she said, and the vendor smiled at her.

"Not to worry, milady. I won't have you pay for this one." she said, and Claira returned her smile taking the cup.

"You are truly generous." she thanked, and then started her way back to the table. Milla found her along the way, also heading for the table and looked at the girl holding the cup in her hand.

"My lady?" momentary confusion flashed in her eyes.

"She found me at our table. I don't know where her mother is, and she's getting sleepy." she explained. Milla looked around.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll find us soon enough." she said, and they started their way back to the table again. As they came into view of the table, a woman came rushing over. It was one of lord Foch's daughters by law.

"Ameera, there you are! I've been looking all over for you." she exclaimed, and then stopped in front of Claira and Milla.

"A thousand pardons, my lady. I charged one of my handmaidens with her care, but it seems she wandered off in the excitement." she apologised, and Claira glanced at the little girl who had laid her head against her shoulder.

"It's quite al right, lady Mandry." she said smiling, and the mother's arms went to take her.

"I hope she was not any trouble to you." she said as Claira released the sleepy toddler into her mother's care.

"No, not at all. She was a delight." she assured, and the young mother's eyes met hers again.

"Thank you, so much." she said before departing for their pavilion, and Claira and Milla rejoined the conversation at the table for a time before deciding that it was time for them too, to retire for the remainder of the night, and Claira stood.

"If it please, my lords. I bid you all a fond night, and will see you again on the morrow." she greeted, and they all shared her favour. Milla stood to join her, and Berin followed. As she turned to move away from the table, Raeghun's powerful arm wrapped around the form of her leg and pulled her towards him, and she unexpectedly landed on his knees, his other arm supporting her back and he looked at her. She smiled as their eyes met.

"That was new." and then he smiled back.

"I'll be just a little while more." he said, and then his hand left her knee and went up to her face, his fingers weaving into her hair while he pulled her closer to seize her lips with his. Those around the table looked on, some occasionally sparing glances at one another before he released her.

"I will find you later." he whispered, and then allowed her to stand before resuming their conversation and the small party left to return to Mount Ardor. A few steps away from the table, Falgon appeared as if he had been summoned, and accompanied them to the hold. Once entering the Hall of Fire, several guards and castle hands took their leave for the evening, Berin and Milla made their way to the second level where a door to the left side led to the servant's quarters, from where the lady further made her way to the lord's wing with her sentinel following. After disappearing from their sight, Berin turned to Milla.

"Well, the festival has really turned into something else, this year. I don't think it's ever been this expansive." he commented.

"Indeed, it seems the people are enjoying it profusely." she agreed, then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands rested against his chest.

"And once this festival is over, I'll have another reason for a large celebration." he said smiling, and she blushed.

"Just a few more days..." she reflected, and he rested his brow against hers.

"I can't wait." then he closed his mouth over hers in a loving kiss, his arms constricting around her. Her arms slid around his neck and held him against her for a moment longer before releasing him, feeling the muscles harden under his clothing. He breathed.

"You make things very difficult, you know that?" he teased, and she drew back.

"Then before I burden you further, I'm going to bed." she turned and headed for the door, and he was left watching her.

"Good night, my flower." he said, and then she turned back smiling.

"Good night, my crimson knight." and then she vanished. Berin sighed, and lightly shook his head to resume control over himself and then proceeded back down the stairway to the barracks to retire for the evening.

Claira opened the heavy door of the lord's wing and stepped inside as Falgon bowed to her.

"Sleep well, your grace." he greeted, and she turned smiling and took hold of the door.

"Good night, ser Falgon. Will you be returning to the festival?" he rose up.

"No, your grace. I will remain in the hold, in any event you have need of me. I still have a few books to finish." she breathed in. Sometimes his commitment and presence was as austere as it was comforting.

"Would the festival not be more entertaining than a book?" she asked, and he glanced down the hallway.

"I believe I've had enough of the festival for one night. Intoxication has never been my opinion of amusement." he said, and then turned back to her, her blue eyes examining him, searching for something unspoken.

"I don't think, that I have ever met anyone like you. You're such a mystery." she said, and he paused for a moment.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Good, I believe." then he smiled, and bowed again.

"Then I shall try to keep it this way." he said, and she nodded.

"Well, good night then. Enjoy your book." she said, and started to close the door.

"Sleep well, your grace." he greeted again, and waited until he heard her soft footsteps disappear from the doorway before returning to the barracks. He resumed his usual place in front of the fire, and picked up one of the books, scanning the title: _A Frozen Rose._

It was well past midnight when Raeghun returned to the castle along with others. The halls were peaceful, and silent save for the crackling from the fireplace and the torches. He greeted the others before making his way up to the lord's wing. He closed the door securely behind him, and headed through the lord's hall and up the winding staircase to the lord's chamber. He found his wife already asleep, and as she normally did, a plump pillow was tucked against her stomach. He released himself from his clothing, and lay down next to her, running his fingers across her shoulder and arm. She stirred slightly as he removed her thick hair from her neck, and revealed the soft skin so his lips could meet her there. He heard her moan slightly at his touch, then his hands moved over her again to cast off the light nightgown, and expose more of her to him.

"Raeghun…" he heard her whisper his name, then moved forward onto her pushing her gently into the bed. He lowered himself to kiss her right shoulder, and then allowed his mouth to trace a warm line down the length of her spine before moving back up and to the opposite shoulder, and then put his lips to her ear and whispering. He brought his knees between hers, then gripped her hips in his hands before pulling her up, positioning her legs to his. Then he leaned forward again, and softly kissed the length of her spine again, down to the small of her back. His left hand reached under her and pulled the pillow through beneath her. Then he raised up and leaned forward, taking hold of her hips once again. He heard her gasp as his bare skin touched her, he moved again slightly and then pushed himself forward into her. She breathed in sharply as the new sensation rushed through her, and as he moved again she cried out. His hands held her firmly while he moved, each time he closed the distance between them her breath sounded throughout the chambers, then he leaned forward, allowing his hands to push into the mattress on either side of her ribs and he pushed her further into the bed, her body resting on the pillow underneath her stomach, bringing himself closer and increasing the state he brought about her senses; her sure breaths changed to soft wails and her knuckles turned white as her hands strained into the bedding.

She lay against him, breathing hard as he held her close to him; her body shuddering.

"Did I hurt you?" she looked up at him, a tired smile rising the corners of her lips.

"No..." she breathed.

"You were crying..." she raised up, supporting herself on an elbow.

"It was different; that's all. You could never hurt me." she insisted, then he kissed her.

"I love you." his fingers wound into her hair, and she leaned forward again.

"What made you think of that?" he smiled, a light flush on his cheeks.

"I don't know. I just wanted to try something different..." she retook her place on the pillows, and they were swept away into blissful sleep.

Another day of festive activities followed, the people more frivolous than ever with dancing, laughing, drinking and feasting. A new wagon train of travelling entertainers arrived earlier this day, displaying bright colours. They set up close to the centre of the festival, and a gold skinned man with greying black hair, dressed entirely in blue silks approached the lord.

"My lord, we have heard of your rich fair; and have travelled afar to present you with our many magical talents. My company of extravagant entertainers include astute acrobats, nimble dancers, singers that would shame the sirens, animal binders, and fire breathers for your pleasure." the man presented, his voice laced with foreign accent; motioning to the large train of wagons behind him; bronze skinned people with black hair exiting and leaning from little windows; the women displaying open waists between woven tops and smooth legs under short leather skirts, and bands of copper jingling around their wrists and ankles; and the men wearing only faded brown garments covering their waist and legs. Two wagons held cages with powerful animals, among them a large snake, a bear, a lion, a tiger and a very, very big wolf. Raeghun glanced at Berin, who shrugged, and then he turned back to the man.

"And to whom do I extend my welcome?" he asked, and the man smiled broadly through a thick full beard of silvery black.

"I am called Master Blue, my lord. And my company, _The Dancing Mau's_ , who hail from Faros on Great Moraq." he said, indicating to somewhere far into the sky. Raeghun returned the warm smile.

"Welcome to the Horn Festival, Master Blue. Settle in, we'll anticipate great things for this evening." he said, and the man bowed to him.

"Thank you, my lord." he said, and then turned to go back to the wagons. Raeghun turned back to Berin.

"I just hope the lion is kept in its cage, tonight." he said softly, but Berin smiled.

"Not to worry, my lord. It's nothing you can't handle." he assured. Night descended once again, and the world was left in the light of fires, stars and a bright moon, and the main table traded the _Black Mist_ from the _Banded Cherry_ for the _Devil's Blood_ , a thick bright red syrup. _The Dancing_ _Mau's_ certainly provided every sense of the entertainment that was offered while the first group of acrobats and fire breathers entertained with flashes of fire from their mouths and twirling staves to the beat of drums. A slender woman performed an intricate dance while the large snake slithered its way up her body from the ground; finally covering every length of her frame before she bowed to the awed crowd. A large man told in broken common tongue of the time he found the great wolf in a woodland as the creature circled him eagerly. Large paws the colour of snow left prints in the soft earth the size of his hands as his tail wagged and a muzzle of the same colour sniffed the air excitedly. Essentially, had the man not discovered on that day that he was an animal binder, the wolf would have taken him for his supper. He ran a hand along the beast's back, showing off a deep sheen as dark as the night, but as he brought his hand back, the sparks of silver lighted under the moon's rays. The brown bear came rolling into the circle on a barrel before hopping off and circling a woman in a red dress. The woman spoke in a foreign language smiling at the bear, then it grumbled as it moved off into the crowd, sniffing at the people it passed. It finally paused in front of Claira, looking at her with big brown eyes. It moved forward, sniffing her cold hands and then moved up to her face, its nose so close she could see the tiny lines on its surface. The bear again moved forward, laying its massive head against her cheek and she felt the warm fur prickling her skin, and the smell of pine cones and hay drifting over her. She felt dizzy, experiencing pressure to her chest. Suddenly, a warm pink tongue licked the left side of her face before it moved back and sat down on the ground in front of her, staring at her. She could see every feature, every detail of her being mirrored in the creature's eyes, circled by a ring of bright gold. The dizziness intensified as a sensation of tingling crept down her legs and arms, and the edges of her vision became a foggy haze. The woman moved forward, and smiled.

"He like you. He feel heart. He licks, he like." she said, and Claira glanced down; seeing that a massive paw covered the entirety of her chest, feeling the pulse of a racing heartbeat. The woman spoke again, and the bear stood rising high above everyone; and a fleeting thought passed her that even the tallest of their sentinels would be dwarfed by this beast. The bear then turned, and moved away from them, returning to his master. A rush of air left her lungs as she realized that at some point, she stopped breathing; and as new air filled her, her vision returned and the tingling faded. Raeghun leaned over.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and she looked at him before glancing down, seeing her own hand white around his and she quickly released him.

"Yes, gods that was intense!" he chuckled, attempting to brush the nerves away with the wrinkles on the front of her green and gold dress.

"I can certainly believe that." a serving girl distributed small glasses of the liqueur to those around the table, and she glimpsed the liquid passing into his mouth was a sheen of dark blue. A loud roar drew their attention, and they looked to see a man walk into the circle, a large hoop held in his hand and a white animal with black stripes following him. Four crates were spaced around the man as the tiger circled him, he called out and the tiger hopped onto a crate, turning and snarling. The man cried again, and the tiger proceeded to jump from one crate to the next in long strides as the man's attention followed him. The tiger ended on a crate to his back left, and the man turned to face the onlookers. He moved to a burning torch, and held the hoop above it, the ring taking fire; then he moved back and held the burning ring high above his head. The tiger growled, and swiped a paw in his direction. The man smiled, and cried out once more; and the tiger leapt, easily passing through the burning loop and landing on the crate to the man's right front, again roaring as he turned. The man extinguished the flames with a quick stroke through the air before bowing to the applauding people, the tiger made his way to him and circled the man once more before laying down on his front paws, nose touching the ground; also something resembling a bow before they left the circle. Master Blue emerged from the side and took a place in the centre, then rose his hands and addressed the people.

"My lords, my ladies! Please remain calm for our next entertainer, while our lion is fond of people, he is still quite young and not as familiar with strangers as his predecessors. He will not lash out, but does get excited easily. For your pleasure, I present our lion binder!" he stepped away as a young woman and a lion, scarcely sprouting a mane approached. The lion walked around her, gently nudging her legs before sitting down next to her.

"He shy. He only see two year. Make welcome." a score of applause followed, and the young lion stood to walk around her again, and her attention turned to him. She spoke softly in their native tongue, and the lion managed to perform small tasks like sitting, presenting a big paw, lying down and rolling onto his back for a fond scratch; and the people kindly rewarded his efforts. But as the young lion stood to claim his prize, his attention left the woman for something far more tempting: A little girl playing with straw on the border of the circle. The woman called to him, but he paid her no mind as he sauntered over to the toddler. He stood over her, hidden between the bales watching as her hands fumbled with the tiny reeds; and several people stood in shock and horror as a terrified mother suddenly cried out, only now realizing her child had gone. The woman called again, desperately attempting to draw the lion's attention away from the little one, but he was fixated on the new playmate. He drew closer, sniffing the brown locks and then she looked up, bright eyes staring in wonder, and then raised her hands up.

"Fuzzy..." her fingers touched the rough whiskers, and the lion moved closer, lying down on his belly with paws astride the girl in the hay. Two men with long staves appeared, closing in on both sides of the lion before Master Blue shouted something at them, and they stopped.

"Why aren't they doing something?" Berin asked, and Raeghun glanced at him.

"Because of what it may cause. Provoked, he will attack the closest object; in this case the child. He's not trying to harm her, he's curious and wants to play. Unfortunately, his strength far outweighs hers." Claira laid a hand on his arm, feeling him tremble.

"My love?" then he stood, and walked forward; heart beating in his chest like the hoof beats of a stampeding horse. Berin stood to follow him.

"Stay here." came the command, and he remained as the lord walked forward and those around them stared. The lion snarled, nibbling at the tiny hands that touched his face while Raeghun closed the distance, and finally stood behind the toddler. The lion looked up, light eyes glinting between darkness and firelight and teeth bared in a display of possessiveness.

"She does not belong to you." he said to the lion, then it stood and roared, challenging the lord of Mount Ardor; and more people came to their feet.

"You cannot have her." Raeghun said again, and moved forward placing his left foot on the ground in front of the little girl for protection as the lion stepped back, and roared again.

"Go back to your master." the lord ordered, and the lion moved further back, driven by an irrefutable energy coming off the man in front of him. Master Blue motioned for the men with the staves to move forward, and they rushed over to herd the lion back to his cage. Raeghun bowed to pick the girl up, and held her to his chest as Master Blue came rushing over.

"My deepest apologies, my lord. Is the little one al right?" he asked, and Raeghun glanced at him.

"I do not think she has been harmed; but if you would not object I would prefer that the creature be kept in his cage." he mentioned, and Master Blue bowed.

"As you wish, my lord." he relented, and then glanced back at the lion as he was taken around the corner of a wagon before looking back at Raeghun.

"I've never seen any man do something like that. You may be a lion binder yourself, my lord." he mentioned, and Raeghun breathed out.

"Unfortunately, a slayer would be closer to the facts." he answered morosely and then turned to resume his place. The mother rushed over to him.

"Thank you, lord Raeghun." she said, extending her arms.  
"You ought to keep a closer eye on her, lady Mandry." he said, releasing little Ameera into her mother's care, and retook his place on the seat beside his wife.

"We just can't keep you away from them, can we?" Berin joked, and Raeghun smiled.

"Luckily, this wasn't like that time." he said, and Claira leaned over.

"Are you al right?" she asked, and his eyes went to hers.

"I'm fine. It was just a little one." he tried brushing it off, still feeling the racing pulse in his throat. The circle was cleared, and more people assumed places in the little ring, some with something resembling lutes and others with drums; three men dressed in white stepped onto crates; and soft music started. The women came into the circle, swinging wands with long bright ribbons attached to the ends, creating intricate patterns through the air as they danced and the circlets chimed around their ankles and wrists as they moved. The night was woven into music, and the singing voice of two young men, unknown words drifting over the people and far into the night before the deeper, more defined voice of the older man joined theirs, rising high to the blinking stars. The claps of hands sounded on the rhythm while people were taken away in the ambiance. People laughed, cheered and weaved to the beat, and seeing their enthusiasm several of the dancers dove into the crowd to claim the women. Seven of the women trotted to the main table like frolicking deer and seized Claira and Milla, drawing them away and into the circle. Raeghun leaned forward, curious of the current events as they watched the foreign trying to teach their exciting dance to the high-born and villagers. At first, one of the girls only held Claira's hands, swaying them gently; another showed Milla how she moved to the drumbeats. Raeghun spared a glance at Berin; their eyes met and then they shared an impish smile before Berin returned his attention to the circle. Raeghun's eyes moved up, and he could spot Falgon standing some feet away close to a burning torch, watching intently. The shadows flickered over a thoughtless face, but the eyes were focused; like he was memorizing each movement. He smirked, and then returned his attention back to the dance.

"I can't do this." Claira whispered, and then the woman next to her moved closer.

"Let music take you." she said, and Claira looked at her, and she smiled warmly. She took a step back and moved behind Claira, placing her hands gently on her hips.

"No listen. Feel." She said, reaching a hand up and placing gentle pressure to her chest.

"Feel here." she said, and Claira's gaze went to the people around them. Some were staring. The woman brought her face closer.

"Forget others. Lose you. It happiness." her hand moved back down to Claira's hips, and she glanced over to Milla where two women moved about her. The woman behind her looked at another, and called to her in their strange tongue.

"Close eyes, it help. We help." she said, as the woman came up in front of the lady, blocking the people in the crowd from her view, and gently took her arms then started to move, first in gently sways. Claira thought that closing her eyes might be better, a little escape from the staring eyes. Then the hands on her hips started moving as well, taking her in gentle sways to the sound of the voices and drumbeat, at first slow and then the magic of the sound took her, and as she became familiar with the movements it became easier to conform with the rhythm. Unlike the dances they were taught in their holds, now it was primarily her hips that moved in gentle tilts and circles as the mass of her weight alternated from one leg to the other while the rest of her body followed. She heard the women around her laughing excitedly.

"Yes! Yes!" she said, and Claira could feel her movements match hers, more defined, more supple.

"Yes!" the woman in front of her said, and slowly brought her arms above her head to display the length of her slender frame as her body swayed, silhouetted by the great fire behind them. The hands left her then, and she moved on her own matching the dance of those around them. Claira opened her eyes to see Milla next to her, and they danced together smiling; weaving exotically to the beat and song while people watched, hypnotized by the new scene. Dark eyes followed the shadows, contrasted by the light of the bright fire, taking in every detail. He watched the women dancing and smiling, the men drinking and jesting and more and more horns and small glasses were shared. Liqueurs of red and black were handed out freely, and uneasiness crept up his back. A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he looked to his side to see Gavin.

"Hey, you've been quiet. There's a horn waiting for you." Falgon returned his attention to the circle.

"I believe I've had enough for tonight." he declined, and Gavin's eyes followed his into the crowd.

"Now that really is something to see. This is the best Horn Festival we've ever had." he mentioned, but the unease would not fade, and he couldn't tell why.

"I really don't think you've had enough to drink. I swear you're the most sober man here." Gavin joked, and shoved a gentle fist into his arm.

"Come on, one drink." he urged, bringing a slight smile to the face of the tall man.

"I appreciate it, Gavin. But it would not be appropriate to get inebriated while having obligations to complete." he said, and Gavin scoffed.

"You're not on duty now. Lady Claira is as safe now as she possibly could be." he tried again.

"The safety of her grace is a constant responsibility. I would not shirk it for anything." Falgon said, watching as the dance finally ended and the people left the circle.

"You take your duty too seriously." he said.

"If I don't, what good am I?" he asked, and then looked at Gavin again.

"You're a strange man, Falgon of the Fire Hall." he teased, and he smiled.

"Strangeness is a matter of perception. Where mead tastes like honey to you, it's nothing but water to me." Falgon mentioned, and Gavin chuckled again.

"Al right, have it your way." Gavin said, and then turned.

"Enjoy that one for me." Falgon then turned his attention back to the people at the table where Claira had retaken her place at her lord husband's side and eagerly held a chalice to her mouth. Berin leaned over to Milla, placing his lips to her ear.

"I didn't know you could move like that." he teased, and she blushed.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, yet." she replied, and his hand went to her face gently, fingers running across her cheek.

"I'll find out soon enough." he moved forward and kissed her. Claira set the goblet down on the table top, feeling the warmth of the invigorating motion stretch through her muscles; and then her hand went to her stomach, a dull pain edging its way through her hips and she sighed; the ache of yet another early bloom; and the dancing certainly didn't help. She looked up to see yet another group of fire breathers entertaining the crowds; and despite the temptation to stay decided that it might be better suited to retreat to the hold and let the warmth of the bath chamber further ease the cramping of her muscles. She placed a hand on Raeghun's knee and leaned forward as he returned the gesture.

"If you would not mind, my love. I feel the need to retire." she said softly, and he nodded.

"Very well. I won't be too long." he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. She stood, and turned seeing Milla rise as well before lowering down and placing her mouth to Berin's ear.

"Retiring for the night, your grace?" she looked back to see Falgon standing behind her. _How does he do that?_ _To know when he is needed, and when not?_ Came the thought, and she smiled.

"Yes. I'm afraid our recent activity has ravaged me." she said blushing, and he bowed; ready to escort her back to the hold. She turned again to see Berin rising to his feet while emptying the horn in his hand and replacing it on the table and then holding his arm for Milla. They left the table, and Falgon glimpsed the many small glasses lined of different shades, a sense of uneasiness sinking deeper. Together, the four of them walked the cobblestone pathway back to Mount Ardor, bright torches illuminating the massive gate on both sides. They entered the Hall of Fire and made their way up to the second level where Berin bid Milla a peaceful evening with a gentle kiss; and Claira paused.

"Lord Berin, may I ask a favour of you?" he turned, and bowed to her formally.

"Of course, my lady. Anything." for a moment she stood fumbling her cold fingers together.

"Keep an eye on my lord husband for me." she asked.

"Is something troubling you, my lady?" he seemed confused.

"I'm a little concerned." she confessed, but he smiled.

"I will. But don't worry, he'll be fine. Sleep well, lady Claira." he greeted.

"Good night, lord Berin. And thank you." she returned, and he left back down the stairway to return to the festival while she ascended to the lord's wing with Falgon following. She opened the door to enter their chambers while he remained in the hallway; and she looked back at him.

"Good night, ser Falgon." he seemed different than usual, and then he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Your grace… If you need to, come to me." he said softly, and she turned to face him.

"Is something wrong, Falgon?" she asked, and a short thoughtful silence followed before he breathed in and looked down the long hallway.

"No, I hope not. I just don't trust the atmosphere, that's all. People, especially men, sometimes lose themselves with their senses." then he looked back at her.

"When there's a flow like there has been for the past few days, it's something else that controls them, not their own minds" he said, and she tried to make sense of the words.

"I don't understand." she said, slightly shaking her head.

"And I'm hoping you won't need to." he said, and then she sighed.

"Well, good night then, Falgon." she greeted again, and he bowed to her.

"Sleep well, your grace." he returned, and she gently shut the door. He remained for another moment before returning to the barracks. She ascended the stairway to seek out a light gown for the night, and returned to the bath chamber. She removed her dress, and stepped into the steaming water to where it touched her waist and felt the warm fountain spilling over her skin where she remained for a time as the scent of vanilla soaked into her skin before cleansing herself and redressing. She departed the bath chamber and returned to the lord's chamber, and as she entered she glimpsed a figure standing on the balcony overlooking the eastern fields, the cloak and leather doublet already discarded on one of the dressers.

"Raeghun?" the shadow turned, and he smiled at her. Blue eyes shining like the stars. He made his way to her, then wrapped his arms securely around her.

"What would I do without you?" he whispered, and imagined he could feel her smiling against him. Then in a moment of whimsy, he moved forward and pressed her gently against the wall; raising her hands above her head and holding them there so she would look the way she did when she was dancing with the _Mau's._ He lowered himself and pressed his mouth to her throat, feeling the gentle pulse.

"My love, I'm sore tonight." He pulled back, and looked at her.

"You didn't look sore earlier." He mentioned, blue eyes searching her.

"I've just started feeling it a little while ago." She said, then he smiled as he released her hands from his, and wove the fingers of his free hand into her hair and her cold fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"Al right." He leaned forward again, to place his lips against hers. The sensation brought the feeling of warmth through him, and the world evaporated into a red fog with black shadows darting across his field of vision and he was left standing alone in the bloodshot haze. There were voices all around him, laughing and cursing and whispering and screaming; some in pain some in fear some in anger. He could hear her voice, somewhere far off in the distance and she was calling to him. He walked forward through the crimson mist that now covered every inch of his world, the shadows incessant in their frolic and torment. His wife called to him again, more urgent and he walked again knowing that he had to find her; somewhere in this hellish marshland she too, was left alone. He heard her again, the insistence that she was alone and unprotected somewhere where he could not see drove him forward while the voices around him churned in his ears and forcing a dull ache to his skull. She called again, and the fire rushing through his veins moments ago turned cold as ice as he recognized the tone as fear. She was alone. She was alone, and unprotected and scared. He rushed forward, searching but there was nothing around him save for the crimson cloud and the dark shadows, and their irritating screeches. For a moment he stopped, and looked around not knowing if he'd even moved at all; and then a face came at him, dark and screaming with mouth agape and deep voids where eyes would have met him and long grey hair fluttering behind it. As the face approached the wailing scream died out and he could hear his name, loud and frightened and penetrating as the face swept inside of him and the haze around him shattered and the world returned to him. Blue eyes looked at him, bright and glimmering as a single tear ran down her face, and lips parted in small ragged breaths. His eyes focused to see Claira's stripped body beneath him and his hands gripped strongly around her wrists, blood smeared on her thighs. Horrifying shock struck him like a blade through his chest. _Oh gods, what have I done?_ He released her and sat back, hauling himself backwards until his back rested against the wall. She sat up, still watching him. The thought sickened him, and his hand closed over his mouth and his eyes shut, forcing back a wave of nausea. He breathed in deeply, and let the air from his lungs slowly before opening his eyes again and looking at her.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… Claira, I'm so sorry… please forgive me…" he whispered, then she came to him and put her arms around him.

"It's al right. It's al right, you just scared me that's all." She said softly, and his hand found her face.

"What have I done? What have I done to you?" he asked in a voice laced with regret.

"Nothing. You haven't done anything to me." He looked at her in confusion.

"But… What I saw…" she managed a smile.

"Raeghun, that wasn't you." She assured, and for a moment he felt less horrified laying his head against her shoulder and taking several easier breaths.

"If anything like this ever happens again, I want you to take a knife, or a fork, or a quill; or anything else you can find and stab me with it until I'm dead… or come to my senses." He took her arm and pressed his face against it, feeling the cool of her skin calm the flames that tore at him. They remained there for another moment, then she pulled back from him.

"Come, let us sleep. Tomorrow is the last day of the festival." she urged, and he nodded before standing.

Morning came, and the festival grounds were alive with people fully enjoying what was left of this blissful and bountiful time. Raeghun woke early and went to meet with maester Adlyn; Milla stood scanning Claira's wardrobe while her other two handmaidens started on the chores of the lord's chamber.

"Any wishes for your appearance today, my lady?" Milla asked, looking through the dresses.

"The black and blue dress, with the golden leaves." she replied, and Milla brought it from the wardrobe. A long flowing hooded dress of onyx black with decorated elbow ribbons, and ocean blue running down the front of the dress with delicate leaves embroidered in gold-thread across the blue of the skirt. She brought it to the bed and laid it out before proceeding to a dresser to choose out a set of adornment to match the dress.

"May I suggest the pearl and azurite, my lady?" she asked as she took the necklace of sparkling pearls with a centre pendant set with a flawless blue sphere from a wooden box and turned.

"Yes, that would compliment it well." Claira agreed, and then stood from her seat on the chest at the foot of the bed to discard her nightgown. Milla stood watching her patiently, the way her hands slowly pulled the lace from the front of the bodice to loosen the fabric; the long light sleeves dropped down to her elbows, then Milla turned her attention to the handmaidens.

"Leave us." she commanded, and they left the room. Milla approached Claira, searching her face.

"What happened?" she asked softly, and Claira turned to her in surprise, and a moment of silence followed as she stared at her in confusion.

"Nothing happened, Milla." she finally said, and then Milla took her hands looking down at the rings of slight discolouration around her wrists.

"Did… did lord Raeghun do this?" she asked again, and Claira pulled away gently.

"He didn't _do_ anything to me. My husband will never hurt me…" she smiled gently, acknowledging the fact.

"He couldn't if he tried." then her eyes went to the open door overlooking the eastern fields.

"He just stared at me, like his body was there and he wasn't. And that scared me even more… that he didn't, or couldn't respond to me." she finished, and Milla glanced at her wrists again.

"Then how did this happen?" Claira looked back at her.

"It was by accident. I took his hands so we could go to bed together, but as I passed him I stepped on the seam of my dress; ripping it and falling backwards, he went down with me. Although he was… elsewhere, he retained a certain level of control over his body, not falling onto me. Only his hands onto my arms." she explained, and then Milla nodded.

"I see. But perhaps you should go to see maester Adlyn as well, have him give you an ointment or an oil." she suggested, and Claira nodded.

"I'll go see him later, I think he's rather busy this morning." she agreed.

Raeghun stood watching the outside world from the little window in maester Adlyn's tower as he blended a selection of herb extracts, some honey and a sprinkle of powder into a bottle before sealing it with a wax lid and shaking it in his hand.

"Is there anything else, my lord?" he asked looking up at Raeghun.

"No." he replied, his voice dry and toneless; and Adlyn nodded still watching him. He saw his eyes cast down to the lower frame of the window.

"This should still the unease, my lord. You may return to me, should you require more." Adlyn said as he stood and came to Raeghun, and presented the little bottle to him, but he didn't turn to take it. The maester waited patiently, and then Raeghun sighed.

"I lost myself, last night..." he confessed softly.

"In what sense, my lord?" Adlyn asked, secretly curious.

"I'm not sure, it's hard to explain. I was with my wife, for a time I saw nothing but red mist and shadows... when this world returned to me, it seems I attacked her..." he said, and the maester nodded sympathetically.

"I don't believe that is the case, my lord." he had to disagree, and then Raeghun looked at him.

"I don't know what I did. She insists that I did not harm her, but I could have... I could have..." he couldn't bring himself to utter the words.

"But you didn't, my lord." Maester Adlyn implored, and then smiled.

"Despite it having been an arranged marriage, you love lady Claria endlessly; even the blind can see. You would never do anything to harm her." he assured, bringing a light smile to the lord's face.

"Thank you, maester. For your aid, and for your words." he said, taking the vial. He removed the wax cap, and swallowed the liquid; handing the bottle back before leaving to ensure that the hold was in order. The day passed slower than normal, perhaps drawn-out from the many wishes for this last day to remain as long as could be permitted. After sharing a mid-day meal of potato and cabbage soup, with freshly baked bread, parsley sprinkled cream cheese and preserve tarts and custard. With it a drink of aged coconut milk. After which, Claira returned to the lord's wing to redress for the remainder of the festival while Milla readied herself in her quarters. Claira emerged from their chambers, finding Falgon awaiting her in the hallway. He looked the same as he always did – presentably protected, dark hair hanging loosely down to his shoulders and dressed in brown leather breeches, boots that reached to his knees, a faded white shirt under mail armour concealed by a brown doublet and his earth shaded cloak around his shoulders with the sentinel pin fastened on the left side, the hilt of Summit protruding above his right shoulder, held in place by a chest belt. Unlike most swords, his had no sheath due to its great length; it was gripped by two hooks upon which the cross guard rested, he could easily draw it when he needed to. The image flashed in her mind that he stepped from the same portrayal each morning.

"Departing for the festival, your grace?" he asked as he bowed to her.

"Almost. I need to see maester Adlyn first." he raised his hand towards the maester's tower so she could lead the way. He accompanied her up the tower steps to the maester's chamber, and then the maester smiled as they entered.

"Good day, my lady. Ser Falgon." he greeted them, and Falgon bowed his head.

"Good day, maester. I shall be returning the books I borrowed to you soon." he notified, and the maester came over to them.

"There's no rush. How may I be of service?" he asked.

"Her grace requires your attention. I've had no qualms." he said, and then turned to Claira.

"I shall await you in the hallway, if it please you." she nodded, and he left again down the stairs; the maester watching as he left.

"Where did you find this man, my lady? He is truly captivating. If not for his humanity, I would cage and study him." he mentioned, and Claira's eyes went to him.

"Really? What is it about him that you find so interesting?" she asked.

"For one thing, his manner of speaking is completely different from ours. I would dare to say it is older. Much older." he mentioned, and she glanced back at the empty doorway.

"I understand that he was quite the wanderer. You adapt from travels, I'm sure." she said, and the maester's hand went to his chain as if he was in thought.

"It's more than just the odd phrase here and there. But what captured me, was the brand on his chest." he said turning and going back to his desk.

"What about it? Some cities in Essos brand slaves." Claira said as she followed him.

"Was Falgon a slave?" Adlyn asked as he looked up at her.

"I don't know, I never asked. He didn't tell you?" he shook his head.

"He doesn't know. In any case, I can't imagine it. And I know all the slavers brands; this is something completely different." he mentioned, glancing down at an open book displaying long writings and some strange images. She shrugged.

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out. By the way, why was he here?" she asked, suddenly curious.

"Just a burning sensation on the scar tissue; nothing a little milkweed and honey won't ease. But he's a healthy man, there are no signs of infections, diseases, allergies, or any kind of negative effects at all… of any kind. His insusceptibility is stone solid." he said, and then returned his attention to her.

"So, what ails you, my lady?" he asked, ready to lend his help, and she stepped closer.

"Something small, I hope." she extended her hands to him to display the discoloured bands around her wrists, then he took her hands and brought them closer to inspect it.

"Slight bruising to the skin, but no deep tissue damage." he looked up at her as he released her hands.

"It should be gone by tomorrow morning. But I will give you a balm for any pain." he said and turned to his stores.

"There is no pain, maester." she said as he rummaged through his wares.

"It will help to conceal the appearance as well." he said taking a small vessel from the shelf and bringing it to her.

"Thank you, maester. Will you be joining us for the last day of the festival?" she asked, and he smiled.

"No, my lady. I find festivals bothersome. I quite prefer my tower." he declined, and she nodded.

"Very well. Enjoy your tower, maester." he laughed.

"Enjoy the festival, my lady. Please do return to me tomorrow morning, just to ensure that the bruising has faded." he said, and she agreed before leaving. On her way down the steps she quickly applied the balm to her wrists before replacing the long sleeves of her dress; she found her sentinel waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Is everything in order, your grace?" he asked as he turned to face her, and she smiled at him.

"Yes, thank you ser Falgon." she replied.

"Please don't refer to me as 'ser', your grace. I'm not a knight." he corrected, and she tilted her head.

"And I'm not a queen, so you don't need to refer to me as 'your grace'." she teased back, but he remained smiling.

"You are my queen, your grace." he said, she turned away from him slightly.

"And so, you are my knight, ser Falgon." she returned, and then made her way back to the lord's wing to put away the ointment while he followed; again awaiting her at the doorway. They met with others in the Hall of Fire, Milla stood in front of the great hearth. She had decided on a flowing dress of violet purple, with a lilac centre piece and light long sleeves, decorated with nightshade blossoms embroidered on the bodice, and silver-thread hemlines; a silver ribbon hugging the front. Berin and Raeghun came from the southern hall, in woollen breeches, boots, white shirts and quilted doublets in the house colours. From Berin's shoulders hung his cloak of navy blue lined with bright red, the colours of his father, his own sentinel pin fastened to the left side. They approached up the grand stairway.

"You look lovely." Berin complimented as he took Milla's hand and kissed her fingertips. Raeghun received his wife in the same manner, and from there they returned to the merriment of the festival as night settled in over the lands; the fire and torches already burning brightly. As they followed the little pathway to settle in at the tables, Falgon stopped, and glimpsed a black wagon hidden away in the shadows. He hadn't seen it arrive; but didn't trust the unannounced appearance, or the fact that it arrived after dark, and it was attempted to conceal its presence.

"You al right?" Gavin asked as he came up to him, and he looked back.

"I'm fine. I suppose I'm a bit uneasy. The festival has gone this far without serious incidents, and normally the joy doesn't last." He replied, again glancing at the shadow.

"You need another horn, my friend. Your duties have made you paranoid." Gavin insisted, and Falgon breathed in deep, hoping that Gavin was right and that these shadows were only playing with his senses.

Inside the black wagon, three men sat speaking with a young woman in their foreign tongue. She wrung her hands together nervously.

"Pick out your targets carefully, and strike when the festival reaches its peak, people will be drunk and distracted. You will only have this small opening of opportunity; by midnight you must be gone." she said softly, eyes cast down at the wood flooring.

"We'll have good pickings this time, the festival is ripe." one of the men laughed, her eyes went to him.

"Don't be careless." she said, fearing the consequences. Another of the men stood and approached her.

"You just do your part." he said, their eyes meeting.

"And then you'll release my sister?" she asked hopefully, and he grinned; placing a hand to her cheek.

"Once we have enough, we'll leave her in a safe place." he assured.

"When?" she asked again, and he pulled back.

"When we have enough." he said, and then motioned to the little door behind her.

"Now go. The night won't wait." he instructed, then she turned and left. She made her way through the people, heading back to the wagon train, eyes cast down at the ground attempting to avoid contact with those around her and hiding the reddening of her eyes as tears escaped the corners. Her hands went to her face to wipe them away. It has been close to a full year that these people followed them with promises to return her sister to her unharmed, with the condition that she helped them acquire people to deliver to the slave cities of Essos. It was the only thing holding her to this, those many promises that might or might not be kept. Hope is a fickle thing, but never destroyed; and the hope that her sister was kept close, and further promises that she was safe made her push forward. She was the only person she had in this world, since the age of ten and six they were left to face the world alone; and she raised her sister who had barely gone into her tenth year. They joined _The Dancing Mau's_ and could somehow manage to keep one another strong until her sister was taken on a warm day in Sunspear during a performance. She was taken from a market stall while purchasing food for the _Mau's_ , and in her desperation to retrieve her sister, she was given the option to surrender the only family she had left, or to surrender herself to them in acquiring new prisoners; and she found herself agreeing to the latter. Twenty years of her life had gone, one spent in a different form of slavery... Her hands went to her face again, and in her rush to reach the wagon train, she slammed into something hard. She looked up to see a tall man in a cloak of brown.

"Sorry. No see." she managed in broken common, but he smiled gently.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and she looked down to hide her eyes.

"Yes. My lion sick. I worry." she said, and he looked towards their stands.

"I'm sure he's just sad, having to remain in his cage. He'll be fine." he assured, and she nodded.

"Yes. I go." she said, and then passed him heading to the wagon train. Falgon watched as she walked to the wagons, finding it odd that she came from the opposite direction; but decided to let it go for now. Deep night set in while the people sated their thirst and indulged in the many offerings of foods laid out on the tables, enjoying once again the performance the exotic group presented; and the men from the black wagon emerged, scanning the people of the festival. They wandered around, staying hidden by the shadows and chose a count of seven to seize, and then one of the men hauled another closer, pointing.

"Look at those two. We'll get a good price off them, especially the one with the odd hair. Someone will pay a large sum for such features." he said, indicating two women, one in blue and black with hair the shade of midnight marbled with the colour of the stars, and another in garments of light purple and silver-thread. The other hunched down, studying them and mulling over the possibilities.

"That we will. But look at that." he said, indicating the others around them. Men of refinement, tall and proud.

"We'll have to watch them carefully; wait until they're alone." he decided, and the other leaned closer to him, grinning in excitement.

"We can take them last, and must then make sure that we vanish without delay to avoid a warm trail. I'll be sure to keep a close eye on them." he said, and proceeded to shadow their movements.

They sat at the tables as the night and its rich entertainment and joyous atmosphere continued, enjoying the display of dancers and fire breathers, then Milla leaned over to Claira.

"I'm feeling a bit thirsty, I'm heading over to the _Banded Cherry_. Would you like something, my lady?" she asked, and Claira smiled.

"Just the usual, thank you Milla." she said, and Milla stood to pay a visit to Syla, then vanished through the throngs of people. Time passed while the young man and his beast of white and black stripes drew lively applaud and cheers from the citizens, and a serving girl from the stand came to the table, bearing a tray of liqueurs. Berin approached from the amidst the crowd.

"Pardon me, my lady. Have you seen Milla? I can't find her." he said, seeming worried, and she looked in the direction she was last seen.

"She was with me a while ago; she went to visit Syla. I'll just head up and have a look." she said standing up; Falgon approached her.

"Shall I accompany you, your grace?" he asked, and she smiled at him.

"That's not necessary; it's not far and I won't be long." she assured, and headed off to _The Banded Cherry_. Falgon stood watching her.

"Falgon?" Berin came up to him, the threads of unease pulling tighter around his chest.

"Something is not right. Come." he decided, and then followed, remaining out of sight. Claira walked up the little path towards the large stand, seeing Syla busy stirring the great cauldron behind her. She stopped in front of the table, and glanced around at the different smiling faces passing her, and then turned her attention to the woman.

"Good evening, Syla." she greeted, and the woman turned smiling.

"Good evening, my beautiful lady. Am I right to assume you have come to claim your evening serving?" she asked merrily as she came forward and reached below the table to bring the wooden goblets from below her table. Claira raised her hand.

"Thank you, Syla. But I've come to ask, have you seen my court maiden? The lady that normally visits you with me. She was to come see you a little earlier." she said, and the woman looked at her, trying to remember.

"I have not, milady." she said, placing the goblets on the table.

"The last time I did, was when she passed by here with you." she added, and Claira looked away at the festival grounds.

"Al right. Thank you, Syla. I may visit you again a bit later." she said and then left down the little path again. She stopped for a moment, next to a large wagon; placing her hand on the wheel and leaning slightly to relieve a sudden spasm in her stomach. She breathed in deep, and let the air go slowly, waiting as the pain slowly subsided before rising again. She stood for a while, wondering. She glanced back at the burning mountain, set on the high hill with its many torches lighting the massive walls and blinking in the night. Milla would not have returned to the hold without telling anyone, and if the _Mau's_ had claimed her for another dance they would have seen her. Syla had not seen her, and Berin is unable to locate her. Her eyes darted through the many faces savouring the night, far off in the distance surrounding the circle; and she did not realize that the world around her grew increasingly silent and bereft of people. _Where is she?_ Her eyes wandered the space over the fields, the festival and its people, and then went up to the deep black sky with its many stars. It must have been close to midnight. _I should return to the tables._ She decided, and her hand slid from the wheel to move forward, just as harsh hands grabbed her from behind, one around her arms and waist while a hard gloved hand clasped over her mouth and nose, inhibiting her breathing and keeping her from screaming, and then dragged her away into the darkness. She kicked and writhed, desperately attempting to release herself from the grip, but then the arms tightened crushing her body against a hard frame, and sudden warm breaths flowed over er right ear.

"Quiet. No movement." the voice of a man ordered, and she felt her body tremble in fear. The hands moved her further back, away from the light and her eyes closed, wishing that she'd made a different decision.

"Release her." came a hard and comforting voice, and her eyes opened to see the tall silhouette illuminated by firelight, the hilt of a sword above his right shoulder, and she could feel the body behind her grow tense.

"You want back? You buy back." the voice behind her said in broken common, and the figure in front of them took a step forward.

"I don't make deals with threats." he said, his hand rising to find the grip of his sword, and he stepped forward again.

"Now release her." he commanded, releasing the blade from his back. In a moment of desperation the man behind her drew a dagger from his belt, and held it to Claira's throat; the hand over her face gripping tighter. With her hands now free, they went to the arm to try and relieve the pressure, allowing a degree of air to reach her lungs; but the man stepped back hauling her with him.

"You move, she die!" he threatened.

"I won't allow that to happen. If I sound an alarm, every guard within a hundred yards will descend upon you. Now I will demand from you a final time, release her." he said, his voice calm and even, bringing a slight ease to Claira's shuddering body. In the darkness, Falgon's eyes went up to see another shadow approach from behind the wagon. He raised the sword in front of him, hoping that the gesture will bring the dagger away from the lady's throat and towards him in another threat; and it worked. The man pointed the dagger towards him.

"You back, she go." he said, a slight tremor to his voice; and then a hard fist found the ribs on his left side, driving the air from his lungs and the strength from his arm; and Claira slipped from his grasp, rushing forward towards Falgon. The man lay on the ground, gasping in pain as Berin took hold of the leather neckline of his armour. Falgon's hands went around her shoulders.

"Have you been harmed, your grace?" she shook her head against him, breathing hard.

"Please, go to your husband." he urged, and after a moment she left to find him. Berin slammed the man into the wall of the wagon.

"A threat on the lady of Mount Ardor's life, is an instant death sentence. Who are you, and who sent you?" Berin demanded, judging him for an assassin in light black leather armour.

"I serve none." the man breathed.

"He's a slaver." Falgon said as he approached, Summit already replaced on his back.

"A slaver, eh? Slavery has been outlawed from Westeros for thousands of years." Berin said looking back.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't stop the trade. The masters pay well for foreigners, and the more exotic the appearance the higher the price that is demanded." Falgon said, looking at the man; and Berin returned his attention to the man.

"Did you have any consideration of what the price of this would have been?" he said, glimpsing a war in his mind. Thousands died when Robert's Rebellion broke out, and it all started because lady Lyanna Stark was taken by Raeghar Targaryen; how many millions more could have walked that same path because a slaver delivered lady Claira Taugere to a slave master of Essos, and he refused to return her?

"How many of you are here?" Berin demanded.

"We four." the man said, and then Berin looked back at Falgon.

"Lord Raeghun must be told. There will likely be others that have already been taken." and then the thought struck him.

"Lady Milla must have been taken as well." he finally made sense of it.

"Let us not disturb the festival if it is not necessary. I will request that lord Raeghun accompany me here." Falgon paused for a moment.

"The lion binder of the _Mau's_ knew of this." he added, and then looked back at Berin.

"Stay here, I will return with lord Raeghun." he said and then turned to leave. He rounded the corner of the wagon and headed down the pathway towards the festival, and then saw the lord approaching with three additional sentinels following, Edur among them.

"What happened?" he asked softly as they met, and Falgon bowed his head.

"If you will, sire. Come." he urged, and then turned to return to Berin. They remained concealed by the wagon from the eyes of the festival, questioning the slaver and gathering that several people have already been seized; the lady was their last target before they would have made their escape to a larger group waiting some miles away to deliver their shipment to a pirate waiting off the shores of Cape Kracken below the Flint Cliffs. Raeghun sent the sentinels to find the remaining of the slavers, who were quickly brought before them. Three sat bound on the ground before him.

"He said there were four." Berin mentioned, and looked at Falgon.

"The lion binder makes them four." he said softly, and Raeghun demanded to know where their people were being kept; anxious for the answer; and then Falgon looked back. He nudged Berin's arm with his elbow.

"Follow me." he said, and then turned; making his way to a shadow hidden in the dark, Berin following with a torch. They reached the black wagon, and Berin lighted the door with the light of the fire; a large padlock secured the door to the wagon frame; and there was no key.

"I could try to pick it, but I'm afraid that skill has not been whetted for some time." Berin said, and Falgon reached for his sword.

"Let's not take our time, shall we? Stand aside, lord Berin." he said, raising the sword high above him. He brought it down hard, the wind singing off the edges of the blade as it passed through the weaker bolts holding the lock to the wood; and for a single moment Berin again admired his friend's skill with the massive sword. The accuracy of the strike was nothing short of inhuman, and the lock fell to the ground with a clang. Berin opened the door and scanned inside, finding at least five girls and two young boys all bound and silenced by rags. He moved closer, and in the corner could make out the glint of a violet dress. He turned back and handed to torch to Falgon.

"Call the others." he instructed, and Falgon summoned several guards passing nearby; who hurried over to help release the prisoners. Berin shuffled his way into the wagon while the others were gently taken from the wagon and released from their bonds, his hands touched the figure and she looked up at him; her eyes glinting in unimaginable relief. He hurried to release her hands from a tightly bound rope, and then cut more bonds from her feet while her arms moved up to remove the rag from her face before wrapping her arms around him and breathing against him; his body enveloped hers.

"Berin! I was so scared... I was so scared!" she cried against him, and he did what he could to comfort her.

"It's al right, you're safe now." he assured, and took her from the darkness of the wagon. They brought her back to the safety of the crowded festival grounds where she could rejoin Claira, with Gavin at her side; Berin instructed him to escort them both back to the safety of the burning mountain, and then returned to lord Raeghun who had the lion binder brought before him, and questioned her while three sentinels stood in attendance. She voiced that the group she travelled with knew nothing of what she did, and wished that it remain so. She looked down at the ground.

"People's lives have been destroyed, families left broken; all for an extra pouch of coin." Raeghun said.

"I no get coin, lord." she said softly, and Raeghun looked up at Falgon.

"If I may, sire. This was an act of desperation, not greed. Perhaps, ask the girl why before resorting to alternate methods." he suggested, and then looked back.

"If it please you sire, I will ensure that her grace has been delivered to the hold safely." he added, and Raeghun nodded. Berin took a step towards him.

"I will join you. I must ensure that Milla has not been traumatised from this night." he said, and they too left for Mount Ardor. Raeghun looked at the woman, and then at the sentinels.

"Leave me with her." he instructed, and they moved away. He stepped closer.

"I will adhere to my sentinel's counsel; and give you this opportunity to speak to me freely, and give you my word that my judgement will be fair. Is there something you wish to say?" he asked softly, and saw her hands rise to her face as she cried.

"I no want... I no want, I must... They take her... They take Calla... They promise... They promise they give her back if I help..." she sobbed, and he felt empathy towards her. Her bloodshot eyes came up to meet his.

"They have my sister..." she said, and he again softened.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I understand. We will do all that we can to help you get Calla back. The slavers said that a larger group is waiting for them to join them, with the circumstances I will send three of my most trusted sentinels with a party of guards to capture them; and I wish for you to accompany them. I will speak with Master Blue, and give them instructions that you are not to be harmed. Find your sister, and return to your family." he said, and she fell down on her knees.

"Thank you... Thank you... Thank you..." she sobbed further, and then he held his hand to help her up. She took it, hand shivering.

"And now I have a final request of you. When you reunite with your sister, keep each other safe; and train your lion well." he said smiling, and without a thought she threw herself against him, her arms wrapping around his powerful body and squeezing.

"Thank you... Thank you... I will..." she promised, and then his hands found her shoulders, gently pushing her back.

"Al right. Off you go now." he said, and she spun around and left. He shook his head. _Poor girl..._ He ventured off to set in place the preparations for his promise.

Falgon ascended the incline to the lord's wing after leaving Berin in the Hall of Fire with Milla, and found Claira at the door bidding Gavin a peaceful remainder of the evening.

"My pardon for interrupting you, your grace. I wished to ensure that you are unharmed." he said bowing to her, and she turned to Gavin.

"You may leave us." she said, and he returned the gesture before making his way down the hallway. Falgon studied her as she watched the shadow disappear around the bend.

"Are you al right? Have you been injured?" he asked, and her eyes found him suddenly like the sun exploding from the horizon.

"Thank you, Falgon. You've saved me again. And not just me, so many others." he smiled gently.

"No thanks is needed, your grace. I merely did what I was supposed to do." he said, and she looked down.

"No, it's more than that. Much more..." she stepped forward, and leaned against him gently.

"Thank you, so much..." she whispered, and his arms went around her gently; feeling a burn to his skin where it touched her.

"I've told you once before, that I will never allow any harm to come to you, so long as I breathe." he said softly, and then gently pressed her tighter to him before releasing her. She looked up at him, and he bowed to her.

"Sleep well, your grace." he greeted.

"Good night, ser Falgon." she returned, and then retreated to the safety of the lord's wing. He stood for a moment, and then left again down the hallway back to the barracks. Berin sat in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames.

"I owe you my thanks, Falgon. If not for your adept awareness, many things would have been sent straight to oblivion tonight." he said, and then looked back at his friend as he stood up.

"Milla is shaken, but otherwise unharmed. I've been trying to make sense of you for a while now, you have a proficient capacity to recognise peril, something that only comes with years of experience." he said, and Falgon shrugged.

"I've wandered the known world for some time, Berin. You learn from yourself as much as you do from others, and when something feels out of place, it usually is. Your senses alone can tell you enough should you need to react, but there is a fine line between being psychotic, and being prepared." he said, and Berin placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Then I am thankful to every god there is, that you are the latter. You've been a great blessing to this hold, and despite your former occupation, am happy that you have joined us." he said, and Falgon smiled back at him.

"I wouldn't change a thing, and eventually I will turn to dust within these walls." he said.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 – THE KNIGHT AND THE FLOWER

The excitement of the Horn Festival finally ended, and those who had come from afar returned to their homes while preparations for a wedding were well under way. Claira and Milla walked the long pathway through the outside gardens allowing the freshness of the day's light to wash over them while Falgon followed close by, always unforgiving in his devotion. The seam of a wide sleeved blue and gold dress brushed about Claira's ankles, and her maiden wore a court dress fashioned of red and black.

"Will you remain here at Mount Ardor, lady Milla?" Claira asked, somehow dreading the question, the thought that her closest friend would no longer be with her had brought an unease about her that would not subside, but then Milla smiled.

"We will, my lady. Both my, and my sweet husband-to-be's interests lay here. Mount Ardor is our home, as much as it is yours." she said, and this lifted the heaviness from Claira's heart.

"I am so happy to hear that. It will not be easy to find another who would be as capable as you, or lord Berin." she confessed.

"I have mentioned the possibilities; but he wishes to remain here. He and lord Raeghun have been friends for many years, and he is quite fond of him." she told as they walked.

"Brothers would be closer to the facts, though." Claira said, smiling; entertaining the thought of a 'growing family' and they shared a laugh.

"I trust your families will be attending?" Claira asked as she glanced over the horizon.

"I believe that mine will, they should be arriving later this day or perhaps on the morrow; but I'm worried about Berin. He asked maester Adlyn to send a raven for him, but the bidding was solely for his mother." Milla said, the chiming of her voice dying down to a bitter hum.

"I see. I feel sorry for him, I understand he did not have a positive relationship with his mother's husband. But I am sure things will work out." Claira said as she looked back at her, and noticed her gaze lost into the sky.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, and then walked back to her.

"No. I'll be married to lord Berin Trentin of the Corridor in the next two days; he's made me the happiest that I've ever been. What my father might think, should not bother me." she turned back smiling, but with a lingering uneasiness behind her light green eyes. Then Claira smiled and took her hands, her icy touch sending prickles up the maiden's arms.

"They will be just as happy for you as I am. I am sure of it." she assured, bringing a spark of light to her features. Then Claira turned, wrapping her arm around Milla's elbow.

"Come. I have a bride's gift for you." she said, smiling and Milla followed dutifully. They entered the castle and made their way up the long winding halls and towards the lord's wing and entered, before she took her further into one of the bed chambers. She opened a tiny box and took something from inside before turning and coming back.

"Hold out your hand." she instructed, and the maiden did as she was bid. Claira held out hers, and dropped a small silver chain adorned with topaz gemstones and amber tears into her hand. Milla stared at the beautiful bracelet.

"It is beautiful, my lady. I can't accept this." she said bringing her hand closer to Claira, but she smiled at her warmly.

"I am the lady of Mount Ardor, Milla. You are not allowed to refuse me. It is my bride's gift to you, and you will accept it." she insisted, and Milla's hand clasped shut and she held the bejewelled band against her chest.

"You honour me greatly, my lady. I cannot thank you enough for this." she said, and then they left the bed chamber. Another handmaiden met them in the hall, advising that the southern hall stood prepared for their mid-day meal and they were waited upon. They made their way down the southern feast hall, and enjoyed a selection of breads, cheese, sausages and wine, with apple pie and custard for sweetness before proceeding on their business of the day. Milla was overseeing new preparations for the evening banquet while Claira addressed cook Jeody on the selection for their evening meal of turkey, sweetened carrots, countryside greens and baked potatoes. A guard came in from the doorway.

"My apologies for disturbing you, lady Milla. Someone has arrived to meet you." he announced, and she discarded her activities, and headed down and through the Hall of Fire and exiting the hold. She stopped on the steps, glimpsing the bright banners of a field of sunflowers under a deep orange sunset sky. Lord Raeghun and lady Claira had already issued the visitors a welcome. A short slender woman with long ash blonde hair, and clear green eyes dressed in light brown stood beside a boy with similar features who may have seen his ten and third year while a man of less than average height and stocky build, dressed in black boots, woollen breeches, a quilted doublet of green velvet and a black cloak around his shoulders spoke with the lord of Mount Ardor; and then his eyes went to her. One eye, clear and green like summer grass; and the other white and sightless. The boy looked up.

"Meela!" he slipped from his mother's arm and ran towards her. Milla rushed down the steps to greet them, and threw her arms around her little brother as he slammed into her excitedly.

"Rod, my sweet baby brother!" she laughed, and he looked up at her, his arms still securely around her waist.

"I've missed you so much. When are you coming home?" he asked with tears in his eyes, and she had to fight to keep back her own.

"Soon." she assured, and then looked up at the others.

"Come, I can't stand here with you all day." she said and led him back to the party waiting at the bottom of the stairway. Her father raised his arms to her, and smiled warmly.

"Milla, my precious sunflower." he greeted, and her arms went around him in a loving embrace.

"Dadda." she breathed against him, and after a moment more he released her and she went to her mother to greet her in the same way with ' _Mammy_ '. Her father looked around for a moment, and then turned towards her.

"So, where's this man of yours?" he asked, and then noticed a tall figure approaching from inside the castle.

"Is this him?" he asked, indicating the sentinel as he stopped at the bottom of the stairway.

"Heavens, no!" Milla said, blushing; and Falgon smiled gently.

"I would be greatly honoured, my lord; but I'm afraid that position has already been taken up by another." he said bowing; and then turned his attention to Claira.

"My apologies, your grace. Maester Adlyn wished that I present you with this." he said, handing a parchment to Claira for inspection.

"Thank you, ser Falgon. I'll send someone to the herbalist's." she said, folding the parchment in her hands and then returned her attention to the guests. Raeghun turned towards the doors.

"Lady Milla, you may have your family accommodated in the west wing of Mount Ardor." he said, and she thanked him before turning back to her family.

"I just know you will enjoy it here." she said smiling, and then looked at her father.

"Lord Berin will be joining us soon." she said, and they followed her into the castle. Her mother turned back.

"Come, Hrodrich." she called to her son, admiring the horses in the stable; and he followed. She escorted them to the west wing of Mount Ardor with its many lavish bed chambers, lodging them in two rooms closest to the lavender bath. After settling in, she escorted them back to the Hall of Fire, and Milla saw Berin speaking with two other sentinels, lighted by the fire of the great hearth.

"Ensure that the guards are relieved at midnight, and I want men posted at the towers constantly. The gate is the only way in or out, it must remain secured at all times." she heard him order, and secretly admired his ability for leadership. She looked back at her family, and smiled. _Well, no time like the present._

"Come, you must be famished from the journey." she invited, and they followed her down the steps.

"My knight." she called to him as he handed a parchment to the closest sentinel with further orders for the evening.

"My flower." he turned, and suddenly paused, the breath catching in his throat as he watched them approach. But in an instant he eased, and faced them fully as Milla reached him and put her hands around his right arm and turned back to her family.

"My dear ones, this is lord Berin Trentin, my betrothed." she announced, and Berin bowed to them.

"Such a pleasure to finally meet you, lords and lady Scharer." he greeted. Her mother came forward, placing her arms around him.

"The pleasure is ours, my dear boy." she said, pressing him tighter and then released him. Rod shared the enthusiasm, but her father stood staring at him.

"It's nice to meet you, Berin." he said dryly, and Berin bowed his head; then Milla moved forward slightly, sensing the density of the atmosphere.

"The banquet awaits." she urged, and together they made for the southern hall. Milla's family shared the high table with her and Berin, and lord and lady Taugere while the other inhabitants of the hold piled in at the long tables set out in the hall. Milla's mother sat admiring a new feature to the hall from her place across Raeghun. A large fireplace set behind the seats of the Taugere heads, bringing warmth and light into the hold.

"This is a beautiful fireplace, lord Raeghun. It adds so much of elegance to your hall." lady Bea said, and brought her eyes to meet his. He smiled as he replaced a chalice on the table.

"Thank you, my lady. I had our stonemasons set it shortly after my father and mother's departure from this world, to honour their memory. We named it the fervid hearth." he explained; and she cast a quick glance at Berin at his right side, busy entertaining Rod.

"How long have you known lord Berin?" she asked, taking her chalice from the table.

"Most of my life. He grew up with me here, our age differs with but a few moons. We've had many adventures together, and faced more than a few hardships. He is the head of my sentinels, and along with ser Falgon one of my strongest." he said.

"The two of you are very close." she reflected,

"He's my brother. I would face a hundred wars with him at my back and not have the slightest care for my own safety. He is honourable, and loyal to a fault. I would not have anyone else as my personal sentinel." he said, and she sat back bringing the chalice to her lips.

"How wonderful. And such a comfort that he will be the man standing beside my Milla." she said, and Raeghun laughed.

"There is really no need for any concern, my lady. None is more capable than him." he assured. Serving girls kept the goblets full of sweet mead, and served the members of the hall delightfully and the evening carried on pleasantly.

"It's been years since I last saw you, lady Claira. But I can report that your father is doing well, he and lord Gerald still comes to see me often. The young lord has been promised to lady Dyana Umber, and has mentioned that they are coming here for your lord husband's name day this year. We might find them on the road." lord Luitpold said from his place opposite from her.

"That is wonderful news, I've missed them dearly. They did not send a raven to inform me, though." she mentioned, and a slight flush found his rounded cheeks.

"Oh, it might have been meant for a surprise. So, you didn't hear it from me." he said, and she laughed.

"I'll still act surprised." she said. Finally, the tables were cleared and the majority of the household left to find their beds for the night. Milla leaned forward towards her father, he'd been silent for some time, just looking towards the other side of the hight table where her intended was seated beside his lord.

"Are you al right, Dadda?" she asked, suddenly anxious and he looked back at her.

"Was this the right choice, for you?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I don't understand." and he took a deep breath.

"I don't believe him suitable, as a husband for you." he determined, and her fingers pulled back under her palms.

"He is the best choice for me, Dadda." she said stubbornly, and then his hand reached for hers.

"You're my only daughter, your place is with us. Had the choice been mine, you would marry a high lord of the north; not some glorified body-guard." he said, and she pulled away from him.

"The choice is not yours; it is mine and I will live with it until the end of my days." she said, and he stared at her.

"If you decide to go through with this, I will not present you to him." he said, and she stood.

"You don't have to. The lord of Mount Ardor may present me to my husband; he will have no objections. He has already consented to the match." then she turned, and vanished from the hall. Lord Scharer was left feeling frustrated and utterly exposed. Berin stood from his place next to Raeghun.

"If you will pardon me, my lords and ladies." he excused himself and then moved away from the table. Rod stood from the table as well.

"Wait for me." he called, and Berin looked back at him.

"Shall I escort you to your quarters, my lord?" Rod smiled happily.

"Yes please." and they left the hall, then after another moment of silence Milla's father stood as well.

"Please excuse me, lord Raeghun, lady Claira. It's been a long day, and I fear that I have enjoyed too much of your fine mead." he said, and held his hand for Bea. Claira nodded.

"Of course, my lord." she said, and then Raeghun stood as well, holding a hand for her.

"Yes, I believe it is time for rest." he agreed, and then looked at Luitpold.

"Sleep well, my lord." he greeted, and the southern hall was left empty as all made their way to their beds.

Milla rearranged items in her room, despite the constant order of her belongings. A soft knock at the door drew her attention.

"What is it?" she answered, not stopping to reflect on who might be standing on the other side. Then the door opened, and closed again securely.

"My flower." Berin's voice called to her.

"Yes?" she continued shuffling the items on the dresser.

"I apologise for disturbing you. May I speak with you?" he asked, and her eyes left her hands for the hard surface of the wall.

"You're already inside, so speak." she said, and then heard him coming closer to her. In an instant of vulnerability her hands went to her face as new tears left trails down her cheeks. He gently took her arms and turned her to face him.

"Please don't cry. Sunflowers are yellow, and shining. Not red." he said, wiping the tears from her.

"I'm sorry." he said, cupping her face with his hand.

"Sorry for what? You didn't do anything." and he sighed.

"Your father doesn't approve of me." her hands found his wrists, fingers wrapping around the shape of the muscles.

"I don't care. I will be yours, and you will be mine, regardless of his thoughts." she said, leaning her weight against him as his arms slid around her.

"This is my choice. Mine, not his. And I've already made it." she determined, and his lips found her neck as they stood together.

"What would happen in the future?" he whispered, and she breathed him in.

"Eventually, he will accept it. He's not like this." she assured, and his arms pressed her tighter against him before releasing her.

"Very well. Sleep well, my flower. I will see you tomorrow." he said, leaning closer and placing his lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

"Good night, my crimson knight." she greeted softly, and then he left her chambers. In the safety of the west wing, after closing the door securely Bea turned to face Luitpold.

"Do you mind telling me, what is going through your head?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked pausing from undoing the laces of his doublet. She came over to him.

"Milla is our only daughter. She has already left our home for this one." she said, and he resumed his activity.

"She deserves better." he said.

"She has made her choice. You know how headstrong she is; we can either accept her decision or refuse it, she won't change it." Bea said, and Luitpold's eyes came back to her.

"I would not have chosen him for her. He can't provide for her." then her hands took his.

"I have spoken with lord Taugere, he trusts that man with his life. Doesn't that say enough?" then her husband sighed.

"Then I won't get her back..." he said softly, and her hand went to his face.

"Do you want to lose her completely? She loves him, and he's a good man." he nodded slowly, reflecting.

"I will make my amends with her in the morning." he determined.

Morning came, and lord Scharer departed their chamber for that of their son; but seeing that he was not there decided that he must be with his daughter. He left the west wing and saw one of the sentinels ascending the stairway; evidently on his way to meet with the lord of the hold.

"Pardon me, ser. Have you seen my daughter?" Gavin stopped and looked at him, puzzled.

"My lord?" he was lost for a moment.

"My daughter, your lady's court maiden." Luitpold clarified, and the sentinel's face lit up.

"Oh, yes. They're in the garden, my lord." he advised, motioning to the doorway of the southern hall, from where a door would take him directly to the gardens.

"Thank you." he duly made his way down the many steps to find her outside with Berin and Rod, where the couple sat on a stone bench watching while Rod played tug-of-war with one of the castle guard dogs. He stopped, watching them. Berin picked a flower from one of the many bushes around them, and gently added it to her glinting hair before leaning over and kissing her on her cheek, then stood up and turned to leave. He came down the little pathway, then stopped seeing her father. He bowed to him formally.

"Good morning, lord Scharer. I trust you had a peaceful evening?" he greeted, and the lord smiled.

"Good morning, lord Berin. We have, thank you. If you wouldn't mind it too much, I would like to meet with you again later today, once you have completed your duties?" he requested, and Berin nodded.

"Of course, my lord." he agreed, and the lord's smile broadened.

"Wonderful. Now, don't let me keep you." he said, stepping aside and allowing Berin to pass him, then he looked over at his children, seeing Milla watch over young Rod who now rolled in the grass with the playful dog. He breathed in and made his way to her before sitting down on the bench next to her.

"Milla?" he leaned forward slightly.

"Yes?" she did not turn to look at him.

"Are you still angry with me?" she sighed, still not turning.

"I just wish you could see him, the way I do..." he inched closer to her, and placed a hand on hers.

"Milla. I've had the entire night to think; and I want to tell you something. But only if you will look at me." then her face turned to his.

"Your happiness means more to me, than a title. If you love Berin, who am I to question you?" her face lit up, and she turned towards him.

"Will you still present me to him tomorrow, Dadda?" he smiled, taking her hand in both of his.

"What would people think of me, if I did not present my daughter to such a fine man?" he brought her hand to his lips before her arms went around him.

"Thank you. I couldn't really picture lord Raeghun walking me into the sept." they shared a laugh.

Lady Bea made her way down a long hallway, feeling discomposed. She sought out maester Adlyn for some aid regarding a slight headache, and seemed to have lost her way. She turned right at a corner, and looked back down the other way of the corridor scanning for people; and suddenly bumped into something hard, and turned back to see the front of a brown doublet under a chest belt and powerful arms. Her head tilted up to see a striking face, and dark eyes bordered by dark shoulder length hair.

"My apologies, my lady. I wasn't paying attention." he excused, and relief washed over her.

"Not at all, that was my fault. I seem to have gotten lost, this is a massive castle." she said, and he smiled.

"It is rather extensive; I've gotten lost several times myself." he said, and then turned raising his hand.

"If it please, my lady. May I escort you to the southern feast hall? Cook Jeody will be serving soon." he offered, and she smiled broadly.

"How kind of you." she followed closely behind him as he led the way.

"How long have you been in lord Taugere's service?" she asked, driving away the silence.

"Near to seven weeks, I believe." he replied, she looked up at him.

"Such a short time, and the lord speaks highly of you. But I'm afraid your name has escaped me." he looked down, still smiling.

"I am called Falgon, my lady." he said, and she glanced at the floor before returning her attention to him.

"Are you high-born, ser Falgon?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"Not 'ser', my lady. I'm not a knight. I've spent most of my existence among mercenaries, not a common practise among high-born, I'm afraid." he explained, and she scoffed slightly.

"You are too well-bred to be of the rabble, though." she mentioned, and he shrugged.

"You learn from others." they rounded another corner and they emerged into the Hall of Fire. He accompanied her down the stairway past the great hearth and again down the grand staircase to the doorway of the southern hall, then turned and bowed to her formally.

"I trust you may find your lord husband awaiting you, my lady. If you will please pardon me, I have other duties to attend to." he excused himself, and then left back the way they came as she entered the feast hall where most were already standing to leave for their daily activities. She approached Luitpold who held out a hand for her.

"Where have you been?" he asked, and she blushed.

"I lost my way. Lord Falgon was kind enough to escort me back here, he's such a gracious man." then she looked around.

"Have you spoken to Milla and lord Berin?" she asked as they sat down.

"I have spoken with Milla, and I have yet to meet with lord Berin." he said, taking a chalice from the table filled with pressed lemon juice, and bringing it to his mouth.

"I hope you'll make things right." then he smiled.

"I intend to." he assured, and then a figure appeared behind them.

"Good morning, my lady. I trust you find Mount Ardor to your liking?" she turned smiling to face Berin.

"It's wonderful, my boy." she returned, and then his attention went to her husband.

"My apologies for disturbing you, my lord. You've requested my attendance?" he reminded, and Luitpold emptied the goblet before standing.

"I did. Come, walk with me." he instructed, and they left the feast hall for the garden. They walked down the narrow pathway to where the garden opened to view the Sunset Sea on the west side of the hold from a thick stone balustrade and long stone arches, the sweet scent of flowers surrounding them.

"I trust you understand why I wished to speak with you?" Luitpold started.

"I did not assume anything, my lord." Berin said, and then they stopped and he turned to face the younger man.

"I have misjudged you, lord Berin. My daughter means everything to me, and I must admit that I could not stand the thought of losing her. However, I've had time to reflect on our circumstances, and her happiness means more than anything; and she has found that with you." he paused for a moment, and Berin waited patiently.

"Will you accept my apology for my behaviour, and my blessing? It will be a great honour to present my only daughter to the lord's finest, and even more so to name you my son." Berin smiled, tentatively.

"You honour me, my lord. But I must apologise to you, as well." he said, and glanced away.

"Whatever for?" Luitpold asked, seeming confused.

"I have neglected to ask your permission for your daughter's hand, and may have judged you falsely." he said, but the lord smiled.

"If I have your forgiveness, lord Berin; you have mine." then he put an arm around his broad shoulders.

"Come, let us enjoy these happier days together." he said, guiding him back to the hold from where they parted ways on other matters. The day proceeded well, until Edur approached Berin in the guard's hall where he was busy addressing the guard rounds.

"Lord Berin, you have a visitor." he announced, and Berin looked up smiling. _This day could not be better..._ He passed the parchment to Edur.

"See that this is tended to, please." he asked, and then passed on his way to meet his mother. He passed through the Hall of Fire and stepped into the light of the sun; and in that instance his bliss shattered, seeing a tall white haired man in his mid fifties speaking with the lord, under banners of deep green and grey with the sigil of a coiled snake around an anvil; and rage filled him.

"Oh, fuck." he came down the steps towards them.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as he came up to them, his eyes fixed on the new arrival; who smiled at him, making Berin's blood fume. Lord Geerd Vega, his mother's husband whom had made his life at Bristlemane Stronghold a nightmare for four years before he was essentially saved by the kindness of the liege lord stood there, bringing all of the hells with him.

"I'm here for your wedding, of course." he said, and then turned towards Raeghun.

"If it please, my lord. May I have a few moments alone with… my son?" he requested, and then looked back to Berin saying the last words, his eyes stained with malignity; and Raeghun nodded.

"Of course." he turned to leave, but then paused looking at his friend.

"Come see me after." he said, and then made his way back into the castle. Berin's attention went back to lord Vega, still grinning.

"Is there a place we may speak in private?" he asked politely, and Berin breathed in deeply, trying to suppress the venom in his veins and lifted his hand towards the stable yard.

"This way." he guided him to the building housing the lord's horses and entered into the smell of destriers and hay. Lord Vega ran a hand along a stable gate.

"I can't believe you call this shit hole your home." he said, and Berin turned to him.

"What the-fuck do you want?" he demanded, willing his tone to remain controlled.

"I don't' recall your asking my consent to marry some northern whore." he said,

"I didn't need to ask you for anything, I'll marry a fucking pig if I so wish." Berin said, feeling his hands tense.

"Is it not tradition to ask the lord of the hold to marry your slut?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Fuck you. Lord Raeghun Taugere is the lord of this hold, and the Corridor. Your consent has never even fucking occurred to me." he determined, and the man in front of him laughed.

"You ask a foolish boy permission, for something that important? Where was your head?" his fingers started to tingle.

"He is the liege lord, and a better man than you, so my head is exactly where it should be. I made my decision, and bid my mother to come share this day with us, not you." lord Vega's grin broadened.

"She won't make it. She's dead." his world unravelled like banner strings in the breeze, rage and sorrow flooding him.

"What?" and he could not decide which of the emotions pulled at him more strongly.

"It's how things are, Berin. I had hoped, that by now you would have accepted the ways of fate" Berin turned away from him, feeling the sting to his eyes.

"When?" Geerd thought for a moment.

"A year ago, perhaps more." he calculated,

"My mother leaves this world a year past, and you don't even have the common decency to inform me?" Geerd then took a step forward.

"I've brought a cloak that you will take, for you to represent my house." he advised.

"I won't take your fucking sigil." Berin refused, desperately trying to remain in control of himself.

"Despite everything, you're still my late wife's son. As such it is your duty to honour my name." Geerd said, and Berin again turned to face him.

"I loved my mother, but she had your name, not me. I keep my father's colours, my father's sigil." he said, and Geerd scoffed.

"I see the arrogance has not left you, even after all the beatings I gave you." He stepped forward threateningly, while Berin stood his ground.

"And it seems that, that hog shit you call a lord's discipline on his bastards has slacked, greatly. Has the heir of the 'great' Taugere name softened that much? Or am I to assume that is the fault of that northern hag he's taken into his bed?" he directed spitefully, and suddenly without restraint Berin's left hand grabbed hold of the front of Geerd's tunic.

"Keep your tongue off my family." His green eyes burned into the black beads staring back at him.

"Oh, they're your family now, is it? Well, I suppose it's no wonder, in a place where any bastard can walk in and fuck any whore he wants." Geerd said, raising his hands.

"Had you been a lesser man, I would kill you where you stand. This is my family; this place, and the people here are the ones I care about." Berin said while Geerd forcefully released the young man's grip on his chest.

"Your own father would slit your throat to hear you say that." he said, almost sympathetically.

"My father is dead; my mother is dead. And as far as it concerns me, you were dead as well. That place is just a pile of stones to me, now." Berin said.

"You are weak, Berin. Do not then assume that one day when you sicken of this shit hole, that I will let you return to my stronghold. You've surrendered those rights long ago." Geerd said, and Berin could manage a defiant smile.

"Keep it. And when the day comes, I will tear down that place with you still screaming inside." he passed him then, shoulders brushing but then Berin stopped and turned back.

"I don't want you here. The only thing you've ever done is to make my life miserable. So why don't you just go back from where you came?" Geerd turned, looking at him.

"I've travelled three days to be here, for this day." he said, and Berin took a step back.

"I don't care if you've travelled a fucking full year. I won't welcome you." he said, and Geerd looked up through the beams at a low setting sun.

"I see. But unfortunately, you can't make me leave, can you? We'll set up at the tavern in the village, for now." he decided.

"Stay out of my way. If you do anything to ruin this, I swear I'll kill you." he promised, and Geerd smiled as a party of guards walked past.

"My dear boy, why would I do that?" he asked, instantly changing the tone of his voice.

"Because you enjoy it. You will find any reason to destroy the life I have made." he said, and then the man walked up to him.

"Such a life, such a wonder." he said, placing a hand on Berin's shoulder.

"What a marvel it will be, to see it crumble." he again grinned, and then left the stable to have his party set up in the tavern. Berin made his way down the stables and saddled his dun mare. He needed an escape; he needed the still of the wilderness to ease the sickness in him. He fastened the girth strap securely, and then mounted before driving his heels into the horse's ribs spurring her to race out of the stable, through the open gate and into the countryside to seek refuge beneath the shadow of the woodland.

Night settled over the burning mountain, and Raeghun made his way down the stairway; stopping to glimpse the flames of the great hearth, thinking that apart from the lord's wing, this was his favourite feature in all of the castle. The way it never died out, and cast a constant glow across his hall. A group of guards passed him, on their way to relieve others on the first stretch of the nightly vigil.

"Have you seen lord Berin? He was to meet with me earlier today." he asked, and they stopped.

"Not since this afternoon, my lord. He was seen leaving the castle grounds on his horse." one reported, and Raeghun looked towards the door.

"Which way?" he asked,

"East, my lord." the same guard replied.

"Oh, fuck..." he muttered under his breath, and then turned.

"I'll go out to find him. Have my horse brought from the stables." he ordered, and three guards moved forward.

"Shall we accompany you, my lord?" one asked, and Raeghun paused.

"No. I go alone." Moments later he rode out from the gate into the darkness of night, leaving the brightness of Mount Ardor behind for the shadows, following a trail illuminated by the silver light of a near full moon. Somewhere, far in the darkness he stopped, listening to the world around him. The sounds of owls, fluttering wings, chirping crickets, a frog croaking next to a nearby stream, jackals sounding their eerie calls in the night, and something far off, not matching the quiet of nature. He guided his horse left, leaving the trail and heading for the forest; disappearing into its shadows while the sound grew louder, leading him amidst the trees and into a clearing. A massive oak stood in its centre, flowers dotting the space around it. A horse stood grazing, fastened to a low branch to the right, and under the long old branches a man stood, chipping away at the bark with his sword in frustration. Raeghun dismounted and tied the reins to a close hanging branch before making his way to the figure who had not yet noticed him; and then stood behind him.

"You have a better chance of killing your sword, than that tree, Berin." he said, but his friend did not turn.

"I'll kill him! And if a sword is useless to me, I'll use my fucking fists!" he called into the night, and suddenly dropped to his knees as Raeghun came closer.

"She's dead... She's dead and I wasn't there... I didn't know..." Raeghun laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry, my friend." he said softly. Berin's hands went to the ground, straining into the soft earth as he screamed, releasing all of the anger, the frustration and the sorrow; his voice carrying far over the horizon and his friend endured.

"There was no way you could know. If the raven was not shot down, it was never sent." Raeghun said as Berin again breathed.

"I should have gone back... I should have gone back years ago..." Raeghun knelt beside him, and his reddened eyes met his.

"When she needed me, I wasn't there... I didn't even have the chance to say good bye to her..." Berin whispered.

"I am sorry. But what would have changed, if you had gone back? Would you still have been the man I know today?" silence followed, and then Berin stood, taking a ruined blade from the ground where it fell.

"I won't return to the hold tonight." he said, throwing the sword at the tree again. Raeghun's hand found his shoulder again, stronger than before and pulled him back.

"Listen to me. He won't stay there, but Milla will; and if that's not a good enough reason to return you can trade in your sword for an axe, that's fine. But lumbering is restricted to the final three months of the year, so you'll have to wait for that." Berin sighed.

"You're right. She is more important." he agreed.

"Good. Now come along, we have enough firewood." they could share a relieved laugh as they went back to their horses, and returned home.

The sun burnt brightly in the sky of a bright day as people packed the tiny little sept of Garde's Post, and a beaming bride stood in a wide blossomed dress of soft peach, low set shoulders and a completely open back, under a white fur lined shawl to keep the occasionally unexpected cold breeze at bay; next to a smiling groom, clad in polished plate and the blue and red of his father hanging from his shoulders.

"Let it be known that Berin of House Trentin, and Milla of House Scharer are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." The septon announced over happy faces.

"In the sight of the Seven, and the old beyond count, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." he looked at each of them, raising his hands towards them.

"Look upon each other and say the words" they turned to face each other, and spoke surely.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." they began.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," he glanced at her hands, still in his.

"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." both his hands went to her face,

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." he pulled her forward into a kiss before the happy sounds of the people behind them caught their attention, and they turned smiling to face them. They looked over the people, the lord and lady of Mount Ardor at the front of the masses, her family next to them. Somewhere within the masses, black eyes leered at the knight that refused his sigil, while others waited outside, the tallest shadow among them. The wedded couple emerged from the sept, greeting more merriment before the throngs returned to the burning mountain for the wedding feast. They entered the Hall of Fire, with its many burning torches and turned left to face the closed door of the southern feast hall. Raeghun smiled as they approached.

"Would you do us the honour, lord Berin?" he asked, raising a hand to the door.

"Of course, my lord." he stepped forward, placing his hands against the warm wood and then pushed, the doors swinging open wide. A sense of daze washed over him as his eyes met a vision he had not expected to see again in his lifetime. A great blue banner hung above the fervent hearth, displaying a crimson mounted knight flying a banner above his head in a summer wind; the sigil of his father. A strong hand found his shoulder, and his eyes came back to his friend.

"Where did you get this?" and Raeghun smiled.

"A raven brought it to me. My dear wife had it hung this morning." Milla's hands tightened around his arm.

"Are you al right?" he looked at her.

"I couldn't imagine anything better." They dined on a wide selection of roasted game and poultry, battered potatoes, creamed mushrooms, steamed vegetable pot, pumpkin fritters, wines, ales and mead, lemon cakes with cream; and cook Jeody released all of his abilities on a large baked fruit cake, covered by yellow sugar-dough and decorated with a circlet of deep red roses around the centre, and a band of bright blue lilies around the base. The guests filled the many long tables of the southern feast hall, a group with a lute, a drum and a flute released their sweet song into the air with singers, and the night was alive with laughter, up until the point that lord Vega approached the high table. He smiled at Milla, and Berin stood abruptly as he watched him come up the step towards them.

"No need to stand, Berin. You are the guest of honour, after all. I wished to formally congratulate you on this wondrous occasion." Geerd said, extending a hand to Milla. He reached out tentatively, then he took her hand and gently kissed the fingertips, breathing in the scent of wild flowers coming off her skin.

"It is such a joy, to see that my sweet late wife's son has chosen such a lovely woman for his bride." he said as he raised up.

"Thank you, my lord. You are too kind." she accepted, smiling.

"We thank you, for your blessing. Will you be returning to Bristlemane in the morning?" Berin asked, attempting to remain polite, and then Geerd looked at him, still grinning.

"If my horses are well rested, I might. It's a few days travel." he mentioned, and then looked at Claira.

"I also wish to compliment you on your hall tonight, my lord and lady. You have made great efforts. I especially admire the banner hanging above your hearth." he further said.

"Thank you, my lord. It is however, nothing less than what is deserved by our finest." Raeghun said, glancing at Berin, and then Geerd put his hands together.

"Well, let me not keep you. There is still much to be enjoyed this night." he said bringing his eyes back to Berin, who was still standing.

"Be gentle. Such a fragile little thing you have here." he said, and then turned and made his way back through the people while Berin retook his seat.

"I wish he would just go..." Berin muttered, bringing a chalice of wine to his mouth; and Milla looked his way.

"I don't understand why you hate him so much. He's so decent." she said, looking to where Geerd vanished among the people.

"He's decent in front of people where he is seen, but alone he's someone completely different." he said.

"I can't imagine it." she said, shaking her head.

"I am glad that you can't imagine it, and I hope to the gods you won't get to live it." he said, emptying the chalice. The remainder of the evening passed with out incident, and the large cake shared around the hall.

"Ser Falgon!" Raeghun raised his hand, and the tall sentinel approached.

"How will I serve, sire?" he asked bowing.

"There is a parcel in the lower cabinet of the wardrobe in the Hollow. Please bring it to me." he said, and Falgon bowed his head.

"As you bid, sire." he left the table, vanishing from the feast hall. Moments later, Raeghun stood with the chalice in his hand.

"My lords, my ladies, my people. Blissful has this day been that the gods united families. But this night will only last so long, and I believe that our honoured guests deserve their time alone." he announced, and then looked to his side.

"We wish you every blessing, and a thousand years of happiness, lord Berin and lady Milla." the guests stood, grouping into two processes of men and women; but Raeghun smiled.

"Contrary to long held traditions within our hold, there will be no bedding ceremony. I will however, allow a formal escort by our guests to the third level; from where the lord and lady of Mount Ardor will further accompany the bride and her groom respectively to their chamber." he said, hearing disappointed mutters from the crowd. Raeghun held his hand for Claira who rose to her feet, and then looked at Berin and Milla again.

"If you would be so kind, as to lead the way?" he asked, and they stood and made their way from the hall up the grand staircase past the great hearth and up to the third level; turning to their right Milla gasped slightly. Across the doorway to the east wing, three brightly coloured ribbons of blue, red and yellow hung, tied in a bow.

"My gift to both of you, is an enduring chamber in the east wing of the burning mountain." Raeghun said as he turned to them, and then looked at Milla.

"And I believe that my lady has already presented her bride's gift to you. And now I will present mine." Milla could see him holding something, concealed in his hand and then he stepped closer.

"Face your husband, and close your eyes." he instructed and she obeyed. Berin held her hands as her eyes closed, and for an instant she could make out a shadow passing over her before something cold touched her chest and wound around her neck, she could feel his fingers on her back for a moment and then it was gone. Then she opened her eyes and looked down at a beautiful gold flower pendant with a shining garnet set in its centre, hanging on a fine gold chain around her neck. Her fingers touched the smooth stone.

"My lord, it's wonderful. Thank you." she said turning.

"I'm glad you like it." then he looked up, seeing Falgon emerge from the incline leading up to the sun tower and the lord's wing, and then turned to Berin.

"And now for you, my brother." Falgon stopped in front of him, and then knelt; presenting a long blade to him.

"It is my honour, to gift on you the lord's blade of Bristlemane Stronghold." he said, and Berin stared at it. Longer than a longsword, but shorter than the lord's great sword with sharp spines protruding from the cross guard and the pommel fashioned to a great helm. He took hold of the grip, the leather conforming to the shape of his hand and lifted it up in front of him. His free hand grasped the sheath of black leather and released the edge from its protective hold; marvelling at the way the light reflected off the sharp blue steel. Falgon stood and resumed his place behind the lord and lady.

"I don't know what to say..." Berin whispered looking back at Raeghun.

"You don't need to say anything." he assured, and Berin looked at Milla smiling as he replaced the sightly sword in its sheath.

"Thank you, my lord." he said, and then Claira stepped forward holding a large candle in her hand.

"A final gift to both of you awaits in your chamber, my lord and lady Trentin. I hope you will find it suitable." she said, and the couple glanced at each other; wondering what she could mean,

"You may open the east wing, lord and lady Trentin." Raeghun said as he took another large candle from one of the serving girls. They approached the large ribbon, each taking hold of the loose ends and pulling; the bright flares of fabric shrivelling and slipping through the loops before the ribbons fell to the ground, leaving the doorway undeterred. Milla smiled and bid their guests a good night before returning to Claira's side. The guests bowed formally as the lady of the hold escorted her court maiden down the long torch lit corridor to their chamber, speaking as they walked.

"This has been a wonderful day." Milla commented.

"It has. It is seldom that we see days like these." Claira agreed. They approached the door of a room next to the bath chamber, the handle adorned with the same red roses, blue lilies and yellow sunflowers and Claira held out her hand.

"Will you do us the honour?" she asked, and Milla smiled as her hand touched the grip and pushed the door open before they stepped in. Milla looked around in astonishment at the spacious chamber. A hearth burned brightly in the right wall, a large bed stood against the wall next to it and yet another banner hung above it's headpiece. A brightly coloured rug was spread across the floor under more roses, lilies and sunflowers, and all of their personal belongings were brought from their respective chambers and united here. Milla looked back at Claira.

"How did you do all of this in such a short time?" she asked softly, and Claira shrugged.

"I had help." she said, and Milla's hands went to her arms.

"We could never be able to thank you enough for this. You've done so much for us." she said, and Claira smiled.

"You're not just my court maiden, Milla. You're my best friend. My lord husband sees Berin as his brother, and that makes you family; all of our worlds are combined into one here." she said.

"Thank you..." she whispered, and her hands came away from Claira, her gaze fixed to the floor.

"Is something wrong?" Claira asked, and Milla's eyes came up to her, a hidden uneasiness behind the glint of her green eyes.

"No. No, nothing is wrong." she assured, and Claira nodded.

"Claira... Can I ask you something?" Milla said, her eyes returning to the floor.

"Anything, Milla." she said,

"I... I don't know how to ask this..." she muttered, and Claira took a step closer to her.

"Are you scared?" she asked softly, and Milla nodded; then Claira breathed in and smiled.

"I was scared, too. But my Raeghun was very gentle with me, as Berin will be with you." she assured, and then Milla looked up at her again, seeming a bit relieved.

"Did... Did it hurt?" she whispered, and Claira's hand went to hers.

"I won't lie to you. It was painful, but it doesn't last long." she comforted, and then Milla nodded again, rising the corners of her mouth in a gentle smile.

"Well, I should get going. We don't want to keep your husband waiting." she determined, and then left the room. Milla discarded her wedding gown and redressed in a light garment before brushing out her hair while allowing the heat of the flames to glow on her skin.

Moments later, Raeghun stood with Berin at the doorway.

"This is where I leave you, my friend." he said, and then turned to leave. Berin's hand found his shoulder.

"Thank you so much, for everything you've done for us." Berin said, and Raeghun looked at him.

"We were happy to do it. You deserve every happiness, Berin. Both of you." Raeghun said, and then again smiled.

"Enjoy the remainder of your evening. Every moment of it, it only lasts so long." he said, and then returned the way they came. Berin breathed in deep, and allowed the air to leave him slowly before entering the room, his heart again skipping a beat as the sight met him. The beautiful room with their belongings, the new banner hanging on the wall with his father's sigil in front of a blazing sunset... no, not a sunset. A sunflower. And his wife sitting on the bed beneath it, smiling at him. He closed the door securely and proceeded to remove his boots and armour before making his way to her, and then she stood as he reached her and his hands went to her shoulders, feeling the warmth on her skin.

"Finally, you are mine; and you won't disappear from me again." he said smiling.

"I can still run." she teased, and he lowered his face to hers.

"I'm the faster one, remember?" he said back before closing his mouth over hers and winding his arms around her, feeling her shiver; and then he pulled back.

"Why are you trembling?" he looked into her eyes as her hands went around him.

"Because I'm afraid..." she whispered.

"Afraid of what?" they sat down on the edge of the bed, and she looked away from him.

"I'm afraid, that I won't compare to any of the others." she said, and he cupped her face with his left hand.

"My Milla... No one could ever compare to you." he started,

"But, you've been to the tavern so many times." then he smiled.

"I went there to get a drink, not a girl. I have no one, to compare you to." he said, and then she smiled at him.

"Lord Raeghun entered that experience with his wife, I could wait for mine." Her hands went to his face as their brows touched tenderly.

"Berin..." the sound of her whispering his name, was more beautiful than that of any songbird.

"I love you, Milla. Do you think I would take any chance to destroy us, on a night that would mean absolutely nothing to me?" he asked as his fingers wove into her hair, then she leaned forward and kissed him again, and he returned her sweet caress. He stood then, pulling her up with him and then his hands moved across her, subtly undoing the string on the small of her back that held the dress in place; and her hands slid under his tunic, her fingers running across his skin, and raising her hands to pull the shirt over his shoulders, baring his torso. His fingers went to her shoulders, and pulled the straps of the dress over the edges, letting it fall to the ground while hers undid the strings of his breeches. Finally released from their restraints, his arms went around her again, pulling her closer to him and his mouth closed over hers. His left hand slid down her back to find a place on her leg, and then he lifted her from the floor, laying her gently on the bed and covering her body with his. His right hand went to her face, and traced a line down her cheek, her throat over her chest and stomach.

"You're beautiful. If there ever had been anyone else, they would never come close to you." he whispered, and kissed her again, allowing his lips to go down to her neck and shoulder. Her hands rested on his back, savouring his touch before the warmth of his lips spread over her chest and further to her abdomen and then returning to the other side of her throat. His left hand caressed the skin of her hip and side, up to her breast while hers softly glided down his back; straining harshly into his sides as he entered her, and she gasped painfully against him; feeling a heated breath against her chest. She gasped and whimpered against him as he moved, and then the pain faded away. Then he turned, allowing her weight to rest upon him while he held her to his chest, and his fingers again finding her hair, keeping her mouth to his. But then she rose away from him, sitting on his hips and supporting her with gentle hands on his chest; his moving up the length of her arms and over her shoulders, her breasts and her stomach before returning to her thighs, and she moved above him, elevating his breaths. He sat forward, bringing his mouth to her chest and his arms around her sides while hers wrapped around his shoulders, scratching at his back; and they breathed against one another as utter bliss took them.

Berin lay on his side, supporting his head on his elbow as he watched his wife beside him, lying on her stomach with her arms beneath her where she slept. His fingers softly caressing the skin of her still bare shoulders and back while a gentle summer breeze filtered through an open window.

"You're beautiful. I love you, so much..." he whispered as he took the hair from her neck, letting it fall down her back, then leaned forward and kissed her warm cheek before taking his place on the pillows, his head still resting on his arm, and his hand resuming the soft trace over her shoulder and back down to where a blanket covered their hips.

"I can't imagine my live with anyone, but you. This has been the best day of my life..." he closed his eyes, not noticing the soft smile rising her lips. Her right hand came from under her, to his face, the fingers resting on him, and her thumb gently stroking the smooth skin of his cheek; and they yielded to sleep.

He woke with her still in his arms, his face nestled against her neck; and her left hand resting on his leg, the golden light of morning shining through the window. He pressed his lips to her skin, and felt her stir.

"It seems I've slept in." she turned to face him.

"Given the circumstances, I don't think lord Raeghun would mind too much." he smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her.

"If he hangs me today, I'm blaming you." she chuckled,

"Why would he do that?" she asked, searching his eyes.

"Because I can't tear myself away from you, this morning." her hand went to his face, and she placed her lips to his. He moved forward to cover her body with his again, before a knock at the door drew his attention, and he sighed. He stood from the bed, and pulled on a fresh pair of breeches from the wardrobe, and slid his boots over his feet before making his way to the door, and opening it. Geerd's black eyes met him, and in his hands he held a tray with fresh plates of eggs, crisped bacon and two heels of bread.

"What the-fuck do you want?" Berin asked, instantly annoyed; but the man smiled.

"I've brought you breakfast. I'm sure you must be famished, after last night." he said, entering the room. He made his way to a dresser, and placed the tray down on its surface before turning; his eyes resting on the woman on the bed who had to resort to clasping the bed sheets in front of her chest for concealment. Berin moved in front of him, shielding her from his stare.

"Thank you. Now get out." he said, then Geerd's eyes went to the banner above the bed.

"Lovely banner. That one's new." he mentioned.

"Lady Claira made it." Milla said softly, and Geerd grinned.

"Talented little wi-... woman, isn't she?" Berin could see the repulsion behind the glint of the black eyes.

"Is there something else, you want?" Berin asked him, clearly frustrated; and Geerd's eyes went back to him.

"Well, I'd like a moment to speak with you, if that's al right with your dear wife?" he said, glancing her way again.

"If it gets you out of our room, then fine." he agreed, guiding lord Vega back to the door; and then he stopped and looked back as Berin opened the door to pass through.

"Enjoy your morning, my lady. I hope we may meet again, later today." he said, and stepped out with Berin following after he seized a shirt from a dresser. Milla sat a moment longer, feeling exposed and violated, but after deciding it was safe stood and dressed for the day in a hooded dress of summer green with an ivory bodice.

Berin walked hastily down the halls with Geerd at his side; hoping they would reach the Hall of Fire before his innate onslaughts started.

"So, how does this whore compare to the others?" He had hoped for too much.

"Much better than what you're used to, I'm sure." he returned.

"This one's shy. I'd hoped for a livelier wench." Berin turned towards him.

"What the-fuck is your problem?" They stopped, hidden by the shadows of the hall.

"You are my problem. Your mother drove me close to mad about you, always going on about how much you looked like your father. She favoured you, despite my sons being past your age and the rightful heirs to Bristlemane. The day I wed her, that hold became mine, and it will pass to my sons when I am gone. You were never my son." Geerd said.

"And you were never my father. So what the-fuck are you still doing here? Why did you come in the first place? Haven't you made my life hell enough?" The man in front of him grinned.

"I haven't even started, and already you're begging me to stop?" In a sudden uncontrolled moment of rage, Berin's hand found his chest and slammed him against the wall.

"Stay away from my wife. I want you gone by sunset." he ordered, and Geerd's spiteful glare burned into him.

"Careful now, Berin. The hog shit lord's sentinels should not be prone to irrational outbursts of violence." Berin's hand came away from him slowly.

"And as I've told you before, you can't make me leave." Geerd said as he stepped forward and corrected himself.

"If the lord of the hold demands it, you must. I could always persuade him." Berin said, and Geerd laughed at that.

"And you think he'd believe you? But if he were a wise man, he'd have sold you to a slaver long ago. This is turning out to be an interesting visit to your shit hole." then he looked up to notice the lady of the hold coming down the corridor with three handmaidens following, and turned back to Berin.

"Enjoy your day, Berin. We'll meet again later." he said and then turned to leave, but bowed formally to Claira as she neared them.

"Good morning, lovely lady Taugere." he greeted merrily, and she smiled politely at him.

"Good morning, lord Vega. You've paid us an early visit; but the east wing was meant to be inaccessible to anyone but a select few this morning." she said, and he smiled.

"My apologies, sweet lady. I merely wished to congratulate my son on such a fine morning." he said timidly.

"Dear as your thoughts were, it could wait until they joined us. If you will please make your way to the rest of our guests in the feast hall, that would be grand." she directed, and after yet another venomous glance at Berin he turned and disappeared down the hallway with Berin's burning eyes on his back. Claira looked at the lord's sentinel.

"Good morning, lord Berin. I apologise for that." she said, and for a moment more his gaze lingered on the figure fading from the light.

"Good morning, my lady. You have nothing to apologise for. I dare say, your presence was a relief." he mentioned, smiling gently at her.

"We may grant you some moments more alone with your wife, if you wish?" she suggested, and Berin shook his head.

"I would like that, but to my regret the morning has already turned somewhat sour for me..." he said, returning his eyes to the hallway.

"I am sorry, lord Berin. The east wing was not supposed to be entered, apart from a single serving girl this morning, and myself." she said, looking the same way he did.

"It's al right, really. You should not be sorry for anything." then he looked back at her, realizing that when Geerd saw the girl approach the wing he seized the tray from her, and entered with all his pleasant shrouds.

"Is lord Raeghun in counsel? I'm afraid I've laid in quite a bit." he asked, and she smiled.

"You were supposed to, lord Berin. My lord husband has already tended to the necessary matters in your absence, he should be in the feast hall." she said, and he bowed to her.

"Thank you. With your leave, I should return to my duties." he said.

"Lord Raeghun has proposed that you take this, and the next two days for yourself and your wife. There is no rush" she said, but his head shook slightly.

"You are too kind, but I would much prefer being active. Milla should have already risen as well, I assume you wish to meet with her. Good day, lady Claira." he turned and then left down the hallway. She looked on as his figure grew smaller down the corridor, not being able to rid herself of the sense that something was troubling him. Lord Vega seemed decent and respectable, but each time he met with Berin, their sentinel was left seeming uneasy, and even provoked. Then she turned and continued down the wing to the quarters closest to the bath chamber, and softly knocked.

"Enter." Milla's voice answered, and only then Claira entered with the three handmaidens behind her, whom immediately started on the chores of the chamber, seizing the bedding, used goblets, a half empty water pitcher and the tray now holding cold items. Claira approached Milla, helping her release strands of hair caught under the collar of her dress.

"Good morning, lady Milla. I trust you had a pleasant evening?" she said as she arranged the long hair naturally down her back.

"Good morning, my lady. It was wonderful, thank you." she returned, with a shy smile, her eyes cast at the wood flooring, and Claira's frost blue eyes searched her face.

"I met lord Berin in the hallway, earlier. I understand you had an... unwelcome visit earlier, to name it accurately." Milla looked up at her.

"I'm sorry. No one was meant to enter." she apologised again, and Milla sighed.

"You have nothing to apologise for, you did nothing wrong." Milla comforted, and then Claira's hands went to her arms, she could feel the chill through the sleeves of the dress.

"You know what? We haven't gone riding in almost a month. Let's take your family out today, if you'd like of course." she suggested, and Milla's face lit up.  
"I would love that." she agreed, and Claira turned to one of the handmaidens as they went to the door to leave.

"Please have my instructions given to ready our horses; and have cook Jeody prepare enough rations for a day in the countryside." she said, and the maiden bowed.

"Yes milady. And the company?" she asked.

"Myself, lady Milla and her family; and my sentinels, of course." she said, and the maiden smiled.

"Yes, milady." then she vanished, following the others down the hallway, and they were left alone. Claira stared at Milla, feeling the same sensation she did while watching Berin walk away from her.

"Is something bothering you, my friend?" she asked, and Milla looked away from her.

"I don't know. Lord Vega makes me feel uneasy." she confessed, and Claira studied her.

"Did he upset you?" she asked, trying to clarify the atmosphere that hung in the east wing.

"Not directly... He's polite, and he seems very well mannered. But... Berin dislikes him, I may even go so far as to say he hates him. I understand how he feels, I just can't see why." she said softly, and Claira glanced at the door.

"I've noticed." then she turned back.

"Perhaps, things may have quieted down when we return." she took the hairbrush from the dresser.

"May I?" she asked, and Milla smiled again.

"You may, my lady." she sat down, and felt the gentle strokes as her friend pulled the brush through the strands, and finally fastened everything carefully with pins against her scalp. They left the room and strode down the long hallways, and through the Hall of Fire, seeing Milla's family emerge from the feast hall, and they greeted their daughter heartily under the torchlight. Luitpold looked at Claira, smiling.

"So, I hear we have been summoned?" he asked, and she chuckled.

"Requested is more the like, my lord. We'd like to invite you to go riding with us." she said, and the lord looked back at his family before returning his attention to the ladies of the hold.

"Well, then. What are we standing around for?" he laughed, and together they made their way outside to the outer bailey where their company was assembled and the last of the horses were being groomed to accept their saddles.

Berin sat at Raeghun's side at the table, staring at the plates that were presented. He didn't feel like eating. Raeghun glanced at him, but said nothing and then returned his attention to the space in front of him.

"Aren't you going to ask me about my morning?" Raeghun reached for an apple.

"I would. But your demeanour tells me not to." then he turned towards him.

"I don't know what to do, Raeghun. I want him to leave." Berin said softly, scanning the people around them.

"Then tell him to." Raeghun urged.

"I already have, he's not going to listen to me." Berin said, and Raeghun brought a goblet to his mouth.

"Very well. Then I will." he offered, and Berin looked at his hands relieved.

"He may consider that..." he reflected.

"Go on, eat something. You have the next two days to yourself to do as you wish." he again urged, and Berin reached for a heel of fresh bread. After breaking their fast, they headed outside to search for lord Vega, finding him speaking with another of the lord's sentinels. He turned towards them as they approached, and smiled broadly.

"Good morning, my lord." he greeted heartily.

"Good morning, lord Vega. Will you be returning to Bristlemane today?" Raeghun asked, and his eyes went to Berin.

"To my great delight, lady Claira has extended an invitation to remain for my lord's name day. Such a beautiful, and benevolent woman she is, lord Raeghun. To see the likes of her at your side must bring tears to the eyes of each man that lays his gaze upon her for jealousy; and I pray to the gods each morning and evening to bless your great house with sons." he said, and Berin could feel his veins turn lithe as snakes in his muscles. Raeghun looked at the man in front of him, thinking that his wife would not have asked him to stay if she had felt anything to be somewhat off, and even mentioned the previous evening at the feast table after the couple had retired to their new chamber that something was amiss.

"Well, we might need to amend those arrangements." Raeghun mentioned, but Geerd smiled broadly; confident in his mask.

"It is no trouble at all, my gracious lord. I will remain at the tavern for the time being, I've found the company there quite pleasant. The bards sing their songs of the great phoenix, the barkeep is as generous as he is friendly, and each night I find a full plate and warm bed waiting for me." he said.

"If you leave my household to their duties, and keep peace within my hold-" Raeghun started.

"My lord, I would not dream of disrupting your lives here. You've maintained a delicate balance between justice and kindness for years; even the breathing of a butterfly could destroy it." Geerd said bowing low, and then looked up at the sky.

"If it please, my lord. I must tend to my preparations for our extended visit. I would like to ask my son to accompany me." he hinted, and for a second Raeghun smiled back.

"I'm sure he'd love that, but as my personal sentinel and head of my guard, I'm afraid he has matters to attend to. Life at the burning mountain continues like on any other day, for everyone." he said, and a sudden disappointment stung at the dark eyes.

"Such a shame. Well then, I shall meet with you all again tonight, and we will feast together." he said, and then turned to tend to his personal affairs. Raeghun watched as he vanished through the gate, cross the bridge and head down the road to Garde's Post; and then turned to Berin.

"Never meet with him alone." he said, and Berin's eyes went down to the ground.

"I'll try. But I want to keep him away from Milla." he said, and Raeghun thought for a moment.

"Tell her never to see him alone, either. Assign a household guard to her company, or two if you must. Or better yet, take her into the countryside for a few days; Milla used to love camping. Visit the Willow." he suggested, and Berin's eyes came up to him again.

"I'd take you up on that, but we can't leave. Milla hasn't seen her family in two years, I can't steal this away from her if she might not see them again for another few." then he managed a smile.

"I'll keep my distance from him, and to my best will take whatever comes. It's just a few days more." he said, and Raeghun's hand went to his shoulder.

"I truly hope there will be no more disturbances." he said, and they retreated back into the great castle.

The little group made their way across the green fields, lush woodlands bordering the north side. Young Rod had insisted on riding the grey mare, despite the stable master's warning that she was still young and perhaps prone to a more experienced rider; but thus far she'd been manageable. A count of seven guards on brown in formation around Claira on her gifted rose-gold stallion, the court maiden mounted on her copper roan gelding, lord and lady Scharer on dark mares, and closest to his lady, Falgon with his bay Galeo. Farmers and their workers greeted the group happily as they passed, and much of the day passed with lively conversation and happy laughter. They shared their feast of bread, cheese, fruits, salted pork, nuts, under the thick roof of branches with their wide green leaves and drank from a nearby clear stream. One of the guards helped Rod hone his archery skill.

"How kind of you to invite us to stay for the lord's name day, lady Claira." Bea said as she broke apart the bread in her hands.

"We are happy to have you, there is more than enough room. I know that having the opportunity to spend more time with her family will mean a great deal to my court maiden." she returned, bringing a nut from her hand to her lips. Luitpold looked up at the tall sentinel, standing watch a few feet away.

"You haven't touched any of the rations, ser Falgon. Come have something, the day is still long." he invited, and Falgon's dark eyes came to him in a gentle smile.

"Thank you, my lord. I will have something once all is safely back at the lord's hold." he declined.

"Oh, come now. There's more than enough, and a big strong man like you must keep his strength." he urged.

"Your generosity is invaluable, my lord. But I believe it ill-mannered for the servant to sate himself before the master." he mentioned, and then Luitpold felt a gentle hand on his arm, and turned to see the beautiful smile of his daughter.

"You won't win, Dadda. Our ser Falgon is as stubborn as he is polite." she said softly, and they laughed.

"Very well, have it your way then." he surrendered, looking at Bea.

"This day is truly exceptional. We haven't been able to do something like this in a long time." he mentioned taking her hand, and she smiled back.

"I used to go riding with your mother a lot when we were younger, she was quite the spirited one. She rode her horses as skilfully as any of the lords, and was often great reason for praise." Bea mentioned, and Claira smiled.

"I've never seen my mother ride like that." she tried to recall anything related, but their family rides were always short and uneventful.

"Oh, she calmed down quite a bit after meeting your father." Bea smiled.

"It takes a warm heart to ease a restless soul." she glanced at her husband, who smiled back at her. The day proceeded and they started back after mid day, continuing their chatter and laughter. Passing a wide birch, a black hare darted past the legs of the grey mare and into a bush on the other side if the trail; she reared up releasing a frightened wail and sudden as the release of an arrow charged forward through the trees with Rod yelling on her back, away from the startled group.

"Stay on the trail." Falgon ordered, and putting his heels to his horse set off after the youngsters. The mare ran haphazardly through the woods, and all the boy could do was hang on for dear life; and try as he might no force on the reins would make her slow, she would merely bite down on the bit and maintain her charge. Bursting from the shadows, they darted over a clear field and Rod closed his eyes, praying that he would not fall. Then, sudden as a dream, a figure appeared at his side.

"Pull back!" he ordered,

"I'm trying!" Rod replied, the muscles in his arms aching. The warrior pushed his horse closer, his hand reaching for the reins, and then finally grabbed hold. Rod could see the muscles of his arm straining as he pulled, feeling the resistance against his strength.

"Hold on. Whatever you do, don't let go!" he ordered again, and Rod closed his eyes, his hands mangled into the mane. Then he heard the sentinel slip from the saddle of his horse, the sudden sound as his feet touched the ground, earth moving as he was dragged along, and the powerful pull on the mare's neck; but she slowed and finally stopped and he opened his eyes, looking at the man standing beside him, then he turned and smiled.

"Are you al right, my lord?" he asked, calmly. Rod stared at him, it was like nothing ever happened, but he could still feel the race of his heartbeat. He took several deep breaths, and then managed to smile back.

"I am, now. I've never ridden a horse that fast in my life." he breathed, and then Falgon pet the horse's neck.

"You're a good rider, my lord. The poor creature was just frightened, that's all." he said, and Rod chuckled.

"I think I was more afraid than she was." he mentioned, and Falgon shared his laugh.

"Oh, I highly doubt that. You wouldn't run from a hare, would you?" Rod shook his head, relieved and then Falgon bowed.

"Shall we return to the group, my lord?" he asked politely, and Rod looked back.

"Yes, please." he looked uncertain, and Falgon studied him.

"I'll trade horses with you, if you wish? My Galeo is a gentle giant." he offered, and the boy's face lit up.

"That is very kind of you, ser." he thanked, and dismounted. Falgon helped him onto the placid bay before swiftly mounting the grey mare, and they returned to the group who waited for them on the next hill before returning home while lord Scharer could not thank the sentinel enough for helping his son. Upon their return the sun had already vanished behind the rim of the world. The people of Mount Ardor feasted with their guests before retiring to their beds and life proceeded on its normal way.

To the best of his abilities, Berin took to heart his brother's advice to keep his distance from Geerd, and stay amidst members of the household. But, the snake always found a way to slither its way into unwanted confines; and on yet another morning's fatherly discussion he found himself frustrated and maddened. He took to sparring in the inner bailey with his friend while his wife and her father sat on the hay bales that lined the inner wall, her hands busy with crochet and Luitpold watching the men at practice, intrigued by their methods.

"You're taller than I am, you have to get down lower." Berin instructed, and Falgon obeyed.

"Good, now use my weight with your momentum to throw me down." he continued, and promptly found himself on his back in the dust. The tall sentinel stood, smiling and held a hand to help him up and Berin took it gratefully. It was easy to teach him, he was a fast learner and able to memorize every direction given. He brushed off the dust and prepared himself.

"Good. Again." he said, and they locked as a shadow came down the steps.

"Bend your knees, Berin." Geerd said, and Berin felt the warmth in his veins explode into a full out fire across his body; and he turned sharply walking towards the place he had emerged from.

"Stay the-fuck away from me, or I'll bend you!" he said, Milla shot up and rushed to him, taking hold of the enraged sentinel's shoulders.

"Come near me again, and I'll slit your fucking throat, I swear!" he threatened, watching Geerd smile at him. He had finally broken, and he knew it. He wanted to kill him, to reach down his throat and grab hold of his heart to rip it out and toss it over the high walls into the ocean. The fire burned through him as his poor wife struggled against him, and mercifully Luitpold made his appearance placing a hand on the shoulder of lord Vega.

"Come, my lord. We haven't had the opportunity to speak, yet." he ushered, and guided the man away back into the shadows. Berin turned away, his hand going into his short hair and Milla still at his side.

"I can't do this... I can't do this any more..." he whispered, her eyes searching him.

"Lady Milla, would you be so kind as to ask maester Adlyn for a linseed?" her eyes went away from Berin and to Falgon.

"A linseed?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yes, please. Lord Berin may have been left slightly light-headed from our last bout." he urged and she looked back at him.

"I'll just be a moment." she assured, and left to seek out the maester. Falgon faced him fully.

"Come, Berin." he said, and Berin looked up at him.

"Hit me." his dark eyes regarded him with an understanding that he could not grasp.

"What?" His entire body trembled, fighting the singe under his skin.

"Hit me, Berin! Or I'll hit you." Falgon said, and the flames erupted. In uncontrolled rage he threw himself at his friend, his arms going around his sides as he took him down. With his weight pinning him down, his fists assaulted the body beneath him, the ribs, the chest, the stomach, the arms and all he could see was the black eyes staring at him. The spiteful smile. That annoying visage that he wanted to cut from the world and cast to the wind. There were voices around him, but he paid them no heed, and just kept releasing every bit of the poison that had built up inside of him. He didn't know how long it lasted, but when the fire finally died out he looked down at the eyes of his friend. Not black, just dark and he shoved himself away from him, falling on the ground and breathing hard. He felt cold and weak, but calmer than before; and then looked as Falgon sat up.

"You foolish sap." he breathed, laying his head back on the ground.

"I believe we've had enough training for today, though." he mentioned, glimpsing Milla appearing from the doorway, then he stood and walked over to Berin, holding his hand to help him up. He took it, but after a moment reconsidered.

"I'll just lie here for a little bit longer; I'll see you later." he said, and closed his eyes; taking in the cool of the breeze on his bare chest. Milla knelt beside him.

"Berin?" her hand rested on his arm.

"I'm al right. I'm just tired." he said softly, and seeing the prickles on his skin she covered him with her body.

"Come. Rest for a while." she urged.

"I am resting..." he said, suddenly drowsy.

"On our bed, Berin. Not here in the dust." she couldn't help but laugh, and he breathed in deep before slowly letting the breath go.

"Al right." he stood, and she accompanied him to their chamber before returning to her day with her family, and he finally woke again at dusk feeling better than he had in days. He stood and redressed, making his way to the Hall of Fire and found Gavin on the steps, speaking with a pretty handmaiden.

"Gavin, have you seen Falgon? I need to speak with him." he asked as he approached.

"He's in the guard's hall." he said, and Berin spared a glance at the door.

"Is there anyone else?" Gavin shook his head.

"No, everyone is gathering in the southern hall; except for him..." he looked thoughtful for a moment, and Berin left him to reflect on whatever it was that entered his mind to meet with the lady's sentinel. He found him in his usual place in front of the fire, with a book in his hands. Berin sighed, and sat down in the chair next to him, again his left foot rested against the pillar of the fireplace. Slight blotches of discolouration visible here and there.

"Why did you do that?" Berin finally asked, and Falgon looked at him seeming surprised.

"Do what?" Berin scoffed.

"Nothing... Why did you just lie there, and let me hit you like that; and you did nothing?" he asked, and Falgon put the book aside.

"Because you needed it. I may not have been in the situation you are, but I can have an understanding for it." he said, and Berin's hand went to his face.

"I could have killed you." he muttered, but Falgon smiled; the same way he always did.

"You would have, had I been any other man." he said, and Berin sat forward.

"I'm sorry, Falgon." he apologised, but Falgon laughed.

"I don't mind, Berin. Really, I don't. I don't bruise easily, and whatever your blows created will be gone by morning. But, you should apologise to Milla for me, I promised her that we would not fight again." he jested about it, lifting the harshness in the air.

"Oh, I will. And then I'll thank her in the best way for understanding." Berin said, and they laughed again, and Falgon's eyes went to the fire in front of him.

"Berin, this is your home, your family. No one can take it from you, not even him." he mentioned, and Berin could suddenly feel every chain of anxiety and frustration fall off him. Had he been a woman, he would have hugged the sentinel then and there, but instead he stood and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, my friend." he said, and Falgon nodded; then Berin left for the feast hall, feeling lighter and happier. This was his home. Bristlemane could burn in any one of the hells, this was where he belonged. And as long as he had the support of the burning mountain, he would never be broken.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9 – THE LORD'S MOON

Raeghun watched his lands and his people from the sun tower, the highest tower of his hold. Little shapes cast shadows on the green fields, and he wondered what it was they were thinking. Were they happy? Did they feel safe under his care? For more than a year they had looked to him as the liege lord of the Corridor. The fields awash with the light of a bright sun in a clear blue sky, these were the people that made him all that he was. But the sense never left him that he would never be as great as his father. He tried, gods knew he did; he wanted to watch over each of them and keep them as content as he could. He looked up at the bright banner fluttering in the wind above his head, and disregarding that same longing, he knew nothing to be this absolute. The phoenix, the fire that would never die out like what burned through his very heart and soul, and he had every man and woman in this country to thank. A touch of cold ran up his stomach, over his chest and shoulder, then down the length of his arm despite the warm summer breeze and his skin turned to goose flesh. He breathed in, taking in a definite perfume of vanilla, then smiled as he opened his eyes from the dream looking at the frost blue of his wife's eyes, and she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he turned his head again to face the canopy of the bed.

"I was already awake..." he said drowsily, and heard her chuckle.

"Liar." her cold hands still running over his definite muscles like the touch of a delicate frozen feather. He sat up and turned, laying his chest on hers where the sensation of her naked breasts could kindle him, supporting himself on his elbows on either side of her. He kissed her as her arms went around his neck and shoulders, pressing him against her. The fingers of his left hand gently caressed her cheek as he pulled back from her, and again he realized the beauty of her anew. Men would die for her, and men would kill for her; there was not much left in between. The day his father promised him to this girl, he resented him for not giving him a choice; but at this moment he wished he could find him again somewhere and fall down at his feet to thank him for this promise, and even after searching for a hundred years on his own he would not find another anything like her. There was nothing he would not do for her, nothing he would not sacrifice.

"What is it?" the fingers that were against her cheek went into her hair.

"I love you, Claira." he whispered, and her hands came back from his shoulders and settled on the smooth of his face, her right ring finger on the base of the scar across his brow, and the palm of her left concealing the one on his jaw as she smiled at him.

"I love you, Raeghun." she returned, and lifted her head while pulling him down to kiss him again, and then his right hand slid across her shoulder to lay on her breast. Regardless of the chill of winter clinging to her, she had a heart warmer than even his own, and he prayed that it would never be left broken. He kissed her again fervently while his hand slid down over her stomach and along her thighs, where the remnants of their previous night were still warm, and heard her slightly gasp before his hand went over her leg to pull her knee past him and settle himself between her thighs; he relished the soft sharp breaths, and her sweet moans against his shoulder as he made love to her again. Ultimately slaked, he left her another moment's rest as he ventured down to the bath chamber to cleanse himself and dressed in brown woollen breeches, boots, and a white tunic under a red jerkin before returning to the bed chamber and sitting down on the edge of the bed where his wife still lay. He ran a hand up her leg from her knee and over her hip to her back.

"You shouldn't take too long, they'll think you're ill." he encouraged, and then leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Al right, I'll just be a moment more..." she said softly as his mouth went from her cheek to her neck. Then he stood and left the lord's wing. A week and a half had passed serenely enough, there were hardly any agitation. Berin who had been so severely annoyed with lord Vega was now complacent and had as far as he could tell ignored Geerd completely for several days until... Raeghun stopped on the grand stairway. He hadn't seen lord Vega in almost a week; and a strange feeling that all was not as serene as he'd hoped slithered like the snake sigil up his back. But he dismissed it and continued on his way to the southern hall, where Milla oversaw preparations for the morning meal, and the delicious odour wafted from cook Jeody's kitchen.

"Good morning, lady Milla." he greeted and she turned, a dress of crimson swaying around her ankles.

"Good morning, lord Raeghun." she curtsied, gracing him with her beautiful smile.

"I trust you had a good evening?" he returned a gentle smile.

"Yes, thank you. There haven't been any 'unexpected' visits for a while. Berin seems calmer, as well." she said.

"Speaking of which, we haven't seen lord Vega in almost a week. Any notions on where he went?" she looked around the hall.

"Perhaps he grew tired of us, and went back to Bristlemane. Someone I know will be overjoyed." he found himself hoping that would be true.

"I doubt that. He planned on staying for my name day." and her face lit up.

"Oh, yes. Are you excited?" he chuckled.

"I think so, but I feel old." she glanced at the floor.

"You'll only turn twenty and one, Raeghun. That's not old." she argued.

"The years keep passing by, at some point I'll have to be carried." he joked, and she shared a laugh with him.

"That would be Berin's duty. I'll carry lady Claira." she offered,

"Such a frail little lady you are, Milla. You'll have to ask Falgon for help." his attention went to the door.

"Which reminds me, guests should start to arrive here any day now. Kindly see to it that the wings are properly prepared for our visitors." he asked, and she nodded.

"Of course, my lord. Anything else?" he breathed in, allowing himself a moment for thought.

"I haven't sparred for a while, and I believe it's about time I got myself back into that routine." he mentioned, and she glanced back at the doorway.

"You've been busy, the days are only so long." she said, and he smiled.

"Now, Milla. That's no excuse to let myself go to waste." he laughed, and she blushed.

"It will still be a while before cook Jeody serves, and Berin should still be inside the hold." she advised, then he thanked her and left the southern hall into the great Hall of Fire. He stopped a moment and looked at the doors, open to the world and revealing the lush green around them. Each day, he had come down these steps facing the same visage, but it never seemed as grand as it did right then. His home. His house. His country. His people. His family. His pride. His fire. His responsibility. He may not be his father, but he was lord Raeghun Taugere, liege and warden of the gold fields of the Corridor. _From the Ashes we Rise. Stronger we Rise!_ Nothing had ever made him feel so strong, and he smiled. He did find Berin in the guard's hall between two young guards who had recently joined their company, inspecting a sword from a pile lying on one of the tables, then threw it down with a bang in frustration.

"These blades are shit!" he took the entire pile from the table and shoved it into the arms of the young guard next to him.

"Take those to the smith to have them reforged." he ordered, and then turned to the other one.

"What the hell are you standing around for? Get the armour, and if that looks like shit too, you'll fix it yourself." the guard moved away with a resistive mumble, and Berin turned to him sharply.

"What did you say?" the young guard turned back.

"Nothing, I'm going." he said, raising his hands.

"Going like a rat through mud. Hurry up!" the guard scampered away, and Raeghun made his way to him.

"Poor boys, what have they done to you?" he asked.

"Not to me, to each other. Our count has two hundred and sixty guards to the hold, and none of them gets under my skin as much as Farze and Dolrey. Arrogant little bastards, I'll have them both whipped before the week is out." Berin muttered, but Raeghun laughed.

"We were there once, too." he reminded, and Berin faced him.

"I never gave ser Holmar this much trouble." he said, frustration dripping like dew from his voice.

"Really? If I recall correctly, you once stuffed his plate mail with horse dung." Raeghun reminded,

"Hey, that wasn't just me,'lord' Raeghun. If I recall correctly, you helped." Raeghun glanced away, feigning his innocence.

"Who, me?" Berin threw a fist at his arm.

"Yes, you." suddenly, they burst out laughing, remembering their youthful days.

"So, as you are in need of an outlet for your frustration, and I am in need of sparring; when you are finished with your thwart I will meet you outside." Berin nodded, just then the young guard returned with a selection of armours. Leaving him to tend to the remainder of his inspections, Raeghun went outside, scanning the bailey of the different faces and guards already at practice. Far at the back stretch black smoke billowed out of the chimney of the castle forge while their master-at-arms oversaw the activities. He was a big man, lean faced and white haired with brown eyes the shade of hazelnuts, and a voice deep and rumbling like thunder. He'd served his family for near to thirty years, and oft had a softer hand than the head of the sentinels. Austinus smiled warmly when he saw his young lord, and came over.

"Good morning, my lord." he greeted.

"Will you be sparring today?" he asked, rather eagerly; and Raeghun chuckled.

"Yes, ser. It's been a while, and I fear that I have neglected my training for too long. Hopefully, I still remember what I've learnt." he mentioned, and the big man laughed.

"My lord, you would not have forgotten anything. Sometimes, the body remembers better than the mind. Swords or fists today?" he asked, and Raeghun glanced at the doorway leading into the barracks.

"Fists. But I may take up a sword tomorrow." he decided, seeming to shove a notion into the mind of their master-at-arms.

"Splendid. Lord Berin has been sparring with ser Falgon quite a bit, and there has been good improvement. But if I may, my lord. Should you take up Quill tomorrow, ser Falgon may be a worthy opponent." he suggested.

"Why say that?" Austinus gave him a thoughtful shrug.

"Well, I dare say that he is the best swordsman in the hold. And he does use a Valyrian steel great sword, like my lord does. These are very difficult weapons to train with, as they would destroy any ordinary blade with a single stroke; but Valyrian steel against Valyrian steel might prove to be something quite different." he told, and Raeghun reflected on that. He had not felt the grip of Quill in his hand for months, and it wasn't the same holding a regular blade in your hand. Steel great swords were heavy and unwieldy. Long swords were easier, but didn't give you the accuracy or balance for a great sword; and the idea drew him more and more.

"I might consider it." he agreed, and then Berin joined them outside.

"You ready?" he asked, placing a hand on Raeghun's shoulder.

"I was waiting for you, Berin." he directed, and then returned his attention to Austinus.

"If you'll excuse me, ser. A bludgeoning awaits me." he said, and then looked back at Berin.

"Or so I hear." they laughed, and then parted from the master-at-arms for an open area while removing their shirts, exposing scarred skin to the breeze.

"Don't hold back on me, Berin. I need it." Raeghun called as they prepared.

"Don't worry, I won't." Berin smiled, and after a moment of examining one another, they moved forward and locked, releasing the restraints of their minds. They moved evenly, judging one another's intentions precisely, and perhaps close to an hour passed as others gathered to watch which blows would land – none did; which shoulders would find the ground first – none did; and finally breathless they decided on a stalemate.

"You're better than before." Raeghun commented, and Berin laughed.

"Perhaps, but I still couldn't beat you, my lord." he said, but Raeghun shook his head.

"You weren't even trying." he suspected, and they shared a tired laugh. A girl appeared in the doorway, dressed in a soft purple gown. Berin recognised her as one of his wife's handmaidens, named Aurelne; a beautiful young thing, slender with long burgundy hair hanging past her shoulders, a soft face with full lips and bright almost violet eyes.

"If it please, my lords. Cook Jeody will be serving soon." she called into the yard; answered by grateful and excited replies. Berin scoffed. If the girl was anything, shy was definitely not one of them. Since coming here, she had shown a definite interest in the sentinels, and even entertained Gavin in his chamber on an occasion or three. They proceeded inside, and washed the filth from their skin before making their way to the feast hall and breaking their fast on sweetened porridge, crisped pork rinds, grease baked crusts, fresh fruits and goat's milk. Family by both blood and bond shared the high table while the rest of the hall was live with soft conversation, and after satisfying their hunger and thirst Raeghun departed the feast hall with Claira at his side.

"Any wishes for this evening's supper, my love?" Claira asked as they ascended the steps of the grand staircase.

"Nothing in particular. Whatever you feel like having Jeody prepare for us will be fine." she paused, and he turned back.

"The stores are full, but I dare say the poultry, pork and mutton is growing overwhelming. If I may request, the hunters could bring something back for us?" she asked, and he smiled.

"We haven't had a hunt in a while. I'm sure our guests will enjoy it as well." he said, and her eyes met his warmly. The morning passed peacefully as it otherwise would, while Berin took the opportunity to invite Luitpold along for their afternoon activity; and by mid day Raeghun stood on the third level having orders given to prepare the horses and bring out the hounds for the hunt. A sentinel came up the steps, smiling broadly.

"My lord. You have a guest." he announced, and Raeghun looked at Berin at his side. Claira and Milla came down from the incline happily with Falgon following.

"Well then, let's not keep them waiting." Raeghun said, grateful that he had asked the wings prepared this morning, and feeling his wife's hands slip around his arm.

"I wonder if it might be dear lord Vega?" he joked, and she smiled at him.

"Oh, no. You'll love this one." she said, and he chuckled.

"So you're not going to tell me who it is?" he urged, supposing that she had seen the arrivals from her common room higher up in the sun tower.

"No." the group left for the outer bailey to greet their visitors. Once stepping from the doorway, a large wheelhouse stood some feet away from the stairs, drawn by four dark horses. Several guards surrounded them, two of them bearing banners displaying a white tower with a burning torch above it, on dark grey. Castle hands were unloading chests from the back of the wagon as a gaunt man stood next to its open door to help someone out. A dress of warm orange appeared, and then silver-gold hair glinted in the sunlight, hanging down past the waist as the young lady appeared and looked up, eyes of summer sky blue set on the lord of Mount Ardor. Raeghun paused. She was more beautiful than he'd imagined. Fair skinned, bright eyed and glowing at fifteen years, and in that moment her hand left that of the man next to her and she ran forward towards him as he raised his arms and her full weight fell against him. He smiled, believing that the day was even brighter.

"Mae, my beautiful sister." his arms tightened around her slim body.

"Raeghun, I've missed you so much." she said, and then pulled back from him.

"I am so happy to see the burning mountain again." she said.

"It's been here for thousands of years, Mae. It's not going anywhere." he joked, and then her attention went to Claira; and they embraced one another as well. She even greeted Berin in the same manner, and he merrily presented his wife whom she had yet to officially meet.

"She's beautiful, Berin." Mae complimented taking Milla's hands.

"I'm sure you'll be very, very happy." she congratulated, and Raeghun reflected. Despite the hardship of their past, she hadn't lost the slightest bit of her lively personality. Then she smiled and turned back to the young man coming up the steps. He formally bowed to them.

"Good day, my lords and ladies." he greeted, and Mae went to him placing her hands on his right arm.

"May I present, my betrothed: lord Cladus Hightower." she announced, and Raeghun came forward extending a hand.

"Welcome to Mount Ardor, my lord. I trust you will enjoy your visit here." he said, and the young lord smiled gratefully. He was a comely young man, with grey eyes and light hair, small for his age but a man grown at eighteen, well mannered and sure-footed.

"Thank you, lord Raeghun. Lady Mae has told me so many marvellous things of the beauty and strength of both people and country; I can see she wasn't exaggerating for an instant. I look forward to our stay." he said, his eyes scanning the people on the steps behind Raeghun. Just then the Kennel master appeared with seven of the castle hounds circling him, aroused at the prospect of running in the woodlands. Large, powerful beasts, quick and quiet and more resembling of wolves than the customary mastiffs. Elkhounds had long been preferred at the burning mountain for their courage, intelligence and energy; both good guard dogs and good hunters.

"Whenever you're ready m'lord." he declared, bringing the group's attention back to the matter at hand.

"We will be out hunting this afternoon. Would you care to join us, lord Cladus?" Raeghun extended his invitation,

"I would enjoy that very much, my lord." he accepted, and Claira brought her hands together.

"Well, that would give us time to have you properly settled in." Raeghun glanced back.

"My sister will accommodate the lord's wing with us, lord Cladus will have one of our finest chambers in the west wing. And your guards are free to find themselves a suitable space in my barracks." he decided as castle hands started carrying the chests up the stairs to the castle. Luitpold came from the hold.

"My apologies for the delay, lord Raeghun." he said coming to them, and then laid eyes on the new arrivals, and extended a hand smiling.

"Good day, my lady. You must be our lord's lovely sister." he said as she gave her hand, and he brought her fingertips to his mouth.

"Good day, my lord. You are too kind." she returned, and then he extended a hand to greet Cladus, and they prepared to leave for the hunt. Claira raised a hand to Mae.

"Come, I'm sure you're exhausted." she ushered, and the young lady issued the group a last endearing smile before turning, suddenly facing a tall figure that in her excitement had gone unnoticed until now. She looked up into the stern features and dark eyes, so high above her that she may have faced the clouds and a sense of dizziness overwhelmed her as her weight pulled her back. Someone from the group moved suddenly forward, but a powerful hand wound gently around her waist and pulled her forward to steady her, and he smiled at her; calm and caring.

"My apologies, my lady. Please be careful." he said bringing his hand away from her, and she moved around him to where Milla's hands found her shoulders.

"Th... Thank you... ser." she stammered, Milla gave him a quick puzzled glance.

"Are you al right?" Cladus asked as he came to her.

"Yes..." she breathed, not taking her eyes away from Falgon at Claira's side.

"I do believe that the wheelhouse has left lady Mae slightly faint, five weeks is a long time." Milla turned to Mae, with a calm smile.

"Come, some pressed grape juice will do you well, my lady." she said smiling, leading the girl into the castle. Raeghun passed a glance between his wife and her sentinel, before his eyes followed the figures vanishing into the hold. Cladus stared at Falgon, not quite sure how to feel; but then the horses were led to the stairway for the group.

"Any requests, my lady?" he asked, breaking the atmosphere, and her eyes met his.

"Anything you bring down, my love." she smiled, and then turned to Falgon.

"Ser Falgon, why don't you join them?" she suggested,

"I'd like to, your grace. But I am afraid that my presence may spoil the hunt; the prey will see me coming a mile off. If it please, I will remain in the hold." she nodded, and then returned her attention to Raeghun giving her approval; and they proceeded down the steps and mounted their steeds before departing. Claira looked up at her sentinel, looking towards the entry to Mount Ardor.

"I apologise, your grace. I seem to have frightened the lady." he mentioned, and she had to smile.

"Well, you are rather intimidating, ser." she joked, and his face came back to hers.

"If I may, would you please apologise to her for me? I will keep my distance from her if she so wishes." he offered,

"I'm sure you just startled her. I'd faint too, if I saw a giant." he laughed, and they turned to retreat back inside.

"Nonetheless, I don't wish for her visit to be uncomfortable." he continued. A serving girl reported that after a short visit to cook Jeody's kitchen, Milla escorted Mae to the lord's wing, as Falgon did for Claira to the doorway. She entered and looked back at him.

"I will send Gavin to your company, you grace." he offered,

"Falgon-" he looked down the hall.

"I will return to your side once I am summoned." he assured and then bowed to her before leaving. Claira sighed, weighing his obstinacy against his courtesy, each outweighing the other on multiple levels of consideration, then shook her head and the thoughts from her mind. She found Milla and Mae in the fourth bed chamber, chosen out for her where a window opened to the Sunset Sea. A little hearth stood ready to be lit against the wall next to it, and a wide bed covered in rich lavender sheets took up the centre of the chamber, with a chest at its feet. Mae sat on the bed with her hands in her lap, and Milla standing beside her. Claira went over to her, kneeling in front of her.

"Are you al right?" she asked, placing loose strands of hair behind her left ear. Mae nodded, not bringing her eyes up from the floor.

"Is something wrong, Mae?" she asked, and then she looked up.

"He scares me..." she whispered, and dropped her head again. Claira stood and sat down on the bed next to her, putting her arms around her.

"Oh, don't worry about him." then she pulled back.

"He did ask me to apologise to you for him. But can I share a little something with you?" she winked at Milla, who smiled and sat down on the other side of Mae.

"You don't ever, ever need to be scared of Falgon. He is my sentinel, like those that protected you, and your mother. Granted he may be a bit intense at times, but when Raeghun is not with me, I feel completely safe when he is near. He is as kind and gentle as he is strong and brave." she told, and Milla leaned slightly forward.

"Lady Claira is right. He has already saved her life on more than a single occasion, and some weeks ago also saved mine. If not for him, we may have been somewhere on a ship bound for Meereen or Yunkai. There is really no reason to fear him." she agreed, and Mae breathed in deeply and then suddenly laughed.

"He's enormous! Where did you find him?" she managed, and Claira chuckled.

"We met at king Robert's _Wanderer's Tourney._ He was a mercenary then, and fought in the melee. He offered his victories to our house, and Raeghun took him into his service." Mae's eyes came to her, sparked with shock.

"A sell sword? Claira, really?" she nodded.

"How long ago was that?" Claira glanced at her friend.

"Milla, that wasn't too long ago, was it?" she thought for a moment, trying to piece together the timeline.

"Almost ten weeks, maybe less." Mae's hands went to her mouth, astonished.

"You're playing with me." she accused, and Claira laughed.

"No, it's all true, I swear." she assured, and could see her sister's face change as she searched through their history.

"No one has ever entered the sentinels before at least a year of service." she mentioned, and Claira shrugged.

"Falgon was different." she said.

"As I understand, he proved himself to your brother before they even reached Mount Ardor from the tourney. And Berin pledged for him as well. They trust him fully." Milla added, and Mae nodded.

"I'd like to meet him again, if that's al right?" she asked, suddenly shy.

"Of course." A soft knock at the door drew their attention.

"Enter." Milla allowed as she stood, and the door opened as castle hands brought the visitor's belongings inside. After seeing that everything was organised, they left the wing and found Gavin awaiting them at the door.

"Good day, my ladies." he greeted cheerfully, and they returned his fond greeting.

"Gavin, where is ser Falgon?" Milla enquired.

"He is in the Hall of Fire, my lady; in front of the great hearth. I wish I could know what it is that he sees in the flames." he mentioned.

"Good, it's on our way. We'd like some time in the garden." Claira mentioned, and Gavin bowed allowing them to pass. They went down the long hallway and emerged into the Hall of Fire, and coming down the steps they identified the tall figure darkening the light cast by the fire of the hearth. Mae paused for a moment, but followed as Claira glanced back at her smiling.

"Ser Falgon?" he turned and bowed to her.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he asked.

"You may return to my company." she said, and he straightened up, towering above them.

"As you bid, your grace." Mae gently took Claira's hand; and she seemed to understand.

"If you'd be so kind, please kneel." she instructed, and he did so without hesitation, his eyes cast at the stone beneath him. Mae took a gentle breath, and then stepped forward.

"I apologise if I have offended you, ser Falgon." she said, and then he looked up at her, again with his kind smile.

"You could not offend me if you threw an axe at my head, dear lady." he said, bringing a smile to her and he could make out a soft blush on her cheeks. Then she stepped forward, and leaned over to place her lips against his cheek. Soft and warm and fleeting, but without any tremor.

"Thank you." she whispered, and then stepped back allowing him to stand, and he bowed his head before taking a step aside to allow them to pass, and himself to follow them.

The woods were lush and dark, the hounds had caught the scent of a buck easily enough and were now following it through the brush, here and there emitting an eerie howl as the trail became stronger. At some point the kennel master stopped next to one of the dogs, Sash the alpha with his snow white belly and night black back, kneeling down as the creature lay flat on his stomach on the soft ground watching something on the nearby hill. He signalled softly for the party to dismount, and they made their way further on foot, through the trees until they could see the clearing. Concealed by the trees, the shadows of the leaves and bushes they spied the deer grazing on the hillside. The other dogs crept closer, ready to sprint while both Raeghun and Berin took arrows from the quivers and brought it to the bows in their hands, each concealed behind a wide birch while Luitpold, Cladus, Edur and three additional sentinels lingered behind with the horses. They drew the arrows back on the strings, waiting and watching, seizing the opportune moment. They had done this many times, taking up point from different directions. Raeghun ready with the bow, concealed by the shadows, and Berin several feet away facing him being left-handed. Raeghun would release his arrow first to startle the deer, and the arrow from Berin would strike it down. It was a tactic that worked well. The kennel master raised his face, just scanning across the brush and rose his hand to give off the signal for the hounds to give chase. Silence seemed to lay heavy within the woods, and then Raeghun breathed out releasing the arrow from his fingers. The feathers sang through the air and it missed the back of the buck by inches; but it jumped at the sound giving a more defined target; and the second arrow whistled from Berin's fingers, true and sure through the air until... a sudden hard impact hit the trunk of the tree next to Berin's head and a long shaft protruded from the bark.

"Fuck!" he ducked away, and suddenly the others were right there with him, the sentinels scanning the nearby area.

"Are you al right?" Raeghun asked, helping him up from the ground; but Berin kept staring at the arrow that had nearly taken his head.

"Where did that come from?" they heard Cladus ask, and Luitpold laughed.

"Well, what do you know? That buck shits arrows." it lightened the atmosphere, and Berin looked around.

"That could have been my neck... Where is the buck, by the way?" the kennel master approached;

"The arrow hit, m'lord. The hounds took chase. But that ain't no arrow of ours." he said pointing at the shaft in the tree, and a more sombre air settled.

"Assassination?" Edur asked as he ran a finger along the arrow.

"No, I don't think so." Raeghun said as he approached, then took hold of the shaft and pulled it from the tree, examining the tip.

"You there!" they looked back to see a man standing on the hill, a bow clasped in his hand. He had dark hair, strong features to his face with light eyes, and was dressed in black riding boots, black leather breeches, a green doublet and a grey fur lined cloak fastened to his shoulders. The sentinels drew their swords.

"Is anyone hurt?" the man called, and Raeghun stared at him.

"No." he replied, and Edur stepped forward.

"Who are you?" he called, and the man smiled broadly.

"Lord Raeghun Taugere, is that any way to greet family?" he asked, and started down the hill, and Raeghun laughed, finally recognising the stranger and extended his hand which his brother took eagerly.

"Lord Gerald Tormont."

They day passed on under the setting of the sun, the ladies spent their day in the garden, sharing their lives with stories of their homes and its happenings, its people and the world around them while young Rod again played with one of the castle hound pups, and watching the sky darkening slowly over the Sunset Sea where the sun would disappear. A guard came down the path towards them, and then stopped to bow to Claira where she sat next to Mae on a stone bench amidst sweet smelling blue, purple, pink and white Hydrangea blossoms.

"I apologise for interrupting you, milady. Our lord has returned, and bids you to inspect their catch for this evening." he asked, and she stood, smoothing down the front of her gold dress.

"Please pardon me, my ladies. I will join you again shortly." she excused, and then made her way down the pathway, through the hold to the front steps of the castle where she stopped, feeling her heart give an additional beat. Raeghun and the hunting party stood off to one side smiling impishly, the catch having already been sent to the kitchens and the hounds given their rewards. But then she smiled as her composure came back to her, and she proceeded down, gracing a rather extensive party of visitors with a formal curtsy as women and children piled out of a great wheelhouse.

"Welcome my lords and ladies, to Mount Ardor. I trust you will enjoy your stay with us." she greeted, and the man in front of her smiled, regarding her with calm light blue eyes that could have been mistaken for silver, but not quite as striking as her own.

"Thank you, lady Taugere. We've been looking forward to this visit for a while now." he said, his voice calm and peaceful; and then her restraint broke and she threw her arms around his neck. Her father laughed happily as his arms went around her and he picked her up against him away from the ground.

"Adah..." her words were soft against him, returning to her childhood nickname for him.

"My precious, precious winter rose. We've missed you so much." he said as his arms tightened around her. His hair was whiter than she recalled, and had grown out so much that it was now tied with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck; and a full white beard covered his gaunt, withered face; but his smile was still as warm as ever. He set her down, and she was free to greet the other guests, her mother who was still as beautiful as she remembered; her brothers, Gerald who stood beside her husband smiling, and Rhegard who had just come of age, and little minx who had become a lovely young woman. Then her attention went to the additional house that joined them, in their black, white and silver; lord Eddard and lady Catelyn Stark with a stout boy of six, a pretty little girl of three with rich auburn hair and a babe that had barely seen a year. At the entry way of the wheelhouse, on the hand of a maid was yet another boy with black hair and black eyes, that regarded them all. Claira welcomed everyone happily, and had instruction given that all were presented adequate accommodation to their needs while the party conversed on their day's events and darkness settled over the castle. A tall figure emerged from the light of the hold, coming down the steps and stopped next to Claira bowing.

"My apologies for the disturbance, your grace. Lady Milla has requested that you be informed that cook Jeody will be serving soon." he said, and she smiled at him.

"Thank you." she went to her husband, still speaking with the other lords.

"My love, if it please you, the banquet will begin soon." she said, and he nodded.

"My lords, my ladies; come. Let us feast together." he announced, and they made their way inside. In his calmness, Claira's father stood examining the sentinel as the others entered and Claira came back to him.

"Whenever you're ready, father." he looked at her.

"In a moment, sweetling. You haven't introduced us, yet." he hinted, and she smiled, glancing up at Falgon.

"May I present my father, lord Willmon Tormont, The Grey Tom and lord of Pale Haven." she said, and Falgon turned to him bowing respectively.

"Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your excellence." he greeted, and she turned to her father.

"Father, this is ser Falgon of the Fire Hall. He is my most trusted sentinel, and my dear, dear friend." Falgon spared her a quick glance, seeming surprised at her choice of words.

"The pleasure is mine, ser. But your excellence? Now there's something that has not been heard in a long time. I believe that the phrase was used to address a superior during the Age of Heroes. My youngest daughter likes to read stories from that time. Her favourite is about Karjen the Faithful. Have you read it?" he asked curiously.

"I can't recall, your excellence. I've read many books." Falgon said, but Willmon remained smiling and then glanced at her.

"Hearing her speak, you are very protective of my daughter." he calculated.

"Your daughter is my queen, your excellence. She gave me every reason to my existence. There is nothing I would not do for her." the sentinel insisted, easing the lord in front of him.

"I am exaltedly pleased to hear that. She is my most precious, and it brings me great relief that she is loved and cared for, and well protected." he said, seeing Falgon smile.

"There is no greater honour, than keeping her grace safe. Her contentment is my only wish." he said.

"What an interesting man you are, ser Falgon. Were you born here in the Corridor?" he continued to ask as he raised a hand to signal their retirement into the hold.

"No, your excellence. I was born in the west, but I left my home long ago. And I've been wandering ever since." Falgon told,

"Until you found my daughter." Willmon assumed, and Falgon chuckled.

"Until she found me, rather. Among the lowest of the low, fighting for the pleasure of those who would look down upon me. She took me from that, she gave me a name, and a home, and a purpose. A purpose other than just surviving from one day to the next." he continued, and Willmon nodded, reflecting on that.

"Good. That's good. Tell me, Falgon; have we met before? You seem so familiar to me." Willmon asked as he looked at him again.

"No, your excellence. This is the pleasure of our fist meeting." Falgon said as they walked through the Hall of Fire to the southern feast hall.

"I see. Still, I can't rid myself of this notion that I know you from somewhere..." her father insisted.

"I'm sure you would have recalled, your excellence. I'm a hard man to miss, I dare say." he laughed, and Willmon shared the humour.

"Well, you are right about that, ser. But, I will remember it eventually." they stopped at the door, and Claira ventured further into the hall joining their people who had already started to assemble for their feast.

"Well, I should rejoin my family. If we do not get the opportunity to speak again, I bid you a good night, ser." Willmon said, and Falgon bowed his head to him.

"And a peaceful evening to you as well, your excellence." he greeted before the lord moved off to take a place at the high table. Falgon lingered there a moment, deciding that he may return to the guard's hall for the remainder of the evening, then felt a gentle tug on his cloak and turned back to see a girl dressed in a light lime coloured dress with gold thread seams, and a pretty face with pink slightly rounded cheeks, dark brown locks and warm brown eyes looking up at him.

"You're my sister's guardian, aren't you?" she asked, and he knelt so his eyes may meet hers evenly.

"I am, my lady." he confirmed, and she glanced away from him for an instant, towards the people assembling in the hall.

"You won't let anything happen to her, right?" she asked softly, as if somewhere deep down she expected danger to follow them, and then returned her eyes to his.

"Never." he promised with a smile, and then she returned it; her eyes softening in comfort, then she turned and joined her family. They dined on garlic roasted deer, cream baked potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, buttered turnips, smoked vegetables and stewed fruit with warm custard all while performers filled the hall with merry song; before retiring to bed for the evening.

Claira woke before sunrise, trying to stifle a sudden desire for a delicacy she'd not had since leaving Pale Haven. Cook Jeody was blessed in his talent, and all his presentations were fulfilling; but she could not deny that she longed for Arima's pastries. However, gifted as he was, perhaps their own kitchen master could recreate them, and given his eccentric practice, perhaps his effort would equal them. She sat up quietly, making sure her husband was still asleep before standing and throwing on a dress in the dark and silently making her way out of the chamber and down the stairway. She moved through the lord's hall and stole away into the corridor before softly closing the door, as not to wake any of the others, and then went down to the castle kitchens. She found their cook already stocking the ovens with wood, one already alight and burning heartily. He was a short heavy-set man with a bald head, clean round face, glinting black eyes and thin lips, and he was kind and cheerful. She had many times heard the scullions and pages speak of how much enjoyment they found in the kitchen under his watch; then he looked up and smiled at her.

"Good morning, my lady. You're up early?" he said, in a voice higher than one would expect from a man his size.

"Good morning. I'm afraid I've come with an early request." she said, making her way down the little steps into the kitchen, and Jeody put a thick wiping cloth down on the table.

"Anything, my lady." he said, and waited for his request.

"Jeody; we've had a long and rather eventful day yesterday, and I believe more will follow. Would you please prepare crispels for our guests, and ensure that there are enough for the castle hands as well?" she asked, and he stared at her for a moment, his eyes temporarily vacant of any thought, which she found odd as those same eyes sparkled when met with a request for sweetness.

"Uhm... Crispels, my lady?" she chuckled.

"You don't know them?" he shook his head, she could almost see sorrow pulling at his mouth, but she smiled and moved forward; remembering every day she spent watching Arima in the kitchen of the white castle.

"It's so easy, I'll show you." she said reaching for a bowl waiting on the table.

"No no, my lady! I can't let you grime your hands, your lord husband will have my head." Jeody protested raising his hands to stop her, but she disregarded him and reached past, taking hold of the bowl.

"He won't know." she said softly.

Falgon sat at his usual place in front of the fire, a book open in his hand, but his mind was wandering and he only took in a word or two here-and-there. He thought of the many years he spent on the roads, but the memories were vague. He recalled high towers, strong walls and little houses under thatched roofs, and green fields, red leaves, shadows under trees, blue skies, white clouds, rain and sun and wind and stars, camp fires and rolling wheels, towns, castles, people, faces, smiling and sad and enraged... but nothing seemed so clear as his past two moons here. His eyes closed, and for just an instant he could see her eyes again. Clear green eyes, but the features were clouded and dark; then it changed and the eyes changed. He opened his to the light of the fire, casting the memory aside with a resentful grimace. _That time is gone... Here is what matters now._ He threw the book down and put his hand to his face. _Here is what matters now..._ _Here I found a home. Among these people I belong..._ He stood, deciding to exchange the heat of the hearth for the cool breeze outside. He took Summit, resting against the wall beside him, and replaced it on its place on his back. He didn't feel its weight at all any more, it felt almost strange not to have it on him. This sword had become as much a part of him as his own still beating heart, and apart from the memories, was the only remembrance he brought with him from his past. This, and one other thing. His hand went to his arm, the fingers touching a band of woven black, brown and white leather strips tied between the muscles of his upper left arm, normally hidden beneath the cloak around his shoulders. It had been there so long, he'd forgotten about it on several occasions. He stepped out into the cool of the night, looking up at the stars from the inner bailey where the guards trained. They were bright, and he could almost reflect on how many times he spent the extent of time when the sun set to when it rose just watching them, and trying to count them. Even after all these years he still didn't finish, he stopped at twelve thousand somewhere as the sky started to grow lighter just as it was now, and the horizon became shades of purple... He turned as an excited voice sounded from inside, and decided to investigate while there was naught else to do. He made his way through the guard's hall and into the Hall of Fire, glimpsing the light coming from the kitchen, from where the voice also came. He proceeded forward, and stepped through the door to see Jeody next to Claira who was smiling happily, his lips around his thumb and a plate of freshly baked confectioneries steaming on the table.

"My lady, these pastries are magnificent! I will make them every day." the cook exclaimed as he brought his hand away from his face.

"Well, I'm glad you like them, Jeody. You can add any garnish, mint leaves, nuts, even lemon zest." she said, and Falgon came down the steps.

"Your grace." she turned, a flash of surprise in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Ser Falgon. I was just showing... TELLING! Telling, Jeody how to make crispels." she explained, and he looked down.

"And I assume flour and milk splattered all over your lovely hands?" he noted, and she looked to see her hands covered in blotches of pastry dough, and subconsciously wiped her hands down the front of her dress.

"Oh... this... I... Please, don't tell my husband." she looked up at him, knowing that he would not be fooled. He grinned, and took a step closer to her.

"I could be persuaded, to keep your secret." he mentioned, standing barely an arm's reach away from her. She breathed in deep, and then looked towards the table. She took a small honey drizzled pastry from the plate, and presented it to him. He looked at it, and after a moment of hesitation gingerly took the still warm treat from her hand. He examined it and then slowly brought it to his mouth, placed half of the pastry between his lips and bit down. He savoured it, the taste, the texture.

"What do you think?" The pastry was warm and soft and sweet and light and pleasing. For the first time since leaving his home, something didn't taste like sulphur and sawdust, whether it be because it was presented by his queen or their cook's magical talent he couldn't say.

"It tastes... like the kiss of a lady." he said softly, and he watched the expression on her face change for an instant to shock before he smiled and laughed.

"I'm joking. I won't tell him, I swear. It's delicious." he mentioned before finishing the pastry, and she shared his laugh relieved and then his attention came back to her.

"But I dare to say that the hold is starting to wake, and some may wonder about your circumstances." she looked down, at the white stains left by her hands and gasped.

"Oh, seas of green! How will I ever make it to the lords wing without being seen?" Falgon turned slightly, raising his arm.

"Come, your grace. May I advise to stay close?" he covered his brown cloak over her, and led her from the kitchen through the hold, staying to the shadows as much as possible. She pressed herself close to his tall hard frame, mirroring his steps as they walked, and an interesting odour enveloped her. It was earthy, like when two stones were ground together and it reminded her of a new building. Suddenly he stopped, and she heard footsteps coming down the incline.

"Falgon, have you seen my wife." she heard her husband's voice and she held her breath, pressing her hand over her mouth and nose.

"She may be with Maester Adlyn, sire. I was on my way there, myself." Falgon replied calmly, she stood absolutely still hoping that she will be shielded from his view.

"Is something wrong?" she heard Raeghun ask.

"No, sire. I have no qualms." Falgon replied, her heart was beating so fast she feared that it could be heard.

"Well, when you do see her, please ask her to join us in the feast hall." he requested,

"As you bid, sire." Falgon acknowledged, and she heard the footsteps passing them, but then her sentinel took a step back around her, and she heard Raeghun's voice again.

"And Falgon, meet me in the inner bailey a little later on, I'd like to test my sword skill against yours." he instructed, and then vanished. Claira breathed out, feeling light headed for a moment before she leaned against him. Falgon raised his arm and looked at her.

"Are you al right, your grace?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Come." he ushered her further up the incline to the door of the lord's wing where she slipped from his cloak, and laughed as she opened the door and stepped inside, she turned back to him, seeing him smile.

"Thank you, ser Falgon. I must say I haven't had that much fun for a while." she breathed, leaning against the door.

"It was my pleasure, your grace. But I'd urge you to hurry to your lord husband's side, as requested." he said, and she smiled at him a last time before vanishing into the wing. He waited there until she returned, redressed in a wide gown of soft pink with open shoulders and long wide sleeves, a circlet of gold and ruby around her throat.

"You didn't need to wait for me, Falgon." she said as she closed the door behind her.

"My place is at your side, your grace; until I am commanded otherwise." he insisted, and she folded her hands in front of her stomach and he regarded her.

"Are you sure you're al right, your grace?" he asked. She did feel odd, not enough to complain, but noticeable.

"Yes, why do you ask?" she said, glancing away.

"No reason in particular." he said, and then she turned.

"Well, my husband awaits." he escorted her down the hallways, meeting the serving girls, handmaidens and castle hands along the way, all greeting her avidly. As they entered the Hall of Fire, she found her father in front of the great hearth, watching the flames.

"Good morning, father." she greeted, and he turned towards her.

"Good morning, sweetling." he smiled warmly, and then looked at Falgon.

"And to you, ser." Falgon bowed.

"Good morning, your excellence." Willmon's attention went back to Claira.

"If you wouldn't mind it too much, ser. May I have a moment alone with my daughter? I will see her to her husband after." he asked, and Falgon nodded.

"Of course, your excellence." he turned, and left them to their moment. Claira looked up at her father.

"Is everything al right, Adah?" she asked, and he took her hands in his.

"Everything is fine, my winter rose. I just wanted to ask how you were doing, how you were feeling. It's been over three years, and you're more beautiful now than I could ever remember." he said, placing his left hand to her face. Her free hand covered his.

"Oh, Adah. I miss Pale Haven, but I am very happy here. These years have been wonderful, everyone has treated me kindly, save for one or two exceptions; and Raeghun is very loving. You could not have chosen a better husband for me." she said softly, and he brought his face closer to hers to place his lips against her brow before drawing back.

"That makes me happier than you know." he whispered, allowing his memories to go back seventeen years. The current lord of Winterfell's father, Rickard Stark was with him. It was in the dark of night that they rode deep into the woods that bordered Long Lake to find the ancient standing stones, and where he met the sage that stayed his daughter's life. _Please, please save her..._ He'd begged the hunched over little man with eyes white as mist. _You are not the first to come here, sire._ The little man said, his voice soft and slow. _Please, please save my daughter._ He begged again, and the little man smiled at him. _I will do what I can, sire._ _But I caution you, that should she live, you must be willing to give._ The little man said as he held out is hands to take the baby. _Anything, I'll give you anything you want if you save my daughter's life._ Willmon promised without a thought, and released his tiny two pound, white haired child into the hands of a stranger. _It is not to me that you must give, sire._ The sage said with a kind smile before turning and moving off to the centre of the stone circle. At that moment, Rickard's hand clamped down on Willmon's shoulder. _This may not be worth it, my friend._ he cautioned, but the lord of Pale Haven's desperation for his daughter was stronger. _This is the life of my daughter, Rickard. It is worth everything, and more..._ A fire sparked between the stones, and the sage lay the child on a stone altar, surrounded by the flames, and a light glowed above her, blue and clear as frost while small flakes settled on her, and he was met with those words. _The Breath of Winter, will meld with Bright Fire and Dead Stone. And when Winter comes again, it is the Atronach that will stand in Flames and Snow. Know that if your daughter has the strength to live, winter will be in her always and she will be its breath. Will you yield her to flame? Will you relinquish her to stone?_ And then his answer came immediately, _Yes._ And images flooded his mind, images of fire, of frost, of stone, of eyes, blue and bright and burning, a clash between light and dark, between cold and warm, between life and death... When he regained consciousness his friend knelt beside him, and the sage stood by with the child in his hands. Through the throb to his skull he stood, and received his daughter. The colour returned to her skin, her hair turned black, save for small white wisps. _Your daughter will live, sire. But winter will always be within her..._ He made a promise, the night she was saved from the frost. He had promised her to flame and stone without a thought, long before he understood what it could mean. From there he watched her grow, he watched her become beautiful, he watched her be loved for her grace, and be shunned for her difference all the same. And then the rebellion came. Flame he realized suddenly when he entered this hall eight years ago with lord Stark and lord Baratheon, but the rest he had yet to learn. But he had comfort knowing that she was safe here.

"Adah?" he returned to her frost blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" he smiled at her again, and took her face gently in his hands.

"Nothing, my sweet winter rose. Nothing is wrong. I just... We've truly missed you, that's all." and then he chuckled.

"And I must say, I'm rather anxious to meet my grandchild." he added, and she looked down placing her hand gently to her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Adah-" he put his arms around her, silencing her.

"There's no rush, Claira. You're still young, there's lots of time. Never mind what anyone else tells you." he said, and she eased into him.

"I want it, Adah. I want it so much..." his hands rubbed her back.

"I know. But don't worry, the best things take the longest time, sweetling." he soothed.

"Thank you." then he released her.

"Come, your husband is waiting." he guided her towards the feast hall where they were waited upon, Falgon stood by the doorway to receive orders. Raeghun stood with Berin at one of the tables, discussing the plans for the day while Milla oversaw the preparations, dressed in a gown of warm yellow. Claira and her father joined them, as he reached out a hand for her.

"There you are, I've lost you this morning." he joked, and they continued the conversation with their family and guests for a while before Aurelne came from the kitchens, announcing that it will still be a while before their cook serves; but that the visitors were welcome to share the hall and each other's company over the new delicacies while they waited, and then her eyes settled on the sentinel in the doorway whom did not seem to notice her at all, then Raeghun put his hand on Berin's shoulder.

"Well then, I suppose it is time that I resume my training." he said, and then looked at Falgon.

"Ser Falgon, be so kind as to meet me outside with your sword, will you?" Falgon bowed.

"As you bid, sire." he agreed, and headed off through the Hall of Fire for the outer bailey. Claira looked at her husband.

"Raeghun..." she didn't know what to say, but he smiled and put his arms around her.

"There is nothing to be anxious for, my sweet." he assured, and then looked at Berin and his guests Willmon, his sons and lord Stark.

"If it please you, you're welcome to attend our sparring." he invited, and they smiled excitedly.

"That will be something very interesting to see, we've heard tales of the skills of the men of the Corridor." Eddard said, but Claira felt a queer unease twisting in her stomach like a salmon struggling upstream.

"Raeghun, please..." she couldn't understand why she felt this way. She couldn't rid herself of this unnatural restiveness, and he regarded her closely.

"Claira, it's just training." he assured, and she looked down, her hand again resting on her abdomen.

"I know. I know it's just training... I just..." she didn't know why. She couldn't understand herself at this point, and then he turned to a nearby squire.

"Retrieve Quill from the lord's wing for me, please." he instructed, and the squire left after a quick bow. Claira breathed in deeply, and then glanced at the doorway behind them.

"If you'll please pardon me for a moment, my lords." she excused, and left the feast hall, stealing away to the outer bailey where Falgon waited.

"Falgon." he bowed to her.

"How will I serve, your grace?" she looked at him, feeling confused.

"You're sparring with my husband..." he smiled as he nodded, and seemed to understand.

"I will not strike at him, your grace. Not unless I am commanded otherwise." he said, and she felt somewhat relieved, and nodded thankfully before returning to their company. The group made their way outside, still continuing their conversation, and then exited through the doors to the bailey. Raeghun breathed in the air as he examined his opponent. He had removed the cloak from his shoulders, and left it on the hay bales lining the outer wall before he patiently waited with Summit in front of him, the tip digging into the ground and his palms resting on the pommel. Numerous scars from nicks and cuts marred his powerful arms. The others found places around the sparring ring.

"Are you ready?" Raeghun asked as he moved forward, and Falgon regarded him calmly.

"Whenever you are, sire." he said, and then the squire emerged from the door, holding the grip of the lord's great sword for Raeghun. He took it, feeling the leather against his skin, the way it moulded to the shape of his hand for a solid hold. He pulled it from the sheath, raising the blade; and secretly marvelled at the way the steel sparked in the light, like it was laughing to see the sun and then he moved forward and faced the sentinel, who as was normal for him, just stood there watching his lord.

"Prepare yourself, sentinel." Raeghun insisted, and his opponent smiled. Claira stood next to her father, watching them both as her hands wrung in front of her chest.

"I am very prepared, sire. You may strike at any time, should you so wish." Falgon said. Raeghun gripped the sword tightly in his hands, and after a moment of silence through the bailey, he shot forward into an attack. Falgon parried easily, rising his blade and sending the attack away from him. He stepped away and brought the hilt of the sword around towards Raeghun's back, but he countered, bringing his body around with the sword in an arch and blocked the attack, forcing it away from him and lunged forward again into another attack which was blocked and forced away. Claira watched as they engaged, the beautiful, terrible medley of battle ringing in her ears, each clash of steel against steel leaving yet another shard of ice in her chest. Raeghun rose the sword in front of him.

"Come Falgon, for the best swordsman in the hold, you can do better than that." he urged, and the dark eyes met his.

"I can, sire. But I would rather not." he insisted, and for an instant Raeghun's eyes went to his wife.

"Fuck your promise! Wield your sword against me, and show me my limit." he ordered, and the dark eyes went to the ground before coming up to him again, sharp and clear.

"As you bid, sire." He took hold of Summit's grip with both hands, and brought the blade up level with his chest.

"When you're ready, sire." he said, spreading his feet for balance.

"Good." Raeghun shot forward, raising Quill up and bringing the blade down hard, and it sang against Summit's edge, the blow forcing the sentinel back, and Claira watched with the others as a terrible clash unfolded before them. Falgon brought the blades up and away from him, spun and brought the blade around in an arch aimed for the lord's side, he blocked again guiding the attack away; he drew back and aimed the hilt at the sentinel's face, who twisted his own sword and caught the cross guard on his own. He forced it away, and over in an arch before aiming the blade into the ribs again, but the lord forced the blade down into the ground with his sword before throwing his weight forward and thrusting a shoulder into the sentinel's chest, forcing him back and creating distance between them. Raeghun smiled as they rose, and brought the sword up again.

"Better, but you're still not trying hard enough." he mentioned.

"Your lady will have me burnt if I released my full skill against you, sire." Falgon said, and Raeghun stepped forward.

"You are not under her command now, you are under mine. Show me why we chose you." he said, and the sentinel brought his sword up again.

"As you wish." he readied himself.

"Good." Raeghun moved forward again, and they met in all their suppressed fury. The blades danced, and they sang, and they swirled and they rang as the others watched. Claira's hands went to her face subconsciously, the ice spreading through her into a relentless shiver and the ache the melody brought about her sounded loud in her head. Raeghun swung, Falgon ducked, Raeghun blocked, Falgon stepped, Raeghun turned, Quill came around, Summit went up, Quill forced in, Summit brought down, and Claira closed her eyes. Someone fell, the tip of a sword pierced the ground where his head was as he rolled away, shot up and forward. Her hand reached out, and found a strong arm of someone next to her.

"Berin, please stop this. Please." she begged, not opening her eyes; but she could hear his voice, soft and gentle.

"My lady-" he started.

"Please Berin." she begged, their power was too much; this force, this rage that bordered on blood-lust... and she heard him sigh just before another terrifying blow rang along the walls.

"Raeghun!" the lord looked at his friend from his position in front of the sentinel who was down on one knee, their swords locked securely together, Quill's blade suspended over Falgon's shoulder where Summit's cross guard held it in place.

"Enough." Berin said calmly, and Raeghun breathed out as he brought the sword away from the sentinel. He eased, and stood then; replacing his sword on his back calmly, as if the clash was nothing but a summer dance. Raeghun signalled for the squire to retrieve Quill from him.

"So, how did I fare against our finest swordsman?" he asked, suddenly calmer as well as he slipped the blade back in its sheath, feeling the tingle to his hand as his skin came away from the leather. Falgon smiled at him.

"Very well, sire. Your form is close to perfect, but you might consider lessening the force behind your strikes, this tilts your balance." he said, and Raeghun looked at the others.

"I've enjoyed this. It's a shame we've been... cut short." he said, and then looked back at Falgon.

"But we will have other opportunities." he assured smiling, and Falgon bowed his head.

"Of course, sire." he agreed, and Raeghun left him to join his guests who started retreating back into the hold. Claira stepped forward, and then stopped. She wanted to go to him, but her legs wouldn't move and then Berin moved away from her side towards Falgon. Raeghun stood in front of her then, looking down at her.

"You stopped us, didn't you?" he asked softly, and she looked away from him not knowing how to respond.

"This isn't a game, Claira. The men need this, I need this." she didn't look at him.

"I know..." she whispered,

"If training bothers you that much, it may be best that you don't attend." then she looked at him,

"I'm sorry, Raeghun." suddenly, she turned and left while he stood watching her, and Berin returned to his side, and he sighed wondering. Then he felt a hand to his shoulder.

"Shall I speak with her?" Berin asked, and Raeghun looked at him.

"Whatever you wish." and his friend smiled.

"Don't be angry, Raeghun. We have a tendency to... push our limits against Falgon. To match our speed and strength to his, but I'm afraid his tranquillity will never be ours." he mentioned, glancing back over his shoulder. Then he moved away from him into the hold to seek out the lady of Mount Ardor. Berin moved through the Hall of Fire, registering the many different faces, but none the one he was looking for. He found Milla in the southern hall, and went to her placing his arms gently around her.

"My sweet, have you seen our lady?" he asked softly, and she looked up at him.

"She passed through here to the garden. Why?" she asked, and he kissed her cheek.

"I just need to have a quick word with her, that's all. Was she alone?" his eyes went up to the wide doorway displaying their unrestrained garden.

"I think so." then he released her, and moved around her.

"Thank you. We won't be long." he assured, and made his way outside and followed the garden trail. He found her on a stone bench near the back of the garden where a fountain spewed its clear water, she was gazing over the blue of the Sunset Sea, looking rather hapless. He approached slowly.

"Claira?" her hand went to her face to wipe away a hidden tear from her right cheek.

"Have you come to tell me how stupid I'm being, Berin?" she asked, and he smiled as he sat down next to her.

"No. You're the lady of Mount Ardor, I'm not allowed to do that." he joked, and she lightly smiled. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I know it was training. I know they're supposed to better themselves, I just..." she mentioned, and he breathed in.

"Then you understand why, especially Raeghun, is so severe about it. You increase your skill, by pushing beyond the limits you know. He is strong, and brave, and he wants to be the best that he can be, for all of his people." Berin explained, and she looked at him.

"He is the liege lord, he has nothing to prove to anyone." she said, and his eyes went to the ocean.

"Well, not to you. Not to me. Not to the rest of the hold. Not to his vassals. Not to the soldiers, or the hunters, or the farmers. But perhaps, he's trying to prove something to himself. Since very young, his father has been rather hard on him, preparing him for this role that he must fill; and I'm afraid he believes that it came a little early despite his capability." Berin said, and she wiped away another tear.

"He is a wonderful lord; he is kind and fair." Berin smiled.

"That he is, there is no dispute. And he needs our support, in any way we can give it." she nodded, and then breathed in. He examined her.

"A flame burns inside of every man. Some things stifle it, and other things fuel it. The exhilaration of battle, is one of such things; and that fire burns more brightly in the Taugere lords than any other. To them, there's no difference between sparring and actual battle, and they encourage this. So, if there were, and there were to come a day that we must defend ourselves, our people may stand there and not know what to do in a life-and-death clash." he further explained, and she nodded.

"I understand, Berin. It was just too much for me today..." her eyes remained on the blue of the horizon.

"Are you feeling al right?" he suddenly asked, and she looked at him.

"I'm fine, why do you ask?" she said quickly, and he laughed.

"You're not normally this emotional. Perhaps you may consider paying our maester a visit?" he said.

"And tell him what?" she looked away from him with a slight flout.

"Fuck me if I know, my lady. But you are a woman, and the lord's wife after all. You may have your... off days, now and again." he hinted, and she blushed.

"I'm not sick, Berin. I just feel... strange. I'll go see him later." she decided, and then he stood.

"Wonderful. Now, may I have the honour of escorting my lady back to the hold?" he asked as he held his arm for her. She stood and placed her hand on his elbow.

"Thank you, Berin." she could manage a genuine smile.

"Any time, Claira." he smiled back, and together they made their way back to the feast hall where the morning meal was being served, and she took her place next to her husband at the high table with their families. He leaned over towards her.

"I'm sorry, about earlier." he whispered, and her brow touched his.

"I understand." he smiled gratefully, and their attention went to those around them.

The morning progressed peacefully within the hold as people shared their lives and the comings and goings of their homes. By mid-morning Claira went up to maester Adlyn's tower, but he could not determine any peculiarities, and she rejoined the visiting ladies in her common room where they shared the afternoon while the children were given freedom of the garden under the care of their watchers. Ladies Alyssa, Bea, Mae, Carissa and Milla sat with needlework in their hands, sharing their knowledge of basic and elaborate stitches, spoke of dancing, great feasts of their holds, upcoming marriages and growing families while Catelyn held her youngest in her arms. Claira sat down next to her mother and picked up a hoop from the large basket that held their restful interests, with a half finished representation she started for a pillow. The basket was done, but she still had many flowers to add. Catelyn leaned forward slightly, smiling and pointing at the master work in Alyssa's hands, the visage of a lord dancing with his lady in front of a great hearth, her dress the colours of peacock feathers. Claira smiled, her mother had an exceptional talent for capturing life from the world, recreating it in her mind and bringing it out through her hands. A talent that sadly, she never inherited. The closest thing to music her hands ever touched was an old harp that was cracked and out of tune; and her singing voice never blossomed either.

"What a beautiful piece, my lady." Mae complimented, and Alyssa smiled warmly, her eyes soft and lethargic.

"Thank you, child. My grandmother once told me, the world can either be as it is, or as we see it." she mentioned, her eyes going to Claira.

"I decided long ago, to see it clearly and without darkness." Claira smiled, knowing what she meant. _The world can either be as it is, or as we see it.._. The sound of a horn blowing in the distance made Milla stand and go to the window to scan the outside world; then she turned to Claira.

"My lady, banners from the south." she announced, and Claira stood to join her. Over the fields came a progression flying banners in black, gold, and crimson; bright in the mid day sun.

"Well, this is quite unexpected." she looked at Milla,

"I suppose we'll be expected to meet them outside." then she turned to the others.

"My ladies, it seems that our good sovereigns has seen fit to join us for this grand occasion. Shall we meet them?" they discarded their works and headed down through the halls to the outer bailey, the lords had already been informed of the coming storm, and waited outside with the rest of the burning mountain's inhabitants. The ladies took their places beside the lords, and the sentinels lined behind them; then the guards and handmaidens and serving girls and castle hands, the scullions and pages and squires and stable boys, even cook Jeody and maester Adlyn deserted their preferred seclusion to meet the king. First entered the banner-men bearing the stag and the lion, then the guards, then a great grey charger with king Robert on its back surrounded by the white cloaked knights, lord commander of Robert's kingsguard ser Barristan Selmy, ser Boros Blount, ser Mandon Moore and ser Preston Greenfield. Followed by a bright bay mounted by a tiny man, more guards in crimson and leather and a wagon holding their personal effects drawn by a dark mare. Everyone knelt as the king dismounted and approached Raeghun.

"Welcome your grace, to Mount Ardor." he greeted, and Robert stood silently for a moment, then signalled for them to stand. As he straightened, the king smiled at him, blue eyes clear and cheerful. "It's bigger than I remember." he mentioned, and Raeghun scoffed.

"You were in a bit of a hurry the last time you were here, your grace. You didn't have the opportunity to enjoy my home." he said, and Robert laughed.

"True, and now I do. Blessed name day to you, lord Taugere." they shook hands.

"Thank you. But it's not until tomorrow." Raeghun corrected.

"Others take your damned accuracies. The feast starts tonight! I haven't come all this way to starve my cravings for another night." Robert declared loudly, and Raeghun had to relent. _The king gets what the king wants..._

"Very well, my people will see to the preparations. But I must say that your visit is somewhat surprising." he scanned the faces behind the king, missing several among them.

"I had planned to be here for your Horn Festival, but we were delayed along the way. The queen and her company turned back to King's Landing before we even reached Darry as my youngest caught some kind of fever passing Harroway's Town." Robert told, and Raeghun's eyes came back to him.

"Would it not have been better for you to be with them then, your grace?" he asked.

"What use am I against sickness? Let the maester do what he can, and I will see my son when I return." he waved it off.

"Well, I hope you will enjoy your stay at the burning mountain, your grace." Raeghun welcomed him, and then the castle hands started unloading the cart.

"Thank you, lord Raeghun. I trust that I will." Robert said, and proceeded to greet the rest of the lords and ladies heartily, those that he knew, and met for the first time. Raeghun turned to Claira.

"So, any ideas?" he asked, and she laughed.

"King Robert may have the fern apartment in the east wing, I'm sure it will be sufficient. I'll just tell Jeody to have the kitchen take up arms, I'm sure they'll create something spectacular. You know him, he'll serve whatever we have if he's not given specific instructions." she said.

"Good day, my lord and lady." they turned to the little man, suddenly standing next to them.

"Good day, lord Tyrion. How good of you to join us, I trust you will have a pleasant stay here." Raeghun extended his hand, and Tyrion took it happily.

"Thank you, I've wanted to visit Mount Ardor and this was the perfect opportunity." he turned to Claira.

"Still as fair as our first meeting." he complimented, taking her hand and placing the fingertips to his mouth.

"That's kind of you, my lord. Welcome." she returned, and Tyrion spared a glance at the man behind her.

"And to you, ser. Glad to see you're still here." he said, and was greeted with a kind and knowing smile.

"Good day, my lord. It is here where I will remain." he said, and Tyrion laughed.

"Fantastic. Loyalty still lives in this world." he joked, and they headed inside while preparations were set to start the awaited feast early.

While rearrangements were made in the southern feast hall for the merriment, scores of consumables were rushed from the stores to cook Jeody's kitchen; turkey and pork and fish and carrots and cabbage and potatoes and turnips and broccoli and beets and peppers and peas and cheese and cream and honey and figs and grapes and pears and plums; barrels of wine, red, white and pink, mead and ale and cider; by the time the sun disappeared over the blue of the Sunset Sea the southern hall was decorated with garlands of flowers from the gardens, draping of black, red, orange and yellow spanned the walls all lit by the warmth of the hearths, and the tables set with shining silver. The lives of the hold, high and low, guest and dweller all assembled to celebrate the name of the great phoenix. They shared news from around the realm, spoke of tournaments and their champions, told of the recent excitement of the Horn Festival, discussed arts and hobbies, reflected on the past and predicted the future while a jester drew both laughs and scowls from each corner of the hall, and children bawled, bellowed, shrieked and laughed.

"So, you're the head of Mount Ardor's Sentinels of Flame? I've heard quite a few tales about them over the years." Ser Barristan enquired while he shared a horn of clear mead with Berin.

"I am. It's a great honour, and requires more than a bit of luck. Our order numbers ten members, and is not too dissimilar from the kingsguard, albeit not as widely renowned or strict. Like yours, our duty is the safety and attendance of the lord and lady, and their heirs; but we are allowed to have families of our own. Lady Claira's court maiden, lady Milla became my wife near to a fortnight ago." Berin explained.

"I see. But balancing that is a lot of responsibility, for someone so young." Barristan reflected, but Berin smiled.

"We are chosen for our skill and commitment, and assigned to the family in that accordance. No one has become a Sentinel of Flame before at least a year of service in the guard, and that is to say that they worked very hard to prove they deserve to be named one." he glanced over at his friend. _There has only been one exception..._

"The Sentinels don't seem to be obviously distinguished from the rest of the guard, though." Barristan said, scanning over the faces.

"The Sentinels aren't flamboyant – no discourtesy intended, ser..." Barristan chuckled and rose his hand, accepting it as a reference.

"Our credence into the order of Sentinels resembles a knight's accolade, where we vow our service and loyalty to the lord of the burning mountain, and we're identified by a commissioned pin, shaped to the likeness of a flame." he further explained, and Barristan nodded.

"How long have you been a sentinel, lord Berin?" he brought the horn of ale to his mouth.

"Near to two years. I was named the head of the Sentinels by lord Raeghun's father, lord Rychard two months before his departure from this world." he replied.

"And who determines who is fit to be accepted into your order?" Barristan further asked.

"As is custom, I am allowed to propose suitable members, provide my reasons for doing so, and pledge for them should I find my judgement fit. But the decision remains that of the lord, and he determines to whom they are assigned. Our newest member is the lady's sentinel, named Falgon." he said, motioning to a tall shadow moving through the hall; and Barristan pointed at him in thought.

"I remember him, from the _Wanderer's Tourney_. He was a mercenary not too long ago, one called Nomad." he recalled, and Berin chuckled.

"He was, but many won't believe that. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself. He's a good man, and he proved himself. He's become one of my closest friends." Berin said smiling, and then the knight looked back at him.

"And you name this hold your home, as well?" Berin looked back at him.

"Yes, and even given a choice I would not want to be anywhere else. The barracks alone has the capacity to sleep three hundred men, and the highest level is reserved for the Sentinels. My best memories were made within these walls." Barristan smiled, and looked down at the horn in his hand.

"This is fascinating. Few people find this kind of enjoyment in their duty, and the way you speak is as if these people were your own." he said, and Berin emptied his horn.

"They are. They're family. I can't imagine anything different." then he looked up, seeing Raeghun follow a guard out of the hall.

The summer breeze met him suddenly, and the smell of rain in the air was eerily present despite a clear starlit sky. At the base of the stairway stood a small wheelhouse, two small children were attended by a short plump nurse, but with a warm and motherly face while a guard in plate mail helped a lady cloaked and hooded in black from the cabin, the sheen of a purple dress only just visible around her ankles. This was an unusual time for a new arrival, but he headed down the steps to greet her. Claira assured that she would join him in a moment to welcome their new guest. He stopped in front of her, and bowed his head respectively.

"Welcome, my lady. I hope you and your children will enjoy your stay." he greeted, and she turned towards him

"Thank you, my lord. I'm sure we will. But it seems we've arrived a little late." she smiled, and then removed the hood. He was met with the same sky blue eyes as his, dark hair, lean face and defined features that he possessed, in a different form and a year younger.

"Babieca?" his mind struggled to accept what his eyes took in; he hadn't seen her in five years, but she moved forward and put her arms around him while his went around her waist.

"It's been a long time, brother." she said, hugging him closer and then he smiled and laughed.

"I didn't think you'd come." he said, and then she drew back from him.

"My dear Raeghun, how could I miss your twenty first year?" she questioned him, and then turned back and waved the nurse over with the children so he could meet them. Gorgeous little girls of three and two with black hair and blue eyes, looking so much like their mother.

"These are my daughters, Maddy and Leda. And of course, their nurse Shadri." the introduced, and the woman bowed cumbersomely, but he nodded kindly before picking the children up in his arms and they laughed happily.

"Little ones, this is your uncle Raeghun." she said to them, but then he looked at her.

"They won't remember me." he cautioned, but she laughed.

"I'll tell them every story about you, I promise." he shared the humour, and then he looked back at the empty wheelhouse as castle hands unloaded several crates from its back before it was rolled off to be stored.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, and she sighed.

"Still in Pentos, I'm afraid his current affairs have kept him so busy he couldn't get away." she mentioned, and then the nurse raised her arms.

"May I, m'lord?" she asked, and he released the children before turning his attention back to his sister.

"So, you came alone?" he asked, but she shrugged.

"Oh, we're not alone. We have very sufficient guards." she defended, and he looked away shaking his head.

"You know what father would have said." he reminded, and a moment of silence followed before she released a long breath.

"I know. But father's not here." she said softly, and then came soft footsteps from behind him.

"My love?" Raeghun looked back and then raised his hand to place it around her waist before turning back.

"Claira, my sweet. I'd like you to meet my sister, lady Babieca Stowren." he announced, and then brought his wife's hand to his mouth before releasing it.

"I present my wife, lady Claira Taugere of Mount Ardor." Claira smiled.

"Such a pleasure, lady Babieca, and welcome. I've heard so much about you." she greeted, and Babieca took her hands, frosted in hers and it sent silent shivers up her arms.

"The pleasure is all mine, lady Claira. My brother has been blessed by every god, to marry to the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms." she complimented, and then looked up at the doors of the castle anticipatively.

"Where are your children? I'd love to meet them, too." she asked, and Claira's eyes went to her husband. He glanced at her empathetically before looking back, his hand in secret tightening around her in an attempt to comfort her.

"We don't have any, yet." he said softly, almost feeling his wife's eyes bore into the stone beneath them. Babieca's hand went to her chest.

"Raeghun… I'm so sorry." she apologised, and then Claira slipped from his grip.

"Please pardon me, my lady." she excused herself and vanished back into the hold, her steps heavy and intent. Raeghun sighed as he watched her disappear from their view, and his sister took a tentative step towards him.

"Raeghun. I'm sorry, I didn't know." she said again, and he looked back forcing a smile.

"It's al right. It will happen. But I fear it's a tender topic for my poor wife." he eased, and then held his arm for her.

"Come, the others are waiting. We will have your effects brought to the lord's wing." he said.

"That sounds wonderful." she returned smiling as they made their way up the stairs.

Claira walked through the hall, her limbs feeling heavy and swollen in the glow of the flames; even the air felt thick and brittle in her chest. She stopped and looked up from the floor, her eyes going from one face to the next, men and women, aged and young, and here she was in the middle of them all feeling like a husk amidst the ferns, empty and colourless between the brightly sprouting. She took a deep breath, trying to alleviate the tightness of her lungs, but the sense of drowning here where she was uncovered did not lessen. Milla stood from the table and came to her, twenty seven steps down the hall to where she stood... _Why did I count that? Am I mad?_

"Are you al right? You look... lost." Milla asked softly from in front of her, and Claira registered her green eyes.

"I'm fine. I just need some fresh air, so I'll be in the garden for a little while." she decided, and her friend nodded.

"Shall I accompany you, my lady?" Claira's hand went up to her arm.

"No, stay with our guests. I won't be long." she assured, and then started forward again. As she passed through the arches to the outside, she could hear the king reminisce on their greatest battle, the drunken vigour in his voice when he struck down the prince; but then it muffled and died as she stepped into the dark of night, shadows cast here-and-there from torches lit along the garden path and she walked on, allowing her thoughts to wander and her mind to dwell. The air was clearer, light and cool against her skin as she headed further down the path, deeper into the confines of their garden where vibrant petals glimmered in their richness, and gave out their treacly fragrances. She again found the bench near the fountain where Berin spoke with her this morning and she sat down, remembering his words. _'_ _A flame burns inside of every man. Some things stifle it, and other things fuel it... and that fire burns more brightly in the Taugere lords than any other.'_ She scoffed at those words, almost laughed at them. _If his fire burns the brightest, should it not be enough to break the ice within me?_ Her hand went to her stomach, and then she cursed herself. _Stop it! You're being stupid. This isn't his fault._ And she searched, bringing up every memory she had of a kindness, just to chase the thoughts away and hoping that was where they would remain. After finding her composure, she stood and moved away from the bench, deciding to circle the garden and then return to the hall. There were less torches down this path, and she followed the little garden route with her eyes. Rounding a large bush she stopped suddenly as a massive shadow in the centre of a small clearing between the rose bushes blocked her way. Her heart stabbed at her throat for an instant and then she breathed out, recognising her sentinel who was facing the west and looking up at the moon. The slightest shape of a crescent moon against the clear sky, but the usual bright white changed now to a fiery yellow. She stepped forward slowly, not knowing if she might startle him.

"Falgon?" he didn't flinch, but he did look down at her calmly.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he asked, and she smiled at him.

"Won't you come join us?" she offered, and he nodded before returning his gaze to the splinter of a moon above them.

"Yes, your grace. In a moment." he accepted, but he seemed different than usual.

"Is something wrong?" Claira asked, coming slightly closer to him.

"No, your grace. Nothing is wrong." he assured, and her eyes followed his to where the golden sickle hung high above them.

"Then what is it?" she heard him breathe out slowly, and then his eyes came back to her. As always they were kind and soft, but this time there was something more behind them. Something that reached at her heart.

"I remember, that on nights like these, my people used to have a celebration. _A_ _r_ _un'v_ _e_ _mi Lua_ , it translates into _The Lord's Giving Moon_. You could ask the ruler for anything that you desired, and he would grant it." It wasn't his voice, or his eyes, or his gentle smile, but something far in the distance that breathed sadness; and in that instance, she felt like crying again. She so wished she could put her arms around him, and hold him, and tell him... Tell him what? Tell him how silly she was being over something she didn't understand? So instead, her hand went to the border on the neckline of her dress, and she rolled the seam between her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Falgon..." she muttered, and then he turned towards her.

"It's al right. There is no one who will remember it. But this may be your lord husband's moon now, the moon of his twenty first year. This may be how it is remembered." he was smiling as he spared the glinting moon a final glance, but she couldn't drown the sorrow.

"Shall we return to the hold, your grace? Your guests may be wondering where you are." he asked as he stepped aside and raised his hand to allow her to pass, so she breathed in and looked up.

"Yes, I may have been gone a bit long." she passed him and he followed down the pathway back to the glow of the feast; but upon entering she was met with a disturbing sight. Milla, Mae and Babieca stood off to one side where Babieca held an agitated Mae in her arms, and the lords, her father, Gerald, Eddard, Luitpold, Tyrion, Berin and her husband were all clamoured around the king, seeming equally provoked while they tried to calm him. As suddenly as she felt mournful, she was frustrated; and then turned back to Falgon.

"Thank you, but I best see what the difficulty is." she hinted, and then moved away from him towards the group in the corner next to the fervent hearth, and as she came closer she could make out their voices.

"She has silver hair!" Robert sneered.

"She's my sister, Robert. You know that." Raeghun defended, and the king's hand went to his chest.

"I swore to wipe out that damn Targaryen bloodline." he said, but Raeghun's fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"She is no more Targaryen than you or I. So will you end it with yourself then?" he asked, seeing the king's eyes burn.

"I won't rest until every one of them is resting under the ground." Robert vowed again, and then his eyes went to Claira behind Raeghun.

"Lady Mae is a Taugere, your grace. Her hair has nothing to do with it, if a foal is born white with black spots, would it be named a calf?" she said, and Robert's hand came away from Raeghun, pointing at her.

"Hold your tongue, woman. You have no right to speak." he directed, and it flamed in her.

"I have every right, here. This is my hold, my hall, my people. You may have the kingdoms, your grace; but the ties to these people and their lives remain ours." she said without a thought, and Robert tried to move forward.

"You arrogant wench, you dare speak to me like that?" suddenly Raeghun's arm forced him back.

"You're pushing it, Robert. First you insult my sister, and now you aim to insult my wife? You may be a guest here, but this is still my home. Are you willing to start hostility in your drunkenness?" Robert's eyes went to him, still fuming.

"Are you willing to challenge a king?" he asked softly.

"I would challenge a god if I must. But this ends now." Raeghun determined, focused and solid he was unafraid, even of the king. And as if a veil were lifted from him his eyes cleared, and softened; and his hands went to Raeghun's arms.

"And there is the reason I admire your family so much." then he laughed, as if nothing ever happened, and those around him seemed relieved.

"I know she's your sister. I know... I just can't get it out of my mind. It never leaves me." he said looking down, and Raeghun breathed a relieved sigh.

"It's over. You won." Claira took a deep breath, thankful that the situation did not escalate further and that most of the hold remained unaware of the incident, and then Robert passed Raeghun and made his way to Claira.

"I'm sorry, Claira. And I do believe it is time for bed; I may have indulged excessively on my first night." he said, and then took a horn off the table next to her and emptied the contents.

"Good night, lady Taugere." he greeted, raising the horn and replacing it on the table.

"Sleep well, your grace." she returned with a nod, and he sauntered off to find his apartment. Passing through the door, his arm wrapped around a serving girl as he persuaded her to show him the way.

"I believe that our night has been long enough as well." Her head snapped back, and Raeghun stood in front of her, his eyes hard and striking in their blue, and she looked down.

"As you wish, my love." she agreed in a voice just above a whisper. After giving the order that the hall be cleared, inhabitants and guests left to find their chambers and they made their way up to the lord's wing where Babieca and Mae retreated to after the outburst. He remained with them for a moment to ensure that they were al right and their needs were met as Claira ventured up to their bed chamber to retrieve a gown. She planned on visiting the bath chamber, but remained standing at the foot of the bed and expecting her husband to scold her again. She jerked as she heard the door close behind her, and his heavy footfalls come to her.

"That was a very foolish thing you did." his voice came at her, but it was softer than what she expected despite the sting in her eyes.

"I know. I'm sorry..." she closed her eyes, wringing the gown in her hands; but the expected onslaught stayed.

"Foolish..." his hands found her shoulders gently and he turned her around.

"But you, are more a Taugere than any other lady of our hold in the last two hundred and fifty years." she opened her eyes, and saw him smiling at her before she broke apart and cried again. His arms enveloped her and he held her against him, trying to smother a laugh.

"I have been favoured. The Taugere women often contrast the men. They are attributed to be meek, gentle and silent. And now I had to get the exception." he did laugh then, and she looked up at him through the tears.

"You're not angry?" his hand went to her face.

"No. Surprised, but not angry." she buried her face against his shoulder.

"I made it worse, didn't I?" he held her, and sighed.

"It could have gone either way, fortunately it's done with." then he leaned down and kissed her, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.

"Go, take your bath. I'll wait for you." he said softly, and then kissed her again.

Claira woke early again, wrapped under her husband's strong right arm where he lay against her. Nausea pulled at her bowels, and she cursed the final glass of wine she had drank, despite only recalling the goblet being refilled twice. She carefully lifted his arm from her and laid it on his side, trying not to stir him from sleep, then stood hoping that maester Adlyn would be awake. After taking her robe from the foot of the bed she went to a small table holding a pitcher of clear water and took a glass from the surface filling it to the brim; then brought it to her mouth and swallowed eagerly. The coolness of the water calmed her throat, but the heaviness in her stomach lingered. Slowly, she passed through the door closing it behind her, and made her way down the steps and through the lord's hall and out of the wing. She scanned the corridors, but they were silent and vacant, so she took the opportunity to slip to the maester's tower and silently – like a little cat swept up to his chamber. She found him there in his study among his many shelves and books and bottles where he met all their people, pouring fresh tea from a pot he kept in his tower; evidently having came down from his bed around the same time she did. Despite having freedom of the hold, he seldom left the sanctuary that was his tower.

"Good morning, my lady. Would you care for some tea?" he asked politely, and she smiled alleviated. She loved this man, and often had a tendency to compare him to a caring grandfather. A grandfather like the ones she never had the blessing to meet, but how she wished to from the stories she was told of them.

"Good morning, maester. I apologise for intruding on you so soon." she said coming forward as he brought another cup from a cabinet under his desk.

"Not at all, my lady. How may I serve you, aside from the tea?" he asked, laughing as he gestured for her to sit down.

"I'm afraid I've come with some unease to my stomach, maester. I woke quite suddenly to nausea; perhaps due to a glass too much wine." she confessed as he brought the tea for her.

"I see. Is this the first time you've experienced this?" he asked as he handed the cup to her and turned to fetch his own.

"I believe so." she confirmed, and then he came back and sat down next to her.

"Might this be related with your queer feeling from yesterday?" he asked, stirring the contents of the cup in his hand, and she thought a moment.

"I'm not sure. I hope not." she said, then he swallowed of the tea before placing the cup on a table next to them and turning to her.

"Are you experiencing any other symptoms, my lady?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Perhaps some unsteady emotions, but nothing more." she told, and he nodded.

"Very well. I will give some drops for the unease, but if my lady would not object, may I suggest a quick examination?" she agreed, placing the cup aside and watched him take a string attached to a crystal shaped like an arrow head from his wide pocketed sleeve. Maester Adlyn examined her, but again could not determine anything out of place; no swelling, no fever, no discolouration and as the day before, he concluded that she was essentially in good health. But did insist she return should there be any change. She finished her tea with him and thanked him before leaving.

"I'm sorry for bothering you this much, maester." she said at the door, but he smiled broadly through a full beard of silvery grey.

"Lady Claira, you can come see me five times a day, I won't mind it." he assured, and she issued him a final thankful smile before returning to the lord's wing to find Mae and Babieca already in the lord's hall in front of the hearth, and the children playing on the rug in front of them. She greeted them and then Babieca stood as their eyes met, and came over to her.

"Claira. I am sorry for last night, if I have offended you." she said taking her hands,

"You didn't offend me. I was just being silly." she said, and then Babieca led her to join them at the fireplace, introducing her to her children. They spent the early morning together there, until Raeghun completed his morning routine and departed the lord's wing after being thoroughly congratulated by his wife and sisters on this, his name day and twenty first year, then the handmaidens entered to help the ladies and clean the lord's wing and Shadri took charge of the children. Claira asked that Milla attend her when she could, wanting her opinion and keen eye in choosing a suitable dress for the day and allowing enough time to pass for the lord's sparring to proceed uninterruptedly, they chose a beautiful wide gown of bright red velvet, the neckline bordered with fine black lace and adorned with strings of pearl, ruby and silver. The close-fitting sleeves fringed with the same delicate black lace, and around the waist, an elaborate girdle of the same precious effects which would be displayed on her chest. Milla managed to find a matching adornment for the lady's throat, with red slightly heeled slippers. Claira couldn't stand heels, feeling odd and clumsy on aching feet. But slight heels she could manage, unlike Milla who remained graceful and ghost-like no matter how high she rose from the floor. For additional cover from whatever unexpected cold might blow over them, she chose a red over garment, the wide sleeves and collar lined with soft fur. Her hair was left naturally hanging down to her back, only held in place by two thick swirls of hair joined at the base of her neck with a jewelled pin, and several strands were left loose to frame her face.

"Thank you, Milla." Claira said as she stood, seeing that everything was in place.

"It is my great pleasure. I enjoy choosing your apparel for you." she giggled, and then turned.

"Well, it should be time for Jeody to serve soon. Shall we join the others in the hall?" she asked, and they departed the wing to meet their people, finding Gavin awaiting them in in the corridor.

"Good morning, my ladies. What visions you are, on this bright day. Is this a new dress, lady Claira?" he complimented,

"Thank you, Gavin. And no, it's not new. I just haven't worn it, yet." and then his eyes glinted as a thought sparked in his mind.

"If it would not be too troublesome, I'd love hiding you from our lord until this evening's feast. What I wouldn't give to see his face, when you appear before him looking like this." he suggested foxily, and Milla glanced at her smiling.

"I imagine that would be a magnificent sight." she started to agree with him.

"Surely that would be impossible. There's no way I can remain hidden that long." Claira protested, but Gavin chuckled.

"We have our ways, my lady. This hold is immense, and I'm sure there are some things for the lords to attend to." he indicated.

"Of course, our ladies may be invited to share our morning meal in your common room? It is fully equipped." Milla suggested, and Claira glanced between them.

"And after that? I can't stay in the common room." she tried again, and Gavin laughed.

"You are welcome to the garden, my lady." he assured, and she sighed.

"Oh, very well then. Do as you wish." she decided, suddenly feeling annoyed and just wanting to get it over with. Milla's attention went to Gavin after a moment's puzzled look at Claira.

"Would you be so kind as to escort our lady to her common room, while I request our guests to join us, and have the preparations made?" she asked, and he nodded. Milla vanished down the hallway as Gavin proceeded to accompany Claira to her common room in the sun tower.

"Are you al right, my lady?" he asked as they approached the door.

"Everyone keeps asking me that, of late. I'm fine, Gavin. Why?" she assured, and heard him breathe in.

"Your well-being is one of our responsibilities, my lady. It must never be neglected." he mentioned, and she turned back to him as she stepped through the door, and cursing herself for her displeasing emotions.

"Your concern is touching, but there's really nothing wrong. Thank you." she smiled.

The day progressed happily as the lords assembled in the southern hall to break their fast, and the ladies retreated to the common room in the sun tower to share their day. Raeghun sat with them all, listening and conversing their thoughts. Each person he met congratulated him on this day, and they presented gifts in his honour, from pelts to rich wines to coin. King Robert even found it in himself to apologise to his sister for the previous evening's misunderstanding. After the hall was cleared and a moment given to ensure that the hold was at peace they spent some time in the fields on horseback. Upon their return, they were awaited by an energetic jester whom did not resemble a jester at all being dressed in a white tunic under a leather belted jerkin, plain breeches and worn boots, lean and sinewy with black hair and grey eyes; and a scrawny red-haired bard going by the name Sure-Hand. The lord of Mount Ardor welcomed them, and they fervently expressed their excitement and preparations were started to resume the feast by nightfall. The remainder of the day was spent within the hold, the children frolicking in the garden, and just a few moments past, young Rod asked Carissa to join him for a walk, giving cause for their fathers to entertain the notion of a union of their houses. It was just past noon that Berin decided to take a moment to ensure that the guard rounds were clearly set out for the evening and made his way to the guard's hall in the barracks where he inspected the list of guards, when their watch was set and whom would relieve them at which time. As a norm, all the guards would not be relieved at the exact same time, in order to keep eyes on the castle grounds at all times. Satisfied that all was in order, he headed back to rejoin the lords, and then heard a voice to his side. Soft and delicate, like chimes in the wind.

"Hello, Berin." then he turned, and looked into blue eyes.

"Hello, Babieca." he returned, and she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, we haven't had a proper opportunity to speak, yet." she mentioned, and he laughed.

"That's al right. The hold has been busy, and I understand you arrived rather late yesterday." he said, and she nodded.

"Thank you, for last night." she said, her eyes going to the open door to the southern hall.

"It was a pleasure; we've always been protective of our ladies." he said, and her eyes came back to him.

"That you have. Will you walk with me?" she asked as she motioned to the doorway, and he nodded.

"Of course, my lady." they turned and started heading for the feast hall as they continued their conversation.

"So, tell me. How is life in Pentos?" he asked, and she laughed.

"It's warm. Much warmer than here. But it is as good as I could have hoped for; we are safe and content. The people are kind and courteous, and we have the finest household hands. My only wish is that it didn't need to be as far from my family." she said, and Berin nodded.

"You could always come back, Babieca." he mentioned, and heard her sigh.

"I've tried to convince him, but at this point I don't believe that he will ever leave that place. He has conformed to that life, and found a way to root himself there." then she turned to him.

"But I do enjoy the eastern lands, they're interesting to say the least." she concluded.

"And how have you fared here, head of the Sentinels? That is quite an achievement, I dare say." she asked him, and he looked away from her.

"Good, not much has changed. Despite the additional duties, I am quite content and wouldn't have it any different even if I could." then he saw Milla coming from the garden and waved her over to join him. She smiled as she reached them, and Berin took her hand bringing it to his lips, and then turned back to Babieca.

"This beautiful lady is our court maiden, and also became my wife near to a fortnight ago." he introduced, and Babieca looked between them.

"We met last night, but I wasn't aware that she was your wife. Congratulations." she said, and Milla nodded.

"Thank you so much, my lady." then Babieca's attention went to the doorway to the garden.

"Well, thank you for the escort, lord Berin. We look forward to this evening's feast." she thanked him, and then left for the outside air and they watched as she disappeared from the hall.

"What was that about?" Milla asked and then Berin's eyes met her as he laughed.

"Oh, nothing in particular." he assured, and then walked further with her at his side.

"Where is our lady, by the way? No one has seen her yet." he asked, and she giggled.

"Lord Raeghun is not supposed to see her until this evening's feast. So, please keep our secret?" she asked and he nodded, suddenly excited to see what would unfold. And as night veiled the countryside, the feast started in all its splendour while the hearths glowed richly and music echoed off the walls. The ladies joined them then, filing into the southern hall to take their places. Raeghun scanned the faces, searching for his wife whom strangely had been absent for the day, and then three sentinels entered, Falgon at their front and flanked by Gavin and another. He approached them, and they stopped.

"Good evening, sire. Blessed name day to you." Falgon greeted politely, bowing his head and Gavin could barely contain his excitement.

"Good evening, sers. Where is my wife?" he asked, for a peculiar reason dreading the answer, but Falgon smiled.

"Apologies for the delay, sire. But now that night has fallen, it is our pleasure to present your wife, the lady of Mount Ardor, to you." he said, and stepped aside to reveal her. Raeghun felt his heart stop, and the skin burn off his face and hands; only once before in his life had he felt this dream-struck, in the moment her father removed the veil from her on their wedding night. He could hear voices around him, but none of the words met him; and then she smiled at him and he stepped forward, his hands going to her face to ensure that the vision before him was real; that it was indeed his wife that stood before him smiling and not some whimsical goddess fallen from the skies. His fingers touched her cheeks, cold and true; and then his lips touched hers, sweet and soothing in the moment that the rest of the world disappeared and there was no one left but them. _If I were blessed any more, I'll be dead..._ He drew back from her, and their eyes met. Clear and shimmering in their ice blue, like he was looking at a frozen mirror. _Has anyone ever loved this much?_ Then his brow touched hers, and he breathed in her sweet scent filling his lungs.

"Claira... Will you marry me?" he suddenly asked, and her arms went around his neck.

"I would, if we weren't already." she said softly against him, and he grinned, suddenly realizing his mistake, but wishing he could have asked her that same question himself long ago.

"Of course. What I meant to say was, will you dance with me?" he corrected, and she laughed softly.

"Yes." he took hold of her hand, and her waist and started to move with her in his arms to the beautiful melody that sounded behind them, holding her tightly against him while the others watched; and then they were met with happy applause as the song died out. He leaned forward and kissed her once more before leading her to the high table to take their places among family and guests and they feasted together again while the newest faces entertained the hall. Vernon the jester amazed the people with his talents, not just a jester but a magician as well; and not for a moment did he lose a single members attention. He told tales of far-off places, made items disappear and reappear, and Claira found herself especially immersed in his comical portrayals of both high and low born, his representation of lord Walder Frey admittedly being her favourite and she laughed so much that her stomach hurt. Finally, the jester thanked the people of the hall before bowing, and stepping away leaving them to calm their nerves before Sure-Hand would assume his part. They calmed themselves on a glass of wine, attempting to recreate the jester's whims, mostly failing utterly. Deciding she needed some fresh air, and while at that would see where the bard was being distracted, Claira stood and made her way to the outer bailey, leaving her over garment hung on her chair. Seeing that the space was vacant, she allowed a few moments just for the clear air to envelop her and claimed several deep breaths under the stars. And then she headed back to the Hall of Fire of Mount Ardor, but something caught her attention. There was music unlike anything she'd ever heard before coming from the inner bailey, and she paused to listen. A distinguished voice the loudest among others adding theirs to the rhythm, and she felt herself drawn towards it. She headed through the barracks, and stood in the shadows of the door opening to the torch lit area, watching a group of guards and sentinels and the bard with a fiddle, horns in their hands and arms around shoulders of those next to them. The great sword Summit leaned against the wall and Falgon sat on one of the hay bales, in a comfortable position laid back against the wall with one foot on the bale next to him; and in his hands was a lute that he was playing. It was a sure tune; thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum... and he was singing while others followed and added their own voices. In all of her years, with all of the bards and singers and performers and players that had ever come to court, no song had ever captured her as much as this. No, not just a song... a story. A story of a man on a journey, a pilgrimage where he had cast off every bad decision he had ever made. He added additional distinguished notes effortlessly, while still keeping the rhythm steady and flowing.

"Memories of once calm glades..." she just stood there listening, watching him play and the others smiling and singing around him, and if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes would never in her life had believed that her tall powerful sentinel could play a musical instrument with more grace than she could learn in a hundred years.

"I take the first steps into the last of a golden glow..." she found herself swept away in it, and for a moment wished this would never end.

"The winds cold and unforgiving, lonely and forgotten..." Her hand went to her chest, as the bard added the sweetness of the fiddle to the rhythm.

"And let the doubt wash away from me..." the emotion that was put into this was nothing short of breathtaking. The man on this journey was coming home, and then it was just the strings of the lute and her sentinel's voice, pure and clear.

"On and on my path leads, I look over my shoulder to glimpse a grey landscape; where once I was lost, a place now a misunderstood shape..." then lute and fiddle and voices sounded loud in the space.

"Show me how to stay strong..." _You are strong, Falgon..._ her hand went to her mouth and she had to battle tears stinging her eyes, but she stood listening.

"I'm coming back home!" they all sounded together, some overlapping others until all that was left was the weaves and curves of the fiddle. She breathed in, trying to bring order about herself as it faded away and she finally had enough control to step out.

"Again!" one of the sentinels pleaded, and Falgon laughed.

"This was the fourth time, I can't sit here all night." he said.

"Yes, I'm afraid there are other things to attend to. And Sure-Hand's performance is required for our lords." Claira mentioned and they all turned. Falgon stood and handed the lute back to the bard. With doleful mumbles they left the bailey and Claira approached Falgon who bowed to her.

"My apologies for keeping your entertainment, your grace." he said, and she stood in front of him.

"That was beautiful, Falgon." she complimented, and he shrugged.

"It was nothing special, I just made it up." and her hand went to her face as a stray tear escaped.

"Still, I believed every word you said..." she wiped the tear away.

"It is true, in a sense." he mentioned, and she looked up at him.

"Who are you, truly?" she suddenly asked, and he seemed puzzled for a moment before smiling.

"You know who I am, your grace." he said, and she couldn't make sense of him.

"I am your Falgon of the Fire Hall. And I will be whatever you need me to be. Sword and shield." her hands went to her face as suddenly a flood of tears assaulted her, and she was left exposed. But he stepped closer and gently wrapped his arms around her.

"Please, please don't cry. Please? Your husband will have me hanged." he pleaded as he tried to comfort her.

"I'm sorry that I upset you." she breathed as his hands rubbed her back.

"I'm not upset." he countered, and pulled back from her.

"I don't know what's wrong with me..." she wiped the tears from her face.

"You're tired. It's been a long day." he suggested, but she shook her head.

"No, I've been feeling this way all day." wiping away yet another tear. He looked at her sympathetically as his hands stroked the length of her back, not knowing what else to do. She leaned against him, forcing several deep breaths into herself to regain control of her emotions that had been the reason for so much confusion the past few days and then she looked up at him.

"Thank you. Will you play your song for me again?" he smiled softly.

"I will. But perhaps, not tonight." he promised, and she managed a slight laugh.

"Yes. Not tonight." she agreed, and they headed back into the castle to rejoin the others.

Milla sat next to Berin at the high table, speaking with Tyrion who was sitting opposite from her. They shared many things from his life and family at Casterly Rock to hers here at Mount Ardor, and she found him to be an eloquent man despite his abject bynames. She looked up to see the bard enter the hall with a lute in his hands. He approached the high table and bowed before receiving the lord's approval and moving away to start his music, and moments later Claira entered followed by her sentinel. She took her place next to Raeghun and Falgon moved off again to take a place next to Gavin at one of the tables. The night continued merrily as people sang and danced and feasted; late into the night Milla and Berin accompanied Rod and Carissa to their chambers respectively before meeting again in the Hall of Fire, and just shared a moment before the great hearth. He placed his arms around her.

"This has been a happy time. I wish we could have more days like these." he said, holding her in his arms, and she leaned forward to kiss him. It was a happy time, bright days and laughing people; and secretly she hoped that the change in Claira meant that a wish had been granted. But then, in the calling of a single name it seems that happiness had been broken.

"BERIN!" they looked down to see a man entering the hold, white haired and black eyed, and beyond the normal state of drunk, lord Geerd Vega had returned.

"There you are! I've been looking for you!" he called out as he sauntered forward.

"Oh fuck, why tonight?" Berin breathed, and then released Milla to head down the steps; and she followed. They met in the centre of the hall where Geerd stopped, attempting to keep his balance. He reeked of old ale.

"What the fuck do you want? I had hoped you went back to Bristlemane." Berin asked as he stopped, and Geerd pointed a finger at him.

"I want to tell you, exactly what I think of you and this shit hole." he said, and then his eyes went to Milla and he smiled opening his arms.

"My son's little whore, how about a kiss for your father?" he tried to move forward, but Berin's hands went to Geerd's chest.

"Shut up. If you touch her, I will kill you." Berin threatened, and Geerd burst out laughing.

"Now now, spilling blood in the hog shit lord's hall is against ethics." he said, staggering;

"I want you gone, now. Leave this hold!" Geerd breathed in deeply, and then laughed again.

"Like I told you before, you can't make me go." and Milla finally understood why her husband hated him; and this was only a glimpse of it. Luitpold came from the feast hall to discover this unnerving sight, and then came over.

"Is everything al right?" he asked, and then Geerd turned rather ungracefully, releasing Berin's hold on him.

"Yes, Dadda. Please go back to the feast, we will rejoin you in a moment." she said quickly, attempting to avoid another confrontation like on the previous night.

"Who in the hells are you?" Geerd suddenly demanded, stepping forward, and Milla could see her father's face harden.

"Who I am is none of your damn concern. And seeing that you did not come here with any good intention, I too will advise you to leave." he said, and Geerd laughed again.

"I'm not going anywhere." he said spitefully and then turned back to Berin.

"I've hated you. The happiest moment of my life was watching you turn your back on your father's hold, and never come back, but every time your mother brought you up it maddened me. She named you heir of Bristlemane, and that sickened me more. You're nothing! You're some boy lord's back end, and that's about it. You will never amount to anything!" suddenly Luitpold's hand found Geerd's shoulder and he turned him.

"Leave my son be!" Geerd laughed again.

"Your son? He has no family. He's alone, he's nothing." Luitpold's eyes fumed.

"He is my daughter's husband; he is my son." he determined, his hands harshly taking hold of Geerd's tunic.

"Such madness. Have you too, fallen under the spell of that north hag?" Berin turned to his wife.

"Find the lord. This has gone far enough." he instructed, and she left his side hurrying into the southern hall. She reached the table, and as casually as she could took a seat next to him before leaning over to him, and informing him of the intrusion. He nodded and stood, making his way down the hall. Passing Falgon, he placed a hand on his shoulder and he too, stood and followed. Milla's hand went to her mouth, hoping that the situation will not escalate. Claira exchanged her seat for the one next to Milla, and she leaned over.

"Milla, what's happening?" she asked softly, and Milla looked at her, feeling the unease burn in her stomach.

"Lord Vega has returned, I just hope it ends soon." she said.

Raeghun entered the Hall of Fire, his senses aflame. Both Luitpold and Berin stood with Geerd, trapped in drunken blazing argument, surrounded by the bitter stench of ale. He extended a hand towards Falgon.

"Your sword, if you will?" he asked, and felt a woven leather grip released into his hand; and as his fingers closed it moulded to the shape of his hold.

"That is enough!" His voice silenced them all instantly, and he brought the blade forward; it passed by the shoulders of the lords, and the tip rested against Geerd's throat.

"You have agitated my people enough, and have overstayed my tolerance for you." Geerd smiled at him, his black eyes glinting with spite.

"I was asked to attend, by your witch." he said, and Raeghun pushed the sword forward, the tip biting into the skin of the drunken man.

"For you actions, I can have your head. But given your state, I may stay my hand. You will leave my hold, and return to your own tonight. Should I find you within sight of my home after midnight, my decision to allow your departure will change." he said, and brought the sword away from him, handing it back to the sentinel behind him.

"I will hear no further of you." he turned, and then looked at Falgon.

"Make sure he leaves." he instructed, and Falgon bowed his head.

"As you bid, sire." he agreed, and then moved forward, taking hold of Geerd by his shoulder. He handled him effortlessly, guiding him out of the hold and towards the gate, all the while Geerd was protesting.

"Take your hands off me! You ought to know your place. They've set their trust in you, but you're just a commoner in the hall of a lord." he struggled, but the sentinel's grip was sure as if he were carrying nothing more than a satchel.

"To my relief, I don't need your approval, lord Vega. Only that of those who name this hold their home." Finally, Falgon's hand released him and he sprawled on the stones of the bridge. After a moment, he stood and turned back.

"You arrogant simpleton! How dare you? You're nothing, you hear me? Nothing!" but the sentinel only smiled.

"We are all nothing. We come from nothing, and in time will return to nothing. But I don't need to be anything." he said, and Geerd stumbled forward.

"Mark me, I will have my revenge! I will watch as the lives of these people crumble before me!" he vowed.

"Your dreams of revenge will be met with utter disappointment, lord Vega. You may mark that. Now, are you planning to depart peacefully, or shall I deliver you to your horse myself?" Falgon asked and Geerd turned, stomping off enraged and defeated. Falgon watched as he disappeared into the darkness, and then looked up at the crescent moon high above. _A_ _r_ _un'v_ _e_ _mi Lua_ , _The Lord's Giving Moon_ , truly it was. For his people, the ruler would grant you a wish, and now his lord would grant you your life even though you might not deserve it. He breathed in deeply and then decided to pay a quick visit to the stable before returning inside. He wandered through the darkness, between the slips of light in the stable, and then took a brush off one of the crates and took the time to brush Galeo; reflecting on many things as he did so.

"Who are you?" he turned his head to see a little boy standing next to a post, watching him with soft black eyes; and he smiled.

"I am Falgon of the Fire Hall. Pleased to meet you." he said, and then turned laying the brush down and the boy came closer.

"I'm Jon." he said, and in that moment Falgon glanced down the stables, seeing no one else.

"What are you doing here?" he asked and the boy sat down on a hay bale next to the stall.

"I got away from my nurse." he said and folded his little hands in his lap, swaying his feet.

"Why aren't you with your family?" Falgon asked as he stepped closer, and the boy looked up at him.

"They're not my family. Not really." he said, and Falgon sighed.

"Family is family, Jon. Whether it be by blood, or bond." he said, and the boy looked away from him, seeming pitiable.

"Lord Stark is my father, but lady Stark is not my mother. She doesn't like me, and never lets me sit with them." he explained, and Falgon moved closer.

"Oh, I'm sorry child." he apologised, sitting down next to the boy.

"People only see the names. They say the common shouldn't be with the high-born. It's the thing they care about most." he said, the little words heavy and sad, but Falgon leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

"Lord Raeghun doesn't care about that. I didn't even have a name to give him; but he accepted me into his hall, gave me a place among his people." he mentioned, and then smiled as he looked at Jon.

"But your birth, should not determine who you are, little one." he said, trying to mend the little damaged spirit; and Jon looked up at him suddenly; a hopeful glimmer in his little black eyes.

"Are you a bastard, too?" he asked, and Falgon laughed.

"No. No, I'm not." he denied, and the boy seemed confused.

"Then how didn't you even have a name?" he asked, and Falgon sat back, he sighed as he looked up at the roofing of the stable, thinking.

"I lost it, long ago. But lady Claira gave me a new one." he said, and Jon turned more to face him.

"Do you think she could give me a new one, too?" he asked, again optimistic and Falgon had to chuckle.

"I don't know about that. I'm sure she'd like to, but you're still your father's son no matter the thoughts of others." he said, and then stood up.

"Have you eaten today, child?" he asked, and the little eyes went away from him.

"I nicked an apple off a serving girl earlier." Jon said, and Falgon smiled holding a hand towards him.

"Come, we'll find you something. And then it's off to bed, it's late." little six year old Jon stood, and took hold of the powerful hand, grateful for a friend.

Claira closed the door of the lord's chamber behind her after returning from the bath chamber, finding her husband already lying on the bed, his shirt and boots removed.

"Well, this has been quite a day." she commented, and heard him sigh.

"Fuck, I never want these last three days again." he replied, and she laughed.

"I'm afraid you may not have a great deal of choice. Name days tend to make their appearance once a year or so." she joked, and he shared the laugh.

"Oh, please take it and give it to someone else. I don't want it any more." he pleaded as she came over to the bed.

"My poor, poor husband. It's left you exhausted, hasn't it?" she soothed as she undid the lace of his breeches, and carefully pulled it from his legs.

"I'm so tired, I could sleep like a bear." he said softly, and she smiled feeling a warm tingling in her abdomen.

"Only sleep?" she asked as she softly pulled the ribbons from her shoulders and let her gown fall to the floor.

"Oh hell, I'd live like a bear if I could." then he gasped slightly at the touch of her cold fingers to his stomach, and a soft loving kiss to the base of his chest. His hands found hers and he pulled her forward, forcing her onto him, and then his arms went around her waist.

"Why did you ask me to marry you?" she asked, and he smiled.

"Because I never had the chance to." he said, and she laughed.

"Quite an unexpected time to be doing it, don't you think?" she asked, and his hand went to her face.

"It may have been as good a time as any." he said, and then wove his fingers into her hair.

"Would you have? Would you have agreed to be my wife if I asked you on my own, without our fathers arranging it?" he asked again, and she brought her face down to his.

"Yes." she agreed, and pressed her mouth gently to his.

 ***Hi, guys. As I don't add a lot of notes, you're welcome to check out my blog at where we do discussions on the piece, post a few pictures now-and-then, and try to answer questions. Thanks a lot.**


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 – THE WHITE HOLD

The Tormonts and the Starks spent another several days at the burning mountain while one-by-one the other guests, the lord's sister from across the Narrow Sea, the Scharer family, and king Robert Baratheon's company made their way back home. On the day of their departure from Mount Ardor, Mae pleaded with her brother to attend her wedding, upon which he answered with no amount of certainty that they would try to if the gods graces would allow it. Since her husband's name day, on completely ergodic mornings, the same heaviness to her stomach plagued lady Claira before suddenly vanishing. The swirl of emotions came and went, some days would be better than others. Some days passed like any normal one, and others left her angered for simple reasons or crying for none at all. The children, young Robb Stark and Jon Snow became fascinated by the sentinels, and spent as much time with them as they could; and even participated in some light sparring; jabbing small practice swords at each other or watching in awe as the men further pushed their ability, while three year old Sansa Stark – quite a lady herself already was content with the company of the women of the hold. These were good days, calm and peaceful with few disputes and little disturbances, and the nights light and warm with family. Willmon issued an invitation for Raeghun and Claira to accompany them back to Pale Haven for his eldest son's wedding shortly after they would be expected to arrive, which he accepted. And the evening before their departure, around the high table in front of the blaze of the fervid hearth sat family and friend, Taugere, Tormont, Trentin and Stark, engaged in fine conversation while the rest of the castle lives shared the lower tables down the long hall. Lord Eddard Stark's grey eyes scanned the hall, registering the faces.

"Has anyone seen Jon?" he asked as he turned back, and Berin leaned slightly forward.

"He is with ser Falgon, my lord. They should be in the guard's hall." he advised, and then Catelyn's hand closed over her husband's.

"Ned, my love. Seeing as the boy has become so taken with Mount Ardor and its people, you might consider having him warded here." then she looked at Raeghun, smiling.

"That is, if you would not mind it, lord Raeghun? Taking a ward?" she directed, sounding rather optimistic. He chuckled as he placed his chalice down on the table.

"Of course not, I'll be happy to. Our halls have been rather bereft, and it may do us good." his blue eyes settled on Eddard.

"If his father consents." he added, and after a moment's pause Eddard forced a light smile as he turned to Catelyn.

"I will think on it." he said, and then returned his attention back to the elegant feast of stuffed swan with cream stewed country greens and fresh bread, alongside full goblets of sweet mead, and resumed the conversation. Night carried on as they shared stories, and lethargy settled over the hall. Finally cleared, they left the glow of the southern hall to find their beds, each retreating to the sanctuary that was warm and soft sheets and silken pillows. Claira stood at the foot of their wide bed with a soft gown in hand, debating through weariness to visit the bath chamber. She felt tired, miserably tired all of this day, then finally decided that the warmth of the water may be best after all before Raeghun placed his arms around her and pressed his lips gently to her neck. She let her head ease back onto his warm shoulder, and for a moment could imagine falling asleep right then and there against him.

"How have you been feeling today?" he whispered, his arms softly tightening around her waist.

"Better, just very tired. To my relief, my stomach has settled a bit." her hand went to his cheek, the smooth of his skin as she smiled. He had always taken great care to be well kempt. Claira turned and wound her arms around his neck, his still circling her waist.

"Have you seen our maester?" he asked as she leaned against him.

"Several times already, he can't find anything wrong." she felt him breathe in, and then the heat as the breath flowed over her and his left hand came up to her hair, and he tenderly pressed her against him.

"I'm sure it will pass off, then." he assured, then brought his fingers to her jaw and gently lifted her face to kiss her again, soft and lingering in the sweet touch before he drew back and smiled.

"Go have your bath, it's an early rise tomorrow." he urged, and she left after an accordant nod, passing through the door and down the winding steps to the lord's hall. Without Mae, Babieca and her children, the space felt empty and silent with only the shadows and occasional crackling and pop from the torches and fireplaces for company. She entered the bath chamber, closing the heavy curtain that guarded the entryway; then cast off her dress and waded into the steaming water until it splashed around her waist, allowing the flow from the fountain to spill across her shoulders and savouring the sensation as it gently massaged the muscles, bringing a calmness to her. _I'll sit down for a while, just a short while..._ She rested herself on the tiles of the bath, letting the water surround her up to her throat, and eased further into the warmth it brought to her. She thought of many things, of her wonderful life here at the burning mountain where she became the lady of Mount Ardor. Her rich life here with lord Raeghun Taugere, a loving and devoted husband. Lord Berin and lady Milla Trentin, their close and caring friends and defenders. Kind and courageous Falgon, who was always just there with his gentle smile and calm nature. Benevolent and wise old maester Adlyn, the healer, who always wanted to help and always knew how to, even if it were only with words. Spirited and eccentric cook Jeody, always willing to please and surprise. Comical Gavin, whose aim was to make others smile. Quiet Edur, always in his place. All their Sentinels of Flame: Remir, Colbert, Saerus, Derric, Adelard and Hernaut; reserved and polite but aflare in an instant against a threat. Master-at-Arms Ser Austinus, watching over their sentries, and Philpot the smith, ensuring that they would never be left defenceless. Versed court master Metron, lending his withered hands in their home's fluency. The handmaidens, squires, serving girls, pages, scullions and castle hands, all delightful and eager to help. The horses, sturdy and swift; the hounds strong and loyal, all well cared for by their stable and kennel masters. Their people, hunters and tanners and carpenters and merchants and farmers and so many, many more. Always smiling on these lands that were ever green and abundant under the ageless beauty of the blue northern sky. The blue that she loved so much. Tranquillity enveloped her completely, warm and soothing and blissful and endless; and she wished she could stay here, floating in the serenity of elation. Even the rumbling of a coming storm seemed far off, and harmless. Strong hands suddenly clamped down on her arms and hauled her up through the blue, and she broke the surface of the water with a gasp to the call of her name, her eyes opened to see Raeghun next to her waist deep in the water, not having bothered to discard his now sopping breeches.

"Are you al right? What happened?" his hand went to her back as she coughed and gasped again, and her hand went to her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I fell asleep, I'm sorry." she whimpered, but his arms enclosed her and she could feel the tremble of shock through his muscles.

"You never linger this long. To the gods, Claira; if I hadn't come looking..." he trailed off, pressing his mouth to her soaked hair; and she cried again.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Raeghun." her arms went around him, and he seized several deep breaths.

"Please, don't ever do this to me again..." he whispered. They stood there in the water, arms around each other until the shuddering finally ceased, and returned to the lord's chamber for the night.

Everyone woke before the break of dawn, and assembled in the outer bailey while the last of the visitors' belongings were stowed onto the back of the wheelhouse and a small cart; and the stable boys finished grooming the horses for saddling while the nobles conversed on the planned journey back north. As the eminent sunrise brought the rich colours of light to the horizon and the early purple faded, sentinels Gavin, Edur, Saerus and Derric mounted their steeds while other guards assembled to the company. Berin issued Milla his farewell at the bottom of the stairway, his lips pressed lovingly to her brow.

"I will return to you." he whispered his customary promise, and she looked up at him smiling gently.

"You always do." he bowed his head before parting from her, and she watched him move away. Galeo stood calmly near the wheelhouse as Falgon took hold of the reins and the cantle of the saddle to mount, but then paused smiling as he decided to turn back and saw his small friend standing behind him with eyes sparkling.

"Can I ride with you?" Jon asked, and Falgon chuckled.

"You may, if your family has no objections." he agreed, and Jon looked back at his father next to the wheelhouse to help his wife inside.

"Father, can I ride with Falgon?" he asked, and Eddard seemed at a loss for a moment before Catelyn smiled broadly.

"That's fine, my love. Let the boy ride with the sentinels. Let him enjoy it." she urged before disappearing into the cabin, and discarding the notion to enter after his mother, Robb's hands grabbed his fathers.

"Father, can I ride with the men too, please?" he begged in anticipation as he watched the tall sentinel pick Jon up and seat him on the pommel of the saddle, protecting the bay stallion's back before the warrior mounted himself.

"Please?" he asked again, and Berin passed.

"Sure, you can ride with me." he smiled looking down at the child, and then his green eyes met the those of the lord of Winterfell.

"With your father's permission, of course." he added, and Eddard sighed with a grin.

"How can I allow one, and deny another? Very well." he agreed, and watched his eldest son move off happily with the sentinel, reflecting on his very head-strong sons.

"Is everything al right, lord Stark?" he turned back to the silvery blue eyes of Willmon Tormont as he helped his wife into the wheelhouse, and then he stepped aside to allow his daughter to enter as well with the help of her brother.

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine. I must say I am rather eager to get back home." Eddard confessed, longing for the grey cold, a fair contrast from the bright and burning Mount Ardor, once a beacon of hope to them; momentary the thought that only the northern winds that swept by were occasionally cold.

"Thank you, for coming with us. I know this must have brought back some memories for you." Willmon said, and Eddard nodded.

"That's all they are now. Memories. Mostly vague ones, I am thankful to say. But we did enjoy this visit, our last one here was rather fleeting." he glanced at the lord and lady of Mount Ardor descending down the steps to join them.

"But this place, does not hold memories for only me, lord Willmon. Back then, we had no idea what to expect, apart from the tales. And you having had to give so much for the good of our cause. I would have despised myself if some of the descriptions turned out to be true." he said, and Willmon looked up to see the object of his attention, smiling.

"Thank you, my lord. I am pleased to say that my daughter is happy here, and that lord Raeghun is good to her. Fate has strange ways of threading people together..." Willmon could feel Eddard staring at him, and then turned back at him calmly, with a gentle smile.

"Shall we find our mounts, lord Eddard?" he suggested, and Eddard nodded. Willmon turned to Claira as they came closer.

"Will you be joining our ladies in the wheelhouse?" he asked, and she shook her head smiling.

"Perhaps later, father. I'd like to take this morning for a ride." she declined, and he then proceeded to close the door. Raeghun walked with her to the horses, Brazier already saddled and waiting, his big brown eyes set on her eagerly.

"Are you sure about this?" Raeghun asked softly, and then she turned to him.

"Yes, I'll be fine. The fresh air may lessen the uneasiness to my stomach a bit." he nodded, and then helped her onto her rose-gold stallion before mounting his own night-black warhorse while others did the same; and as the shine of a new sun glinted over the horizon and lit the lands a column passed through the portcullis and over the bridge, Stark and Tormont guardsmen, the sentinels, lords Willmon, Gerald, Rhegard, Eddard, Raeghun, and Berin at his side, and in the centre lady Claira with Falgon at her shadow, followed by the great wheelhouse, the cart and the last of the guardsmen, a long train heading up north into the cold.

To their delight, the journey was fortunately uneventful. Between camps they stayed at _The Ivory Pitcher_ , and a small hold. They spent their days on horseback, and the nights around fires with each other's company before exchanging that for the peace of the tents. By the third day of their travel, the uneasiness and unstable emotions that haunted Claira vanished, and did not come again. One evening, around the warmth of flames while the boys insisted on keeping watch with the sentinels, Jon spied a long shining flash in the sky that seemed to sparkle, and on the insistence of Falgon could make a wish as he was the first to see it.

"What did you wish for?" Asked an excited Robb, to a mysterious.

"I can't tell you that." from a giggling Jon. By morning of the sixth day since they passed under the heavy iron gate of Mount Ardor, Tormont and Taugere parted ways from Stark who made their way to their ancient home of Winterfell, and lord Eddard Stark assured that by the time the Taugere's returned that way he would give them his conclusion on the possibility of allowing a warding. They continued up the road deeper into the north, and Rhegard approached Claira with a cunning grin.

"My sweet sister, how fast is your steed?" he asked, and she turned back to him.

"Faster than yours, I'm sure, dear brother." she smiled back indicating his great brown horse, already predicting his intention.

"I can't imagine it. He's a beautiful creature, but I'm sure his leg would break in flight." he teased; and she laughed.

"My Brazier would get farther before breaking a leg, than your Incus would before sinking away in the soil." she returned, and he moved closer.

"You'd feel the rumble of the earth under our hooves long before you see the fire from your steps." he promised,

"Truly? What a feeling that would be." she teased back, and he laughed.

"Let us show you, then. If you're not afraid." he challenged, and she could feel the heat in her chest.

"It is ill manners to challenge a lady, Rhegard." she reminded him as he passed.

"Oh, it's not a challenge. It's a promise." he corrected, steering her off the road into a wide field. They walked on over green grass, and the tingling in her fingers increased as her grip tightened on the reins, then he looked back.

"Are you ready?" he grinned, and her hands took hold of Brazier's black mane.

"Ready to leave you trailing behind." their heels dug into the ribs of their horses, and they charged over the endless countryside. The horses ran unbound over the pasture, Rhegard still at her side, and as they circled an old oak to head back Rhegard looked at her next to him.

"So much for your blazing steed." he called, and she smiled.

"You've only seen the spark of his flame, dear brother. Let us show you his fire." her hands released the reins, the leather slipping through her fingers and they moved past him, her stallion's gait widening as he ran faster and faster. She revelled in it, the feeling of the wind unrestricted on her skin, the powerful muscles moving under her in each stride, the heavy falls of the hooves on the ground, and a clear endless blue sky above her; and her arms opened to take in all of it.

From the side of the road, on a small slope overlooking the land dark eyes watched the figures in the field while Galeo tore green shards from the ground. The bliss and the freedom of it, and he too recalled the days that he and his brothers would test the speed of their horses against one another, simply for the state of it. The feeling of flying. _How fair you are..._ He took in the black and white in the wind. _A single flake of frost glowing in the fire..._ The glow off her skin in the sunlight, and he admired the fortune of his lord, that the heart of his wife was reflected in her visage. He smiled as a vague memory came back. His mother was different, too. Slender and fair skinned, blue eyed and black haired, she was antonymous from the rest of their kin. And while she was a comely woman, not the most beautiful; but she taught them that beauty lay in what you chose to see in others. They had the best, while their father focused on capability and valour she strengthened their hearts with kindness and compassion. Claira and Rhegard came back up the slope to the road, smiling and laughing, and then they stopped and she looked at him seeing no one else on the road.

"Ser Falgon, where are the rest of our company?" she asked,

"They have continued down the path, your grace. Your father advised that the party will have the horses rested at a nearby brook while they wait for you, before resuming the journey to the white hold." he informed, and she looked back at Rhegard.

"Well, I believe we've kept them waiting long enough." she urged, and allowed her horse to pass to an easy trot down the path while her brother watched her, and then his attention returned to the sentinel.

"You speak to my sister like she is a queen." he mentioned, sounding subtly envious and Falgon smiled.

"She is a queen. The burning mountain has long been the seat of the Ardent Kings, and although the title has been formally revoked, the bloodline still endures. Shall we join the others, my lord?" he raised his hand to indicate the way forward, and Rhegard chuckled.

"You're so strange." he teased, and the bay stallion moved on.

"I've been named worse things, my lord." Falgon said, and they followed the trot of the rose-gold stallion into a wooded area, and found the party settled beside a wide stream before they would cross a wooden bridge, most of the horses unsaddled and unharnessed to sate their thirst on the cool of the water while their families enjoyed one another's company under the shade of the leaves. Claira slipped from the saddle into Raeghun's waiting arms before a guard led Brazier away for his rest.

"Did you enjoy your ride?" he asked, and she blushed.

"I did, thank you." Rhegard and Falgon joined the group, and their conversation. Gerald told of his excitement for his wedding to lady Dyana Umber, youngest sister to lord Jon Umber of Last Hearth, and how they met quite by accident near to two years ago attending counsel for lord Eddard Stark, and after that evening's feast their affection blossomed. But it was near to a year later that he finally gathered up the courage to ask the proud young lord's consent for his sister's hand, along with that of their liege, and to his elation all agreed.

"I can't wait to meet her." Claira thought happily, and Gerald laughed.

"I believe you will like her. She's a fair woman, capable and passionate; but like lord Jon she has inherited the pride of house Umber." he told, and Willmon leaned forward slightly from his place on a log next to his Alyssa.

"You've made a good choice, Gerald. It is a sad thing that not all in our positions are allowed the freedom to marry for love." he praised, and Gerald smiled at him.

"I had my father's fortune. You too, married for love." Gerald said, and Willmon's eyes went to the ground.

"I did. Not entirely according to my father's own wishes; but I announced my intentions to him before he had the opportunity to make it known to the north whom he chose as my intended." he sat back and took Alyssa's hand.

"This day, I could not be happier." he said, his eyes resting on his eldest daughter, a sadness hidden deep in the silvery-blue depths and she knew what he was thinking. _I married for love, your brother marries for love, and I promised you to someone you didn't even know..._ She looked away from him, at Raeghun next to her and smiled. _Why should I have chosen? Yes, you promised me to someone, but my life could not be better, Adah..._ With the horses rested, they resumed their journey along the woodland path; the men at the front of the column and Claira joined her mother and sister in the wheelhouse, allowing her Brazier to follow along unburdened. As twilight settled in they made camp amidst the trees with Willmon assuring that with the roads calm and clear they may reach Pale Haven quite early the following day. A bright fire burned under skinned rabbits and a pot of broth, and with everyone fed and weary they retired to their tents for the evening. Berin took first watch as always, looking up at the stars and longing for his wife, wondering what she was doing and if her sheets felt as cold and empty as his bedroll.

"You must be tired." came a voice from the shadows, and Falgon appeared like a ghost out of the darkness, sitting down opposite from him and adding wood to the flames of the fire.

"It's been a long day, I'll confess." he said, feeling his legs ache.

"Go. Find your rest, I'll keep watch." Falgon offered, and Berin found himself grateful as he stood.

"Thank you. But if anything happens-" he started, and his friend looked up at him.

"Nothing will happen, I assure you." he promised, and Berin nodded before leaving for his tent. Falgon sat watching the trees, the shadows that danced between them. The forest looked different, the trees were wider and taller than since his last passing by here; but he wasn't sure how long ago that was. His eyes went to the flames, thinking of how illogical time had become to him; like everything stopped at some point and only now started to move again.

The horses made their way up a small slope where the world became increasingly bereft of colour as they moved forward. It was mid-morning when Claira smiled excitedly.

"We're here." She pointed to a cloud of mist settled between a lush woodland and the start of what might have been high hills behind it, blue roofed towers only just escaping the top of the fog. As they slowly approached the thick mist, they could start making out shapes and shadows, edges of buildings, the forms of high towers, and great white-stone structures.

"That's why it's called 'Pale Haven'. Northern currents push moist air from the Bay of Ice over the hills where it condenses, and then settles here over our home. It is a rare day that it is clear." Gerald explained. The mist grew thicker around them as they closed the distance between them and the high white castle. Somewhere in the unseen, someone called out and they could hear heavy chains rattling, the sound of cogs turning and iron straining as a great gate was drawn up. Then the portcullis came into view, and they entered into a wide outer bailey, felines of all sizes and colours sprinting across their view here and there while others sat perched on barrels and posts watching the arrivals. The walls displayed the elegant albeit not ferocious banners of house Tormont, a lean black cat leaping high over a field of emerald green, ready to bring down its prey. Along the left wall a long stable kept the horses, further down a small door opened next to a high arch leading further into the castle grounds to more buildings. In front of them, a wide staircase led to a giant arched dark double door, granting passage into the castle. To the right, a burning forge glowed next to an armoury; and another wide arch led into the castle grounds, towards what seemed to be a wooded area. Castle hands were busy tying ribbons to the trees, and others approached to start unloading the wheelhouse and cart while stable boys emerged to tend to the horses as they dismounted.

"Make yourselves at home. Your sentinels will have full access to the halls and grounds of Pale Haven, save for the western quarter." Willmon invited, and was accepted gratefully. The grandness of this place was astounding, all hidden out of sight by its natural defence, and Falgon supposed that it could only be found by those who already knew where it was, or by those who were severely favoured by luck. He cast another glance towards the arch leading to the forested field.

"The gods grove." He looked down to see lady Claira standing next to him, and then he looked back towards the arch.

"You've never seen it?" she asked.

"I've never seen anything, like any of this." He confessed.

"I could show you, later. If you want to?" he smiled gently.

"Thank you, your grace. But I would much rather not. I don't believe that your gods would appreciate an outsider fouling their holy ground." He declined.

"You're religious." She determined, and he laughed at that.

"No, your grace. I'm afraid I'm not truly religious at all. No god has ever done anything for me; the old, the new, the drowned, the red, the faceless… they're all just names to me. But I can still respect those who are. People need something to believe in." he said, and she turned slightly towards him.

"And what is it that you believe in?" she asked tentatively.

"I'm not sure, yet. Perhaps humanity's will for perseverance." he decided temporarily. They entered the white castle into a great stone hall, doors stood open to both sides into two more great halls, the ballroom to the left and a grand feast hall to the right, while a smaller door opened to a kitchen to its left. A wide staircase led to a second flat level under a wide circled window, allowing passage to sunlight from where two more stairways led to a third level, doors open to long hallways down each side of the window, leading the ways to the guardrooms tower and servants' quarters down the north east and the nobles living quarters to the north west. Claira stopped in front of the stairs, and breathed in the cool, moist air of Pale Haven, and let the air go slowly as she remembered her life here. Peaceful, and blissful were the days that she and her siblings played in these halls. That she spent with maester Kenard to learn, the steals to the kitchen where their cook could always be found with something special. The handmaidens that always bickered about who would be allowed to tend to her care; and the guards and hands that favoured a once little girl; a blue rose petal between the purple. Then she heard her name called, and she turned. An old, shrunken woman came from the kitchen, short and thin with long grey hair tied securely behind her head by a worn leather strip. She smiled broadly, revealing white but crooked teeth between small lips, her nose slightly awry as having once been broken by her spouse, which she thoroughly compensated with a black eye and bloody lip; but her deep grey eyes sparkled as she raised her hands to Claira, and she returned the gesture with happiness.

"Lady Claira, my winter child. Welcome home." she said, and Claira made out the sparkle in her eyes for tears.

"Arima. Sweet, sweet Arima; how wonderful to see you." she said, wrapping her arms around the shoulders of the little woman, whose hair only just touched Claira's cheek from where she stood. Raeghun and Berin glanced at one another. Then Claira released her, and Arima pulled back, her hands taking Claira's.

"What would you like for supper, child?" she asked eagerly, and Claira laughed.

"Oh, how I've longed for your butter and parsley goose, Arima. If my mother won't object, we'll have that tonight." she said, the grey eyes glinting.

"Your mother won't have no problems with that." she assured, and a sudden call made them all turn.

"Gerald!" A young man entered the great hall, average height, gaunt with a plain face, short nose, dark hair and light eyes. He was smiling as he approached and extended a hand to Gerald, who took it.

"Welcome, Charle. A bit early, though." Gerald smiled, hailing yet another guest and long time friend from the Dreadfort, two years his senior; younger brother and a blunt opposition from lord Roose Bolton.

"Well, I thought I would extend my visit somewhat." he said, and then his eyes went to the other guests and he moved forward to greet them, approaching Claira first.

"Greetings, lady Claira. What a pleasure to see you again." he said as he bowed, and took her hand.

"Good day, lord Charle. Thank you, for your welcome." his mouth lingered on her hand, a moment longer than what would be accepted as mere courtesy before he straightened and looked at the others.

"And the lords of the Corridor as well." he approached them smiling, and extended a hand.

"So, you're the fiery bird." he grinned enthusiastically as his hand took Raeghun's, the pressure of the greeting more arduous than normal, and the eyes alight with something that was not just friendliness.

"I've heard a few stories about your family." he added, and an instant dislike for the man took hold.

"Careful, stories come from somewhere." Raeghun returned with a reassured grin, but Charle remained smiling at him.

"That they do, the good and the bad I'm afraid." he agreed, and Claira appeared wrapping her hands around her husband's arm.

"Raeghun, my love. Shall we inspect our chambers? I'd like the opportunity to choose a suitable garment for this evening's feast." she suggested, and Raeghun nodded.

"We will speak again, my lord." he assured as he faced Charle again, and his smile broadened.

"I look forward to it." he said, and they moved off deeper into the castle while lord Bolton watched them. They went down long hallways, her hands still around his elbow; but his silence and forward stare signalled that he was not at peace.

"Please don't mind him. He's an old friend of my brother, and he is rather free-spoken." Raeghun turned to her.

"I don't know enough to place him yet, but suffice it to say that my first impression of him was not the best I have had." he placed his arms around her.

"But neither was it the worst." he smiled, and she lay her head against his chest.

"It will be al right. He takes some getting used to." she assured, hearing him sigh.

"Your kitchen master is very fond of you." he recollected, and she drew back.

"Arima, yes. She's more than just our cook, she helped raise me and my siblings from little more than hour old babes. I can't remember the count of times that she sat up with us through the nights..." she trailed off, considering the old woman closer to family than a servant. The day progressed as all settled in, and the sentinels were housed in the guardrooms. Claira befittingly dressed with the rest of their family, and wore a fine wide sleeved dress of green silk with a velvet neckline and gold hemlines, with a woven gold-thread girdle, decorated with red quartz. To their great delight, Arima delivered her finest work to their tables.

A week was spent at the White Hold, with all its comings and excitement; and while not shadowing Claira, Falgon could be found in lord Willmon's extensive library. Raeghun made an effort to familiarize himself with Charle, and while he was an outspoken man, was not entirely unpleasant. They shared their tales, and spent time hawking while Claira brought through her time with her mother and sister, again trying her hand at the old harp that gave little cooperation while at their evening feasts lord Willmon would share the history of their house. Long ago, two brothers founded the Tormont lineage, prized for their strategic skills they spent generations fighting by the side of the revered and proud Starks. Gerald Keen-Eye Tormont and his brother, Dorrican helped Brandon the Builder raise the wall, and gave him their hands in building their seat of Winterfell before he in turn gave his aid in construction of the white castle in the mist, where after the families shared many years around the same tables. And according to an ancient legend: engaging a particularly discouraging clash, lord Willmar Tormont vowed to subdue the enemy with a count of three thousand men. To prove his assurance and loyalty, he took his own dagger from his side and cut a lesion down the length of his fore arm; presenting it to the liege of Winterfell at that time, lord Benjen Stark who was great grandson to lord Brandon "the Builder" Stark, declaring into the world their house words: " _Victory Is The Red In Our Blood_ ".Somewhere in their bloodlines, Starks became Tormonts, and Tormonts became Starks, binding their near to ageless alliance; but as time went on a difficult feud split the family and the enraged member altered their name, taking a ferocious black bear as their sigil. A stern contrast from the luxe leaping feline. But loyal to the north and its liege, they have all remained throughout the aeons, and peace found its way back home again. Yet, after another age l **ord Rhegard Tormont fought for King Torrhen Stark, and won several battles; however, despite his fighting spirit he understood and respected his liege for submitting to Aegon I at the Trident after the Field of Fire onslaught before peace once again returned to the land**. Claira loved these stories, and could listen to her father tell them as much as he cared to; and found that the rest of her new house was taken with them as well. In days, finally the bride made her appearance at the white hold with her family. As told by Gerald, she was both fair and spirited, her hair the colour of honey and eyes like opaque; and she was welcomed to the family fervently. With sunset the following day she stood by Gerald's side under the gods grove great weirwood in a marvellous hooded dress of white silk, lined with soft snow fox fur around the wide sleeves, the sigil of her house embroidered with silver on the bodice. They received each other as was tradition for the old north, and all gathered in the feast hall to celebrate the union of once separate lives. The affair was grand, and people connected around the cook's elegant feast amidst fine music and dancing until late into the night, when the bride and groom vanished from the great hall, and others left for their own chambers, and a few were left to continue the festivities throughout the night; and as morning came passed another day in fondness before newly wed lady Dyana Tormont greeted her brother farewell, and he returned home. With the sky long dark and only a few stars visible over the high towers, Claira sat on the bed in their chambers brushing out her hair, and then the thought occurred to her that she had not visited the gods grove for communion yet, and perhaps would do so tonight before they returned home as well. And seeing as Raeghun was still with Berin, addressing their journey home in the next day, hoped she would be back before he could find her missing. She had made a promise that she would never go anywhere alone, save for their sanctuary in Mount Ardor, but this was her home too. She would be safe here. There was no need for a sentinel. She slipped into a dark blue dress, and into flat black shoes before heading out the door and down the long halls that were little more than silent, passing serving girls and pages, here and there a guard. She exited the great doors and made her way into the peace that was their gods grove, a long trail leading to the great heart tree where she sat down on a log under the crimson leaves and looked up at the face that stared back at her. A face, much like her father's. Calm, calculating, understanding the eyes stared forward to take in all that was before it.

"I know, you might not be able to see me where I am..." she said softly, rocking slightly where she sat.

"Mount Ardor doesn't have a gods grove, or any weirwood trees. I don't know if it's too warm for you to grow there, or if you just never took any roots there..." she lightened her heart to the old ones, told them every experience she had away from their watchful eyes. She told them of the kindness of their people, and of the strength of their house. Of all her joys and fears and wants; hopes, dreams, favours and promises before realizing she had stayed longer than she intended. She stood and took a crimson leaf from a low hanging branch, casting it into a clear pond. ' _Keep my family safe; my blood and my name and all those who serve under us and stand under our protection. Guide us and greet us with a new sunrise_.' Then she turned and returned down the path, the way she came back to the hold, and as the arch came into view a shadow stepped from the brush in front of her, bringing her to a halt, and she looked up into light eyes.

"Charle?" he smiled at her.

"Hello, Claira." he greeted, and she looked around at the empty space.

"What are you doing here? It's late." she asked, and he shrugged.

"Same as you, I suppose." he decided, her eyes spared a fleeting glance at the white tree far behind them.

"Oh, I just-" she started, but he raised his hand to a stone bench next to the path between the shrubs, close to the wall.

"It's al right. Won't you sit with me for a while before we head back?" he invited.

"I really should go; I did not tell anyone that I was coming here, and have already stayed longer than I intended to." she mentioned, and he laughed at that.

"Do you need permission, to visit your gods?" he asked, making her flush.

"Of course not, I just…" _I made a promise._ He took a step forward, guiding her towards the seat.

"Then there's no rush. It's just a little while longer." Charle urged, and she sighed.

"Al right, just a little while." she agreed, and they walked to the side of the trail to sit down on the bench. Although the seat was wide enough to hold three people, he sat closer to her than she deemed necessary, unless they were whispering, and a distinct odour of eucalyptus engulfed her.

"I haven't seen you since you left for the Corridor. Are you happy there?" he asked, his eyes searching her face as she smiled.

"Yes, I am. The people are kind, and I am very well cared for. And you, still at your brother's hold?" she said, and he nodded.

"Yes, and I probably will be for a long time. I'm surprised that your brother waited so long to be wed." he said, leaning back and laying his arms on the backrest of the bench.

"He was waiting for the right person. Lucky for him, he didn't have to cross countries to find her." he regarded her closely.

"He was very lucky there. Unlike you, being swept away so far from your family." he sympathised, but she waved it off.

"Oh, it couldn't be helped. But missing them is the only sadness I have at Mount Ardor." then she looked back at him.

"You haven't married yet, either." she noted, and again he shrugged before sitting forward again.

"Perhaps I'm waiting for the right person, too. But it seems I may wait for a long time." he breathed in and out slowly, but she smiled.

"It will happen for you. I'm sure one day you'll walk into the hall and she'll be standing right there smiling at you." she tried to encourage him, and he glanced away.

"I wish I could share your positivism. But it might not be that easy." then he looked back at her, his light eyes meeting hers in earnest.

"Had you not been given to the Taugere's, I would have asked for your hand." he told her, but she felt annoyed at the term he chose to use, like she was some item used in trade.

"I wasn't given to anyone, Charle." she corrected him, but he smirked at her.

"Really? So, what would you call it?" he asked, waiting for a better term. Granted the facts were what they were, she didn't want to see it that way. She couldn't.

"I'm not going to argue with you, it's too nice a night." she looked away from him and up at the stars, those she could see through the haze.

"Al right, I'm sorry. I didn't come here to upset you, besides." he said, sharing her view of the sky.

"So, why did you?" she asked him, and could see him shaking his head.

"I don't know. Perhaps the gods brought me here to see you again. I've always loved you, Claira. Always. Not even your marriage ever changed that." he said softly, and she sighed.

"Charle, we've been friends for a long time. At some point, I might have felt something for you, too. But that was years ago." she confessed, recalling a time that she admired this man, his confidence, his pride, his esteem. He turned towards her.

"I know…" he said softly, and in the dark she could see his hand raise to her face, hard fingers softly stroking the flawless skin of her cheek in the subtle glow of the high torches. His lips moved in a gentle smile, eyes searching hers and he leaned forward.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she pulled back, away from him.

"Something I've wanted to do for a long time." he came forward still, fingers searching into her hair for a hold.

"I have to go." she stood, forcing an escape and started down the pathway towards the arch; but he came to his feet, and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"No, Claira. Wait." he pulled her back against him, his arms encircling her and tightening to hold her to his chest.

"Charle…" she breathed against him, feeling the shudder of his arms.

"I love you. After all these years, I still love you." he whispered, but the sentiment was not shared.

"Please. Please let me go." she begged, pushing against him but his grip tightened even more.

"You could have been mine. You should have been mine!" he suddenly pulled back from her, his left hand going into her hair.

"Stop it! Let go of me!" her heart pounded against her ribs, desperate for escape and she struggled against him.

"Give me this one night, to show you." he urged, his left hand closing for control of her face while the fingers of his right strained harshly into her back despite the heavy fabric of her dress, and he moved forward to conceal their presence with the shadows and shrubs.

"Stop it! Charle, you're hurting me, let me go!" she pleaded, almost cried as a tingling acidity spread through her; and he brought his face close to hers.

"Release her." a clear voice froze him, deep and commanding. He turned, and the sourness through her veins vanished.

"Falgon!" he stood under the arch, watching them. Charle's hands came away from her back and hair, but he took hold of her wrist pulling her behind him, attempting to conceal her from her sentinel's view; but already having utterly failed.

"Leave. You have no business here." he ordered, but the tall figure remained where he was.

"When a lady has to tell you 'no' more than once, you're a threat; and that makes it my business." Falgon said, but Charle smirked again remembering that since his arrival this man had never come near these grounds.

"You won't enter here; you're afraid of the gods." he reminded the sentinel, but then to his surprise Falgon moved forward, stepping through the arch. Claira's eyes widened, a darkness followed him like a great shadow, veiling the world behind him, even the torches.

"I fear nothing. The single reason I did not enter this place was out of respect for these people." Falgon said as he walked forward, sure and intent. Charle's grip around Claira's wrist tensed, and she winced at the force of the fingers digging into her skin.

"I will not tell you again to leave, and mind your own business!" Charle commanded as he took a step backward, and Falgon grinned.

"Do you believe that your words will deter me? I ask you a final time, to release her." he said, and then stopped inches away from lord Charle Bolton, who tried to retain his confidence in the face of this being.

"You wouldn't dare raise a hand to a lord of the north." he warned, and Falgon scoffed.

"I care little for titles, it doesn't matter to me if you're a peasant or a king." he said, and Charle's hand suddenly let go of her arm and flung a fist at her sentinel's face.

"You impudent mongrel!" Falgon caught the fist easily, inches from his jaw; then cast it aside as he would discard an apple core. He stepped forward, his hand clamping down on Charle's shoulder, then shoved him backwards against the white wall, his head slamming into the stone painfully before he sank to the ground. Claira's hands covered her mouth in shock as she took in what occurred in front of her eyes, and Flagon looked back at her.

"My apologies for fouling your gods grove, your grace. Are you hurt?" he was indifferent, as if he had done nothing more than swatting a fly.

"No…" she whispered, numbness stretching through her limbs, and he moved forward.

"Come." his powerful arms went around her back and behind her knees, then he picked her up from the ground and returned the way he came while she lay shuddering against him. She knew what would follow, and pressed her cold hands to her cheeks as she closed her eyes.

"How do you always do that?" she asked softly as he entered the white hold with his lady in his arms, to the stares of those around them, and she realized he didn't have the slightest care for them, of what went through their minds.

"Do what, your grace?" he asked as he walked, carrying her up the steps and into the western quarter, and she whimpered slightly.

"How do you know… How do you always know when I need you?" she asked, having to battle a sob; but he smiled as he spared her a caring glance.

"I belong to you, your grace. I am your shield. I will always be there, whenever you need me." he promised her once again, and she found herself admiring him even more as a wave of heat struck her face and she covered her eyes.

"Oh… Falgon…" she fought against the tears, passing torches and shadows as her mind struggled. _Why? Why do you do this? What have I done to deserve this kind of loyalty from you? We found you entirely by chance one day, and in so little time you've given so much to me... while I've given you nothing but difficulty even before you were officially recognised by our hall... I don't... I don't even know your real name..._ He stopped in front of a door, knocking softly twice and Raeghun opened the door to them, his face changing instantly to concern.

"What happened?" he asked as Falgon set Claira down in front of him, his left hand very gently forcing her forward into her husband's arms. Voices sounded in the hallway, and he looked towards the activity before turning back.

"Stay here." he said, and Raeghun moved slightly forward, bringing his wife to his side further into the chamber.

"What's going on?" he demanded again.

"I will accept my punishment." Falgon assured, but Claira turned towards him.

"No, Falgon! You didn't do anything wrong." she denied, Raeghun's hands came away from her and he stood in the doorway, the voices sounding louder in the hallway.

"What happened, Falgon?" he asked, and Falgon's eyes met his calmly.

"I have stained the gods grove. If it please, sire. Please leave this to me." he said, and then bowed and left them; Raeghun turned back to Claira, her hands clasped in front of her chest. He moved to her, his eyes searching her flushed face.

"Claira, what happened?" he asked again, urgently attempting to piece together the situation. Her eyes came to his, the frost blue striking into him.

"He didn't do anything. He didn't do anything wrong! Please, Raeghun." she begged as her hands went to his chest. He breathed in, and then turned to follow the shadows passing down the hallway, leaving her in the safety of their chamber. As he moved down the hallway, he started hearing whispers, stories of an attack on the sacred grounds. _Who attached who, exactly?_ He descended the steps, and saw the tall figure standing in the glow of a fire emitting from lord Willmon's library, and approached to the voice of the lord.

"You realize the penalties of this, ser Falgon? The gods grove is sacred." Willmon's calm voice warned, to an equally calm reply.

"I understand, your excellence. I will face whatever punishment you deem just, without resistance." Raeghun entered the library to find his father by law, brothers Gerald and Rhegard, along with Charle facing his sentinels Berin and Falgon before the hearth.

"What you're accusing him of, can't be accurate." Berin defended, to the annoyance of lord Bolton.

"He attacked me, in the gods grove, no less." Charle insisted, looking towards Willmon to ensure he understood the severity of the crime.

"What were you doing, before my sentinel 'attacked' you?" Raeghun asked as he stepped forward, placing himself between the strongest of his sentinels.

"I was speaking with Claira." Charle said innocently, but the words seemed oddly out of place for the circumstances.

"Is that all?" he asked, not being fully able to simply accept the answer given.

"She's a good friend to me. I'm allowed to have a conversation with an old friend." Charle advised, again bringing to light his own feelings on the matter.

"Charle has been a guest in these halls many times, and a close friend for years. There should be no reason to believe that he would have provoked a situation like this." Gerald added, trying as they could to split the confusion.

"Ser Falgon would do nothing without just cause." Berin defended once again as Rhegard regarded the tall figure.

"He was a mercenary. He doesn't need cause." the young man reminded them, and Raeghun's eyes met him sharply.

"He is a sentinel." he corrected him, rather harshly; and finally Willmon sighed shaking his head, having heard enough words thrown aimlessly about.

"Well then, this is getting us nowhere." then he looked at each of them, his eyes settling momentarily longer on Raeghun than the others.

"Stay here until I return, continue your bickering if you must but keep your fists to yourselves. I'll have no blood in my halls tonight." he ordered and moved off, through the halls. There was only one remaining who would have the answer he needed to put to rest this matter; there was no one else in the gods grove tonight. For near to a fortnight, Falgon did not enter those grounds, and did so this night without any hesitation. Charle accused him of attacking him while he was speaking with the lord's daughter, and he accepted the charges; even confessed to doing so. But when met with the question for his motive, there was nothing but silence. There are reasons to everything. Silence may be an answer, but it does not give him enough to pass judgement. Yes, the Boltons have shared their hearths and tables many times, and kept faith for many years; but this is severely out of place. There was a reason to this, that could only be... _"Your daughter is my queen, your excellence. She gave me every reason to my existence. There is nothing I would not do for her."_

"Father?" he stopped and turned, seeing where she stood in the arch of another corridor leading to the east.

"Oh, there you are." he registered as he came towards her, her glinting blue eyes deep and scared.

"What happened?" she asked softly, not entirely being able to conceal the quiver of her voice.

"Lord Charle has accused ser Falgon of attacking him in the gods grove, but there are conflicting versions. As I understand, you were the only other witness present. So, that's exactly what I wanted to ask you." he said, and she stared at him; the only sound in the hallway the faint crackling of the torches and soft orange light overhead. Willmon took a step closer to her, and they were concealed from any other eyes inside the adjoined corridor.

"Claira, you've never lied to me. Tell me truly, what happened in the gods grove? Why did your sentinel attack Charle?" she stepped back, utterly failing to hide herself from her father's eyes, eyes that saw deep into you, like they could read every thought as clear as an open book. It was this that made it so difficult to keep anything from him, like he already knew but needed you to say it.

"Falgon didn't… He didn't do anything wrong…" she stammered, and her father moved forward, maintaining the distance between them; calm, calculating, controlling without asserting any force.

"Al right. You've told me what did not happen. Now I ask you again: What did?" he asked again, in a voice soft like rushes through the leaves. Her hands covered her face as she looked down.

"Falgon is a sentinel. He's my sentinel… He would never hurt anyone… He protects me…" she told, withering against the storm of emotions, and then his hands found her shoulders.

"Claira, was Falgon protecting you when this happened?" he asked, and felt her start to shudder under his touch.

"He… Charle… he… And Falgon…" and then she cried, releasing the constraint against the tears.

"Adah…" she whimpered as his arms went around her and held her close to him, and he understood.

"Oh… Oh, my precious winter rose. It's al right." he comforted her, breathing in the cool air of the hall.

"It's al right. Don't worry, we'll make this right." he promised, and she looked up at him, the frost blue seeming so much more intense, set in the red of her tear stricken eyes.

"Please… Please don't tell Raeghun. I don't want more misfortune than what there already is. This was supposed to be a happy time, and now I've come and ruined it." she pleaded, and lay her head against his shoulder again, his hands gently stroking her still shuddering frame.

"No. You didn't do anything. Whatever misfortune this is, Claira; it was not brought on by you." he corrected her, feeling her breathe against him, trying to bring calmness to herself.

"Please don't say anything." she begged him again, and he nodded.

"If it distresses you so, I won't. Not to them. Now go back to your chambers." he instructed, and watched her leave back down the hallway before returning to his library where the young men were still in furious argument; which quite suddenly died out once he stepped through the door and made his way calmly to them.

"Return to your rooms. I will pass my judgement on ser Falgon with sunrise." he ordered, and waited patiently as the lords of the Corridor, and young Rhegard made their way out of the library, and down the hall; hoping for a safe distance. Only Charle and Gerald remained.

"Lord Willmon, that man attacked me. He's ruthless." Charle insisted, and then those eyes met him. Sharp and intent, and cold.

"Hold your tongue! He should have hit you harder. Pray that my son does not hear of this while you are within his reach, or he'll have all the Corridor down on your head. Ser Falgon protected my daughter when she tried to resist your advances, and then he accepted your accusations to avoid further unpleasantness. If anything, you should thank him for shielding your stupidity. I should have you expelled from Pale Haven, but will tolerate your presence until morning for the friendship of our houses. By then, I want you either gone, or issuing your sincere apology to each that you have wronged." Despite the Grey Tom never raising his voice beyond a solid utter, there was force and power to his words.

"My lord…" Charle started, having to admit defeat.

"You're young, Charle. People make mistakes; and the most foolish are the hardest to amend. But I will expect if from you nonetheless, either way." Willmon said, and then turned and left the library while Charle and Gerald remained. Gerald's clear eyes met his, frigid with anger.

"How could you do this?" he demanded, and Charle looked away towards a now empty hall.

"I love her, Gerald. I always have… I just…" he confessed, and Gerald turned to face him.

"You didn't even notice her before she almost turned ten, and was promised to the lord of the Corridor." he accused, but Charle simply shrugged.

"It was a mistake. One I'd realized too late." he said, Gerald's frustration clearly mounting.

"Yes, it is too late. And now suddenly you want it different?" he asked, challenging him for an answer.

"I just wanted one chance; one chance to show her." he explained before a hard fist found his jaw and he staggered backwards.

"You arrogant dupe! What made you think that she would ever allow that?" Gerald demanded from him, and Charle's hand came up to the sting to his skin.

"Gerald-" he tried once again to justify his actions, but Gerald stepped forward pointing at him.

"Stay away from my sister. The only instance you may see her is to apologise to her, and to Falgon." he determined, then left to calm himself elsewhere.

Claira sat on the edge of the bed as Raeghun entered their chamber, and closed the door securely. He stood silent for a moment, breathing in deeply and then turned towards her.

"What happened?" he asked, coming closer to her, and then she looked away from him to shield her eyes.

"Nothing happened…" she said softly, and the frustration in him grew.

"How idiotic do you hope I am, Claira?" he asked suddenly, and she did face him then.

"Raeghun-" she started, but the fire in him already tore away at his restraint.

"I know that something happened! And that it happened because of you!" he said, and she came to her feet to approach him.

"Please listen to me-" she rose her hands to him, her voice kept low in an attempt to calm him, but the blaze was infuriating.

"Falgon would not have assaulted a lord, or even entered your gods grove unless he perceived a threat to you." he said as she moved closer to him; the flames of rage gnawing away at his muscles.

"Raeghun, please-" she begged again, and his hands wrapped around her arms.

"He wasn't just talking to you, was he?" he demanded, his fingers tightening more than he intended to.

"Was he?" she looked down, she wouldn't answer him... she couldn't. And he knew.

"I'll kill him. I'll kill him for what he did!" he released her, and turned heading for the door. But she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, he could feel her tremble against him.

"Raeghun, stop! Stop it, please… Please…" she begged as she held on to him, and he breathed. The coolness of her skin dousing the blaze in him, and he turned so she could press herself against his chest.

"I am yours… Only yours… I always will be…" she promised, the skin of her cheek chill against his throat and his arms went around her, his mouth pressed to her hair.

"I know. I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at the situation." his left hand came to her face, and he made her look up at him again

"I have to be so careful to keep you safe." he could manage a small, grateful smile.

"Would you have preferred a different wife?" she asked, and he laughed.

"Oh, hell no. I'll put you in a box and carry you with me if I must. I couldn't live with myself if I ever let anything happen to you." he pressed her against him, allowing her frost to diminish his flame.

"And I thank the stars, that Falgon takes his duty this seriously…" he breathed, blessing the day the former mercenary lay his sword down to them.

"You trust him that much?" she asked, having to snigger.

"He has never given me any reason not to. I am more suspicious of your handmaidens than I am of him." he drew back from her, his memories receding to a past not too long ago.

"Do you remember, our journey back home from the tournament?" he asked,

"Of course I do." she tried not to reflect on it, on the fear and the dreams.

"Had Falgon truly been a mercenary at heart, he could have taken advantage of the situation himself. But he didn't. Not then, and not tonight. For the second time in less than three months, his only interest was protecting you, and bringing you back to me. That's how I knew then… and how I know now that I can trust him." he confirmed, and then lay his head against hers, his arms again growing tighter around her small frame.

"I love you, Claira. I love you more than anything in this world. I would do anything, give anything to see you safe and happy. And so help me, if I need to surrender anything, or destroy everything for your sake, I will do it." he said, and her hands touched his face.

"Raeghun, there is only one thing that I need from you; and that is to be at your side. For the next hundred, or thousand years, I don't care. I just need you." he smiled at her.

"You have me. Always." he leaned down to kiss her, sweet and gentle before the flames in him fired again and he slid the dress from her shoulders. He kissed her deeply and passionately as he took her from the floor and lay her on the bed, releasing himself from his garments and bringing himself closer between her knees, his lips warm and ravenous against the skin of her throat; and he made her gasp against him.

It was close to midnight when Willmon returned to his library, finding that sleep evaded him this night. While deciding on stealing to the kitchen for warm spiced wine, and claiming a book from his library to distract his mind, he found Falgon in the glow of the hearth, a book open in his hands, and the great sword against the wall next to the fireplace, and Willmon assumed that this was his watch. He breathed in, and slowly approached.

"There's no need for a vigil, ser. You may find your rest." he assured, and the dark eyes came up at him as the sentinel lay the book down on the table, stood and bowed.

"Thank you, your excellence. But I find that I have rather conformed to the nights. And please, I'm no 'ser'." he corrected, once again.

"Regardless..." Willmon moved to the fire, deciding on how to continue.

"I've finally realized who you are." he said softly, his eyes set on the flames before he turned back; the sentinel staring at him, his interest in the book forgotten. He recognised a single moment of surprise in the dark eyes before it faded, and he smiled.

"Please forgive my saying so, your excellence. But I highly doubt that." he returned calmly, almost confidently.

"That depends on your perspective. You're different from most men, both physically and mentally. You're taller, stronger, faster, smarter, calmer and greatly skilled. These traits, even individually are not something people are often simply born with; and you're still this young. And your speech is something that I've never heard before, despite my time on this earth." Willmon pointed out, judging that the sentinel could not have been long past ten years his eldest son's senior.

"I've had the time to learn, your excellence." Falgon said, and Willmon reflected on that.

"Yes, I assume it must have taken years from you." he agreed, feeling sympathy.

"Many. Whilst most boys may recall the exhilaration of feeling a bladed edge in their hands the first time, I can scarcely recall a time that I was without one." he told, and then Willmon smiled.

"Also, when loyalty means more to you, than honour; it makes you dangerous. It makes you unpredictable." Willmon identified.

"Mercenaries complete their assignments simply for coin, they have little use for honour." Falgon said, and Willmon breathed out, white teeth showing from his full beard.

"True. Mercenaries have never shown much regard for honour, or loyalty. But you're not a mercenary, are you? You have shown more in both of these, than some lords that have come to my hall." he recollected before returning his eyes to Falgon's.

"Further, you are driven by an irrefutable, perhaps even irrational motivation to protect my daughter." he added,

"I belong to her. I am her shield. Nothing more." Falgon said, and Willmon nodded.

"That you are. But you are more." he said, assuringly to the confusion, perhaps even frustration of the sentinel.

"I don't know what you mean." he said as he looked away from the lord.

"You will. You may be seen as a commoner, Falgon. But your blood is old. Perhaps even as old as mine. And although I may not know you, or your exact origin; I must tell you that it brings me great relief that you are watching over my Claira. You came into their lives a shadow, now one of their brightest flames." Willmon said, and a short silence followed; but Falgon did not meet his eyes.

"I've been searching for so long..." he said softly, and Willmon approached laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Your search has ended. You are where you must be." he assured, and the dark eyes came to him. After a moment's pause, he smiled and nodded; grateful for the compassion and discretion of the lord.

"I am her shield." he confirmed again, and Willmon smiled warmly.

"You are their stone." Willmon added, again to the same instant of surprise; but the smile remained.

"Good night, Falgon." he greeted, and then moved past the sentinel.

"Sleep well, your excellence." he returned, Willmon paused for a moment sparing the book open on the table a fleeting glance.

" _The Black Sword_. Quite an interesting piece, I must say. There are only three of those books in existence, if I recall correctly. One is held in the Citadel in Oldtown, the other I believe to be in an archive in Braavos. And the last, here." he recognised the work.

"It is. But to my regret, I might not be able to finish it." Falgon agreed,

"Take it with you. You may return it to me in time." Willmon proposed.

"I couldn't, your excellence. Such a rare piece, must remain protected." Falgon declined politely, and then Willmon turned back to him.

"I insist. A single tome won't leave my assemblage empty." Willmon said smiling.

"Thank you, your excellence. I will take care of it, I promise." he said, and then Willmon turned to leave the library.

"I know you will." he affirmed, perhaps not entirely referring to the book alone, then disappeared through the door. Falgon then brought his attention back to the book as he resumed his place, taking the book up in his hands, but not taking in a single word as his mind and memories withdrew.

Early morning came, under the cover of white mist and preparations started for a journey home. Charle ascended the staircase to a figure approaching, shadowed by a tall guard.

"Claira, may I see you?" he asked, and she stopped to look at him, the clear blue of her eyes doing little to shadow her awareness of him.

"Why?" she asked, reserved and wary.

"Because this may be the last time I ever do. I'm leaving for the Dreadfort today." he explained, and took a step closer to take her hand in his.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry that I scared you. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I swear I never meant to, and hope someday you may find it in you to forgive me." he said, and then brought her fingertips to his mouth softly before looking up at the sentinel at her side.

"And I'm sorry for my accusations, ser Falgon. You were right for what you did, and then you further tried to preserve what honour I had left… Thank you for that." Falgon nodded, not saying a word, and then Charle's eyes came back to Claira.

"I wish you every blessing, Claira. And a thousand years of happiness." he said, and she breathed in to strengthen herself before pulling her hand away from him.

"Good bye, Charle." she greeted him.

"Farewell, lady Taugere." he returned, and then left down the stairway, meeting her husband and his sentinel halfway along the great hall where he extended a hand to him.

"Safe journey to you, and your people lord Taugere." Raeghun took his hand solidly, but the burn of his eyes had not yet entirely subsided.

"And to you, lord Bolton." he said, and Charle bowed his head to them both before turning to leave, making his way towards the doors.

"If I never see that man again, it will be a blessing." Berin muttered taking a step closer to Raeghun, and heard the lord utter a subtle sigh.

"Well, I assume you may remedy that opinion, Berin." Raeghun said as his eyes came to his friend, the clear and burning blue revealing what he would be the only one to understand. Berin nodded, and then moved away from his side.

"Lord Charle, if you would not mind, I'll accompany you for a while, scout the road ahead for us before we too, make our departure." he called, and Charle turned back.

"You're welcome to. But the northern roads are often quiet, and free from difficulties." they left the hall together, and the rest of the early morning was spent preparing the horses and the cart for the road back to Mount Ardor, while Claira spent the final few hours with her family and sister by law. Before noon, their column passed under the white gatehouse followed by the skewbald colt and his cart, down the path that would take them home; and only by late afternoon Berin rejoined the company where they found him waiting on the road close to a woodland border.

"What happened to you?" Gavin asked, noticing a long inflamed abrasion along Berin's neck, he wiped at it and laughed.

"My own stupidity. I was so embroiled in conversation with lord Bolton, I didn't notice a very low hanging branch. Damn thing nearly slit my throat." he explained, and then Raeghun looked his way as he came up next to him.

"I trust lord Bolton found his way?" he enquired, and Berin's eyes met his.

"Yes, my lord. We parted ways not too long ago." he confirmed, the glint sharing what words would not.

"Good. Let us hope that the roads favour us all, and bring us safely home." he mentioned as he faced the quiet road, the horses passing to an easy trot over the soft earth. Again their journey followed the same pattern that it has twice before in a peaceful north. The day they passed the grey stone stronghold of the Starks, their Captain of the guard Jory Cassel awaited them with another two guards in attendance to inform them that lord Stark has decided not to proceed with the proposed warding of Jon, but that he might reconsider in another few years. And also, to their delight it had been announced that lady Catelyn was again with child. Raeghun thanked the soldiers for taking the time to meet them with their lords decision, and sent their congratulations on a growing house before resuming their way down the King's Road. Days and nights passed, every sunset fuelling their longing for home, to witness the walls of the burning mountain coming into view at dusk, and to see it blaze in the setting sun. But days came, and days went; each bringing them closer to home before finally entering the gold fields of the Corridor. They kept heading down the path in the dark carrying torches just as the last of twilight faded away, towards a nearby inn where they would stay for the evening, just past the next farmstead. The horses trudged on up the slope, and as they crossed the hill into the next field a furious blaze met them. The farmhouse was aflame, the farmer with his son and workers desperately trying to douse the flames with buckets of water from a nearby well as they rushed between the stones in a panic; but the heat of the fire dispersed the liquid before the next pail could be brought. Two women stood off to one side weeping as they held each other. The horses passed to a gallop down the road to the devastation where Raeghun dismounted and swiftly approached the farmers.

"Is anyone still inside?" he asked, raising his voice over the rumble of the fire and the women rushed to him.

"The children, m'lord. The children was sleeping in the back when the fire broke." One said as she fell at his feet, and looked up with glinting reddened eyes through tears.

"Please help us, m'lord. Please, I beg you." She besought, her hands going to his feet, the desperation of a young mother heedless of considerations. Raeghun looked at the building, and breathed in reaching through his mind for what to do as he took in the intensity.

"How many?" he asked.

"Three, m'lord." She answered without any hesitation.

"Fuck…" he looked over at the farmer, yelling directions to his farm hands.

"Bring me a full pail!" Raeghun shouted, and then turned to others behind him.

"Berin, get the blankets! Falgon, stay with Claira. The rest of you, make sure everyone else is accounted for, and do what you can to help bring down the flames." He ordered, the sentinels already bringing their hands up to remove the cloaks, and then looked at Berin as he came holding three blankets in his hands.

"You and Edur are with me." He assigned, and Berin nodded. Claira's hands went to his chest.

"Please, please don't go." She pleaded, and he took her hands.

"These are my people. I have to." A single farm hand brought a vessel of water to them, which they poured over the blankets, soaking them through and then they draped the wet sheets over them, running towards the devastated building. Flames and black smoke billowed from every window and an already collapsed roof, they stood on either side of the door ringed with fire to draw a last breath before entering into the now glowing furnace. Claira watched in terror, every moment feeling like a day as they waited and the flames grew despite the frantic attempts of the still rushing people joined by their sentinels. A sudden haunting rasp sounded from somewhere amidst the glow, and Claira's hands covered her mouth as the rumble became a long hollow groan and the right side of the farmhouse sank away into embers and smoke to the screams of the women at her side, fire flooded from the arch that was a door not too long ago. She moved forward, calling her husband's name although he'd not be able to hear and a strong hand was laid on her shoulder, before she succumbed to shock and fright, sinking onto the grass as she prayed; prayed to anyone that would listen, old and new. _Please, bring him back to me. Only this one thing, I ask of you. Bring him back to me…_ Flames tore at what was left of the roof, rising up to the sky and she couldn't do anything but watch, but just as her heart started to sink away in the waste of despair, two shadows emerged from the glow, holding small forms against them. Running to a safe distance, Raeghun and Berin lay the boys on the grass as they gasped, wheezed and coughed while the men draped the still wet blankets over them and the women fell down at their sides. Despite the ravage of the smoke to their chest, Raeghun stood and turned to head back just as the final shadow appeared, and the left wall of the home crumbled away. Edur moved forward with the smallest of the children in his arms, something between a run and a stumble, sinking to his knee as the lord reached his side; coughing as the smoke burnt at his throat and lungs.

"Are you al right?" Edur looked up and held out the tiny body.

"Take her… Don't worry… about me… Take the girl…" he breathed through strained gasps, and passed a little bundle with light chestnut coloured hair to the lord; eerily silent and motionless, the skin darkened by smoke and soot. He brought her close, and put his ear to her face before cursing again and moving away to clearer ground, kneeling and lying the little body on the ground facing the sky, and Berin came to him.

"She's not breathing." He tilted the girl's head, and brought his mouth down over hers twice, forcing the withered little lungs to expand before bringing his hands to her chest and pressing; working the unmoving heart. A crying mother ran to them, calling her child's name before Berin's hands took hold of her shoulders to halt her.

"Wait." She stood as he held her, drowning her overwhelmed cries with a hand clasped over her mouth, watching as the liege of the Corridor tried and tried and tried again to bring life back to one that had yet to truly start; but shock and the receding flow of adrenaline ate away at his strength and energy. Again he tried, and again, perhaps twenty times before Berin lowered himself to his knees on the other side of the girl, Raeghun's movements small and inept as the vigour died away. He put a hand to Raeghun's shoulder.

"Raeghun." Berin's green eyes regarded him, still struggling forth.

"I won't give up! I won't! Not yet!" he said, forcing his worn muscles to respond.

"We won't. But rest, I'll take over." Raeghun moved back, allowing his friend to resume the struggle as he sat back and took in a breath, watching as Berin continued the battle for a life. Breathe, press-press-press; breathe, press-press-press; breathe, press-press-press; on he fought perhaps another count of twelve times before a ragged series of coughs and deep breaths moved the little chest, and the girl started to cry as fright and pain came back to her, but the sentinel too her up in his arms and held her, soothing until the terrified cries calmed and the mother came forward with her hands held out.

"Thank you, m'lords. Thank you. No words can pay you for saving my family." She said, clasping the girl against her chest, and Raeghun felt cool arms wrap around him.

"Thank goodness you're al right..." his wife breathed against him, and his hand went to her arms, pressing it against him. The farmhouse was left completely destroyed, naught left but the stones and smouldering ash.

"What do we do now?" the farmer sighed, taking in the devastation.

"Come with us to the inn." Raeghun suggested as he stood, and wrapped his arm around Claira.

"We'll have you lodged for a few days as you start rebuilding your home. I'll send whatever aid I can to you, once we reach Mount Ardor." he said, and the farmer looked back at him, sorrow and gratitude battling for dominance in his stare.

"Your generousness is overwhelming, m'lord. We can't accept that too, with all that you've done." he tried to decline.

"You are my countrymen. Your welfare is one of my responsibilities." Then he turned, making his way back to the horses.

"M'lord..." the farmer tried again.

"I will hear nothing more." Raeghun silenced them, and tried to help Claira back onto her stallion, finding that the strength had left him. He breathed and looked at her.

"It's al right." she whispered, and looked towards Falgon.

"Ser Falgon, if you'd be so kind, please." he stepped forward, and lifted her up; easily seating her on Brazier's saddle and then he looked at Raeghun.

"May I offer you my strength as well, sire?" he asked, and Raeghun chuckled.

"Thank you, ser. I'll be fine." he assured, and moved away to mount his own horse with more than a little bit of effort. The farmers duly gathered what they still could, and followed the party across the next hill to the inn where they stayed for the night; and by morning the Taugere's and their guards departed the inn, leaving enough to sustain the farmers in food and bedding for another four days before they reached the marvel of the sunstone walls around Mount Ardor by late afternoon that day.

Their return to the burning mountain was fierily welcomed, and by morning the lord sent a stone mason from their own hold along with two carpenters from Garde's Post to help in the rebuilding of the destroyed farmstead. The day passed as it normally would, while Claira found herself wondering if the farmers were doing well. Milla accompanied Claira to the kitchen to discuss the evening meal with cook Jeody. The kitchen was engaged as workers cut and cleaned, the stores were fully stocked with barrels of vegetables, baskets of fruit, fresh carcasses of hares, fowl and other manner of creatures hung from hooks in the ice room. Claira discussed the evening's options with Jeody while he headed to a cauldron of fowl boiling on the cookfire. He lifted the lid, and a wave of steam rose into the air, bursting globules sounding off the surface of the brown broth. Suddenly, Milla's hand covered her mouth and she darted from the kitchen through an open door to the garden. Claira stared in shock,

"I'll be right back, Jeody." she said, and he nodded.

"Of course, my lady. I'm not going anywhere." he said, replacing the lid of the cauldron over the pungent stew, and Claira left after her friend into the garden. She found her near the back of the garden among the shrubs lining the balustrade bordering the edge that looked over the Sunset Sea, breathing heavily.

"Milla, are you al right?" she asked concerned, and then she looked up after another deep breath and nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine. I couldn't stand the smell of meat for two weeks now." she said, and Claira's hand went to her arm gently.

"Perhaps you should go see maester Adlyn." she suggested, but Milla shook her head.

"I have." she said, and Claira's eyes searched her face for an answer.

"And what did he say?" she asked.

"He explained that this is normal, and usually doesn't last long." she said.

"Normal for what?" Milla's eyes came to her then, reddened by tears.

"Milla?" both Claira's hands rested on her friend's arms as Milla's hands went to her face to discard escaped tears.

"Claira, I'm with child." she said softly, and Claira stared at her dazed for an instant.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and Milla nodded.

"Maester Adlyn confirmed it." she said, her hands covering her face but Claira's arms went around her as she finally understood why she felt so confused here before leaving, and then the changes suddenly vanished. She wanted it so much, that her own body answered to an alteration that did not belong to her, long before her court maiden realized it.

"I'm so sorry, my lady. I can't help feeling that I've stolen this from you..." she whimpered softly, but Claira smiled.

"No, Milla. This is wonderful news. Does Berin know?" she asked, and Milla shook her head.

"Not yet. I want to tell him on his name day, after tomorrow." she said, and Claira smiled hugging her friend closer.

"What a beautiful gift..." she reflected as they stood together, sharing these few moments. A page appeared on the garden path, a lean young boy of twelve with dark red hair and deep green eyes.

"Excuse me, lady Claira." he called, and she turned to him before he stepped tentatively closer.

"Maester Adlyn asked that I give you this." he informed as he reached out his hand, a parchment curled in his palm. She took it and thanked him, then he left again the way he came. She unrolled the parchment and read the message, again and again up to four times before her mind took in the words written in her brother's hand. Lord Charle Bolton never returned to the Dreadfort, and he never will... She returned to Jeody to approve their selection for supper, and spent the remainder of the day inside her common room, adding the flowers to the basket she started; but her mind wandered the northern fields wondering what happened. The place she'd once known to be peaceful and calm became rigid and overcast with shadows and lurking eyes. After the banquet most of the hold retired to bed, and she found Raeghun in the Hollow alone, reading the same parchment she had to repeat to herself several times earlier this day. Then his eyes came up at her, and he lay the roll down on the table.

"Charle didn't make it back. They found his horse in a field, and a day later his body; eaten by animals. They assume that cut-throats ambushed him, but they were not found." she told, having to say something to his stare, to the burning blue of his eyes.

"I see. But, that really shouldn't concern you, Claira." he said, calm and indifferent; then she felt a sting as the electrical energy of shock rushed through her.

"It wasn't that, was it?" she asked softly, only to the cool blue gaze of his eyes.

"Raeghun, how could you?" she demanded suddenly, trying not to rise her voice.

"He threatened you." he reminded her, and she looked away from him.

"He didn't threaten me..." she tried, clenching her hands.

"Maybe not directly. But he scared you so much, so that your sentinel found a need to carry you back to me. Tell me, what is the penalty of a threat against the lady of Mount Ardor?" he asked, remaining calm and folding his hands on the table; and for that instant he made her think of her own father. Calm, calculating, cold... but this was to the border of cruelty.

"He didn't want to..." she whispered, not wanting to believe what had been done.

"That doesn't matter. When a thief, or a rapist or a murderer insists that they didn't _want_ to commit the crime, that doesn't excuse them from it. The charges remain the same, and so does the judgement. Did you believe that this was something I would cast off?" he asked, and she looked at him again, eyes glinting both enraged and piteous.

"No..." she was torn, shredded between understanding and not wanting to believe.

"Good night." was the only words left for her to say before turning.

"Sleep well, my lady." he returned formally, and she vanished down the hallway. She walked until a shadow halted her, and she looked up into clear green eyes, a once red lesion now little more than a discoloured blemish.

"Was it as easy? Taking a life, than it was to save one?" she asked, and Berin smiled.

"Easier. I fought harder to make her heart start beating, than I did to stop his." he confessed, and she looked away from him.

"I can't believe this..." she muttered, still refusing the outcome.

"People do things, my lady. Sometimes, the wrong things, for the right reasons. It comes down to the answer of a simple question: What will you risk for your family?" There was only one answer...


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 – THE TOWER OF LIGHT

Milla stood on the deck of a trader's barge called _Willow Horizon_ , a great three decked darkwood marvel of perhaps 160 feet with linings resembling the colour of faded gold and royal blue sails, the bowsprit fashioned to an old leaning willow tree. It knew the waters well, as it carried loads of spices, wines, fabrics and foods around the world. She breathed slowly, just taking in the afternoon sun and conspicuously warmer summer climate than what they were accustomed to, watching as the landscape changed from flat, to fisher's villages, to hills, to rocky climbs, to forests, to rivers and waterfalls along the coastline of their country, reflecting on events of the past weeks. Her husband's name day came and went, a beautiful day under the shine of the sun. And at their evening feast, she could finally declare to him in front of the hall of their home that she was carrying his child within her. He held her so close she could clearly feel his heartbeat against her chest... Claira had persuaded her rather enthusiastically to accompany them to Oldtown for the attendance to the wedding of lord Raeghun's youngest sister, lady Mae to lord Cladus Hightower; seeing as she had never been past The Twins the southern part of the world was a place that only existed from stories. After much discussion and the sound advice of maester Adlyn that there will be no danger to her or the child she agreed. Some days later they took the King's Road to Seagard, where lord Raeghun reserved passage by sea to Oldtown, saving them at least a week's travel by road, and leaving their horses to the care of the stable yard until their return. It was exciting, both she and Claira had never travelled this way before, they would often just watch as ships pass by across the Sunset Sea from Mount Ardor's beautiful gardens; and would wonder where they were bound as the silhouettes of sails disappeared into the last glow of sunset, and what wonderful treasures they carried. But despite their initial fear of leaving their safety to something that seemed unstable at best, they were assured that the captain of the _Willow Horizon_ was well experienced and had seen near to forty years at sea, travelling the world and its waters since the age of ten, and his crew being equally capable, the journey turned out to be very pleasant. Their meals were not as hearty as what was served by cook Jeody, but did enough to sate the hunger, and their private cabins were not spacious but was at least comfortable, and washing was often left to only mildly warmed water. Although, she had to confess that the curious silence of her friend was worrying, she hadn't spoken much to either her husband or to Berin beyond the occasional greeting or courteous reply. She felt arms wrap around her, strong and warm, the weight of a head resting on her shoulder and the telling scent of watered grass came over her.

"Is everything al right, my sunflower?" Berin's loving voice met her, soft and soothing.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just thinking." she replied, her hands resting on his arms.

"About what?" he pressed her gently tighter.

"Everything." she breathed, still reflecting on the world.

"Have you thought of a name, yet? If it would be a son or a daughter?" he asked, his hand stroking over her stomach, the ordinary miracle that had only just started to show.

"I haven't given too much thought to the gender, but if it's a girl we'll name her Bella." she said turning around to face him, meeting his smile.

"Interesting name. How did you think of that?" he asked as her arms came around his neck.

"The beginning of your name, and the end of mine." she explained and he nodded before glancing up at a clear blue sky, thick white clouds resting only on a distant horizon.

"And if the mother graces us with a son?" he asked as he looked back at her, and she slightly leaned her head to her left side.

"That's for you to decide." she reminded him, and he seemed to put some thought into that for a moment before laying his brow against hers.

"In that case, we'll name him Berterin." he decided, and she pulled slightly back to meet his eyes.

"That's a name I haven't heard before." she mentioned, and he looked away from her again for a moment.

"It was the name of my father, former lord of Bristlemane Stronghold." he explained, and then she smiled laying her head against his shoulder.

"Then it is a good name." she breathed against him, agreeing to the name.

"I'm glad you like it." his arms grew tighter around her as his mouth pressed against her hair.

"You've never spoken of your father." she realized, and he shrugged.

"I can't say much; I never knew him. Only what I've been told by my mother. He was a good man, brave and eager; but had a quick temper. She always… She used to say that I looked exactly like him." he paused, having to correct himself, and her arms softly pulled at him.

"I'm sorry about your family, about your home." she said, but he brought his hand to her face.

"I have a family, Milla. And a home. Mount Ardor and its people are ours. A flood can hit Bristlemane, and I couldn't care. I've never been happier than where I am now, at the burning mountain with you, surrounded by kin; and our little one approaching this world..." he said smiling, gently laying his hand on her stomach again, and they shared a happy embrace.

"Speaking of kin, do you know what's been bothering Claira?" she asked as she pulled back, and his eyes went away from hers, over the blue waters.

"No. She hasn't been speaking to me, if you haven't noticed." he reminded her, and she looked to the stern where her friend still might be.

"I have noticed, that's what's worrying me. Why is she not speaking to you?" she mentioned.

"I'm not sure. She hasn't spoken to Raeghun beyond a full conversation." he mentioned, and she leaned against him.

"I've known Claira since we were little children. She's always been a happy girl, but on the odd occasion her emotions are... too strong for her. But she's never been one to anger, and if she does she forgives quickly." she recalled, hearing Berin sigh.

"I'm sure it's just a passing event." he said as they looked back at each other.

"Shouldn't you try talking to her?" she asked, and he laughed.

"And say what?" he looked away again, the edges of his face pulling in amusement.

"I don't know. Anything. This aloofness isn't normal." she urged, and then they looked towards footsteps approaching. Claira was on her way to the bow dressed in a flowing dress the colour of amber, and a light ivory centre piece and most of her hair falling unrestricted down her back from a single pin holding the strands back. The bow was where they many times spent the day watching the world as it passed by with the day. Berin cast Milla a quick glance before turning to face her.

"Good day, my lady." he greeted, then she stopped and looked at him.

"Good day, Berin." she returned.

"How are you finding your travel by ship?" he asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Pleasant, thank you. And you?" she asked, and the corners of Milla's mouth pulled slightly up in a hopeful motion.

"Good. It's longer than my last one though." he mentioned, and Claira nodded.

"It's nice to hear you're enjoying it. If you'll please pardon me." she excused herself and continued on her way to her destination, and Berin turned to Milla breathing in deeply and then letting it go in subtle defeat.

"Well, I tried." he said, and she nodded sharing the loss.

"I know you did..." she said, and his hands rested on her arms.

"Go join her. She'll come to me when she's ready." he insisted, gently rubbing her arms and she nodded in agreement, then he leaned forward to kiss her before turning to leave. She watched him move away before turning and making her way towards the bow of the ship, and found her sitting on a crate looking over the world, not giving attention to anything in particular. Falgon stood on the other side facing the approaching waves, and she moved closer.

"Good day, my lady." she greeted as she sat down next to her.

"Good day, lady Milla. The weather is being kind to us, the captain has said that we might reach Oldtown later today. I dare say that I'm quite eager to exchange the sways of a ship for solid land." she said turning to her and smiling, and Milla nodded in agreement.

"That is fine news. I too believe that our journey by water has been long enough." she said.

"How have you been feeling?" Claira enquired.

"The nausea has ended, finally. I'm just tired all the time; and I might have developed a peculiar want for berries." she mentioned, and Claira leaned over placing a hand on her knee.

"As soon as we dock, we'll find you some. There's bound to be a merchant stall somewhere." she assured, to Milla's secret delight.

"Thank you, my lady. You're too kind." she said, blushing and then Claira's gaze returned over the waters, and Milla looked at her, examining her features. She seemed calm and content, above an underlying struggle.

"Claira, are you al right?" she managed to ask, and her friend looked back at her.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?" she seemed confused, or at least she wanted to seem that way.

"You've been acting, a bit different." she pointed out, and for that moment Claira looked away from her, shielding her eyes.

"I'm fine. Or, I will be... You have better things to worry about, than me." she turned back, again smiling and indicating Milla's only slight waist, but Milla reached out, her hand resting on Claira's elbow and feeling the chill through the fabric.

"You can tell me anything, you know that right?" she encouraged, and Claira nodded; thankful for the gesture.

"Yes, I know. Thank you, Milla." a sudden order of loud disturbances from the water behind them made them turn to witness a group of strange animals racing beside the ship; leaping from the surface of the water and disappearing into the waves again. Claira stood and approached the railing of the ship to see them better. She had never seen anything like these creatures before, they were great, long slender beasts in shades of blue, green and purple; with large flat tails and smaller fan-like limbs, two on each side. A long spine protruded from the creature's back, the first feature that was visible before the body broke the surface of the ocean. It had a long nose, with big eyes, and made clicking and tweeting noises as they played in the rush. They stared in awe at them,

"What on earth are those?" Claira breathed, not being able to take her eyes away from them.

"Wave Shepherds, your grace. They're a rather common sight around ships, but mostly in deeper waters." Falgon's voice came from behind them, and she turned to look at him. He had come from his post on the other side to share their view, but he didn't seem in the least surprised at the creatures; and then she looked down the length of the ship where most of the other members on board had also gathered to see the animals; and then she looked back at the shapes in the water.

"They're astonishing..." she said, taking in the bright sheen of colours, like a magical dance,

"People of the sea would tell you that they're friends. Many have been saved from drowning, by one of those Shepherds. Brought up from destroyed and sinking ships, and close enough to shore to live on and share their stories." he explained, and for some reason that made her happy. To think that even in a place as vast and forlorn as the oceans, there might be someone watching over people.

"You've spent quite a bit of time on ships..." Claira mentioned, perhaps more to herself than anyone around them, and Milla turned to Falgon.

"Oh yes, Berin mentioned you were quite a traveller." she remembered, and his eyes met hers.

"You recall my former occupation, lady Milla. Mercenaries go where they're sent, or where there is employment and gold to be had." he reminded, and she looked back at the waves.

"Yes, but you've never been one for much of the latter. I still can't think of you as a mercenary. I've always imagined them as ruthless, violent, perhaps even blood thirsty men..." she said.

"Mercenaries are people, just like anyone else. And like anyone else, you will find good and bad among them." he said, and she took that in.

"They're not hired simply to kill?" she asked,

"Not at all. Mercenary contracts consists of many things, besides bloodshed. Safe escorts for people and cargo, or the protection of specified landmarks or items being some of them. But there is one fatal flaw with hiring mercenaries." he explained,

"And what is that?" she asked as she looked back at his dark eyes.

"You can't trust them. They would discard their objective for enough coin." he said, and she nodded finding herself wanting to know more.

"If you're so different, why did you choose the life of a mercenary?" she asked, and he looked away from her; his eyes settling on Claira who still stood watching the Shepherds in the surf.

"Because, for a long time I couldn't do anything else." he said softly, and she felt a mixture of joy and sadness for him.

"I am happy that you've found something better, Falgon." she mentioned, and saw him smile.

"So am I." he agreed, and she thought of something different.

"How far have you gone?" she asked, and he lifted his head to face the horizon somewhere far off.

"Would saying that I've seen the extent of the Known World be enough, my lady?" he asked, and she turned towards him just a little bit more.

"If you wouldn't mind being a tiny bit more specific. I'm afraid my knowledge of the world isn't that complete." she teased, but having seen the many maps in her father's hold and in maester Adlyn's tower she felt confident; and he chuckled for a moment's thought, trying to bring up the places.

"I've been as far north as The Ibben, I've seen the Thousand Islands, I've spent time between Andalos, the Dothraki Sea, the Red Waste, The Great Sand Sea and the Grey Waste mostly escorting trade cargo's; once we passed the black city of Asshai from a port in Yin, sailed over the Jade Sea through the Cinnamon Straits to Faros and from there to Volantis. And I have been as far south as the coast of Sothoryos before returning here to Westeros; perhaps seven years ago." he calculated as she stared at him, her bright green eyes wide.

"Is something wrong, my lady?" he asked, and she sniggered.

"No. All those places..." she tried to imagine it, and he laughed.

"A lot can happen in a few years, we never stayed in one area for long." he said before his eyes again went to Claira who stepped back from the railing.

"They're getting close." she mentioned, still watching the shadows in the water, now only a few feet from the hull of the ship.

"Don't worry about them. They can see us better than we can see them." he eased, and then Colbert emerged coming from the stern side of the ship, formally bowing as he reached them. Like all their sentinels, he was a lean man and muscularly built, he had light gold hair and grey-blue eyes, a slightly curved nose and highly pronounced cheekbones above a narrow jaw, but his experience in the world was well set in the lines of his face. Along with Adelard and Hernaut, these three were the oldest members of their order, ranging between their forties and fifties. Raeghun had once made a proposition of allowing the sentinels to choose an age for withdrawal; from where they may return to the castle guard or live out their lives in privacy with their families; which of course they refused, true to their nature.

"My apologies for disturbing you, my ladies. Lord Raeghun has requested that they be joined for a final meal with the captain before entering the docks at Oldtown." he announced, and Claira glanced at Milla before looking back at Colbert.

"We're that close?" she asked, and he nodded.

"The captain has said so, my lady." he acknowledged, and she readied herself.

"Very well, then." she said, and then looked back at Falgon.

"You may remain here, if you wish. You seem to enjoy the bow quite a bit." she allowed, and he bowed his head.

"Thank you, your grace." then she looked at Milla.

"Will you accompany me?" she asked, and Milla nodded.

"In just a moment my lady, I'd like to issue a quick farewell to our friends the Shepherds." she said quickly, looking over the railing at the creatures; and then Claira sighed before she turned and moved away with Colbert shadowing her. Milla's attention came back to Falgon.

"Falgon, do you know what is bothering lady Claira?" she asked softly, hoping that he would be better able to clarify the situation they found themselves in, and he looked down at her.

"She has not told me anything, my lady. And I did not ask." he said, and she shook her head.

"No, of course you wouldn't have." thinking she probably should have known better she watched the black and white hair move down the length of the ship. A sudden gust of wind made the ship rock, and she lurched forward in to a strong arm, giving her some stability.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and she blushed as she found her footing.

"Yes, thank you." she looked up, the wind had blown his brown cloak over his left shoulder revealing his arm.

"I've never seen this before." she said, admiring the many intricate weaves in different colours of a leather band bound around his upper arm and he looked down, realizing he'd forgotten about it again.

"It's usually hidden under the cloak. It was a gift, for my twenty first year." he told, her eyes still tracing the complex pattern.

"It's beautiful. Who gave it to you?" she enquired, and he smiled, his dark eyes soft and nostalgic.

"Thank you. My mother. She died a year later." he said, and a bitter stab found her chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry." was all that she could manage, and his eyes went away from her.

"It's al right. It was long ago." he said, and she nodded.

"Well, I should probably join the others." she said, then excused herself and made her way to the stern.

By noon, the tallest tower in Westeros came into view with its burning crown, as the _Willow Horizon_ turned for the Whispering Sound that surrounded it. Docking was fairly easy with calm waters, and the lords and ladies with their sentinels left the Willow to tend to its business. The captain had advised that he planned on being at port for a fortnight, allowing himself and several crew members to spend time with their families before returning to Lannisport, should they wish to return that way with them; which Raeghun gratefully accepted. They hired a small mule-cart to haul whatever belongings they brought, and true to her word Claira found a merchant amidst the banter of the docks, and bought a selection of sweet berries from him. It was a sound walk to where they could be transported to the tower itself, but they were all thankful for it; weeks confined to a single space left their limbs eager for movement. The sun set low as a sizeable ferry glided over the still water towards Battle Isle, where the awe-inspiring Hightower kept its watch over city and sea, and they docked at the castle's private white-stone port where a party of guards clad in plate armour and deep grey cloaks met them along with several castle hands. The ferry workers stepped off, securing it to the dock before Raeghun, Berin and Falgon departed and then helped the rest onto solid ground. As the chests were being unloaded a guard approached Raeghun.

"Welcome to Hightower, my lord. May I assume you are expected?" he asked politely, and Raeghun nodded.

"Yes. Please inform lady Mae Taugere that she has a guest." he said,

"Yes, my lord." and the guard turned to leave after a quick bow. Shortly after, their company followed the remaining guardsmen and castle hands up a pathway of steps to the hold, two large torches flanking the wide doorway. They stepped inside, into a vast hall with many white pillars and grand windows, a long carpet of almost black grey stretched from the great door to the other side where a single marble seat stood on a dais overlooking the hall from in front of a great banner, between two tall doors. They marvelled at the space, and then a sudden thundering series of deep loud barks made Claira jump as lord Cladus emerged with three hounds around him, one brown, one black with brown points and another with black spots on grey, but a brown head with blue eyes. She thought them enormous beasts for the instant before she saw them, feeling rather stunned that the powerful barks did not match the animals they came from. The ferocious dogs stood barely higher than the lord's calves on short legs, but seemed slightly disproportionate with long slender bodies. Big ears flapped on the sides of their heads, and big bright eyes sparkled above lengthy muzzles as they came trotting into the hall with staff tails raised high.

"My lords and ladies, welcome." he greeted them generously as the dogs moved in to investigate the guests.

"Mae will be extremely happy to see you, she's been a bit gloomy for the past few days." he shared extending a hand.

"I do hope you will enjoy your stay with us." he finished, and Raeghun smiled not paying much mind to the dogs sniffing about his boots before moving away and taking the lord's gesture.

"Thank you for your kind welcome, lord Hightower. I'm sure we will." he said, and then Cladus greeted the other guests as well while his small companions continued interrogating the fascinating new smells. The castle hands moved off with the visitors belongings to lodge them.

"Interesting guard companions you have." Berin mentioned as he looked at the dogs, moving around and between them with tails swinging.

"They may be small, my lord. But they're as gallant as the traditional mastiffs, or even your elk hounds although they don't need the wide spaces. These are badger hounds." Cladus explained, and then identified each of the dogs. The brown dog was named Woodley, the black and brown was Lace and the spotted with blue eyes was called Dapple, who now stood staring at Claira with tail wagging excitedly and eyes expectant; her own frost blue looking back. Then Dapple took a step forward, sounding off a loud bark that echoed in the hall making Claira move back with a start, and ending against her sentinel.

"Away with you!" Cladus ordered, and the dogs trotted off again, allowing Claira to breathe.

"My apologies for that, my lady. They get quite excited for new faces." Cladus apologised, and she had to laugh.

"It's quite al right, lord Cladus. They're adorable, for guard hounds." she said, and he returned the humour.

"They are, and they're good for whatever our family needs. Guards, hunters, companions, even nurses." he joked, and then expanded his attention.

"Come, I will have you accommodated; lady Mae should join us soon." he invited, and led them through one of the doors into winding halls and up stairs into the tower. They passed many great halls along the way, light coming in through each window illuminating the inside. This place was amazing and monumental, Claira thought that she'd never seen as many steps in her life. They passed into a longer corridor, the left wall nothing more than a severely long window with many arches and a high stone banister. From the other side came two guards, and a lady dressed in a soft gown of rose pink with open arms, her silver-gold hair braided over her right shoulder. She stopped for a moment, and then she started to run towards them, throwing her weight against Raeghun as she reached them and her arms went around him; but her force did nothing against his power and he stood solid. His arms circled her as he laughed,

"I thought you weren't coming." she breathed against him.

"I never said that. I said we might not make it in time." he corrected as he released her and drew back.

"Might not… But you did…" she smiled despite the sheen of tears in her bright blue eyes, and his hand moved to wipe them away.

"I had to. Whom else would present you to your husband?" he said, and she hugged him close again before composing herself to greet the other guests. Cladus turned his attention to the guards.

"Please show lord Raeghun's sentinels where they may be accommodated." he issued, and they returned a quick bow of their heads before herding them off down the corridor while Raeghun, Berin, Claira and Milla followed Cladus and Mae higher into the great tower. They were presented rooms in the private quarters where young lord Hightower opened a door to a lavish apartment with a wide arched window overlooking the coast, a comfortable bed under orange silks took up part of the room while a dresser stood to the opposite wall with a carpet of lavender purple and black design spread the expanse of the stone floor between the bed and the dresser, a small round table holding a pitcher with spring water, two silver goblets and a small basket with fruit; alongside two chairs waited in the corner.

"I hope you will be comfortable here, lord and lady Trentin." Cladus said, indicating the space and Berin smiled extending his hand.

"Thank you, lord Cladus. The chamber is beautiful, I'm sure we will be." he said,

"Your effects will be delivered here momentarily." Cladus further advised, and then turned to Raeghun and Claira.

"Lord and lady Taugere, if you will please. Your apartment is this way." he led them further, up another set of steps to a different room and opened the door. It was just as marvellous as the previous one, a fleecy pillowed couch stood next to the wall under a wall torch and a low table holding a basket of flowers, with yet another pitcher of water and two goblets stood before it on a carpet of wine red and gold detailing. A wardrobe stood against the adjacent wall with a polished mirror next to it while two raised steps led into an additional space housing a broad bed under gold silks, a long window opened to the horizon of blue against blue; and a door set in the wall before the bed opened to a small balcony with a small table and two chairs, a single stone planter holding a small yellow flowered shrub.

"I hope this will meet your requirements, my lord and lady." Cladus said as they stepped through the door and took in the grand surroundings.

"It's luxurious. Thank you." Raeghun returned as he looked back at him.

"I will have handmaidens from our own hold temporarily assigned to your wives to see to their care, for the extent of your visit here. There is a bath chamber for your use to the left, following first stairway into the private quarters. We will leave you to settle in, and this evening we will feast together. My father should be returning today from Honeyholt." Cladus said and Mae stepped forward, taking Claira's hands.

"If you need anything, all you need is to ask." she said smiling, and Claira gently squeezed her hands.

"Thank you, dear Mae." she smiled back at her sister, happy that they shared such a close relationship.

"Well, we look forward to this evening's feast." she finished, and then turned to join her betrothed back down the hallways. Raeghun breathed in deeply, and then stepped closer to Claira.

"Is our chamber to your liking, my lady?" he asked softly, his warm breath settling on her shoulder.

"It's lovely." she returned, not facing him.

"Shall I escort you to the bath chamber?" she shook her head lightly.

"I should be able to find it on my own, thank you." Raeghun looked down at the stone beneath his feet, momentarily reflecting on how lonely he felt. Not the kind of loneliness attributed to solitude, a deficiency of life around you; but an isolation that only the heart could know. He mentally argued with himself on multiple occasions to simply take her in his arms, to seize her mouth with his, to spill his suppressed blaze onto her ice, but each time decided against it, and allow her time to find herself again and return to him when she was ready to do so, and he would wait. Even if it took her five years, he would wait.

"Very well. Will you please pardon me, my lady?" she turned towards him slightly.

"Of course, my lord." he turned and left the chamber as she stood, feeling quite the same way he did. A young girl stepped into the doorway, light brown locks hanging over her shoulders, clear brown eyes and dressed in a soft gown of jade.

"Good day, my lady. I am called Lorete. I've been sent by lord Cladus Hightower to assist you in any way you are in need of." she announced, and Claira nodded.

"Actually, if you would not mind it too much; I would enjoy a short tour of the tower before enjoying a bath for this evening's feast." she suggested, turning to the girl who smiled broadly.

"Of course, my lady. Might I suggest a quick visit to the crown of the tower? Some have sworn you can see the wall from there." she said as Claira approached her.

"That sounds wonderful." Claira agreed.

Raeghun and Berin walked down the long hallway that was the long open span, leaving their wives to prepare themselves for the evening banquet as the sun touched the rim of the world.

"Are you al right, Raeghun?" Berin asked as they walked, breaking his friend's silence.

"I'm fine. It's warmer here than I thought it would be." he said mildly, and then Berin stopped looking at him.

"That's good, but not exactly what I meant." Berin said, and Raeghun sighed.

"I will confess that that my union has been left... devoid, so to speak." he breathed dourly.

"No change?" Raeghun shook his head.

"Not yet. I hope she'll come to understand..." he said softly, and Berin put a hand to his shoulder.

"I'm sure she will. This won't last. Your wife loves you." he assured, and Raeghun returned little more than a hopeful nod.

"She hasn't been speaking with you that much, either." he mentioned as they resumed their walk down the hallway, and Berin shrugged.

"No, she hasn't. And Milla has noticed. But although she's angered with us, I am thankful that she has remained at least tender-hearted." he said, but Raeghun's stare remained before him.

"It's been near to a month, Berin. I didn't think she had this kind of endurance." he tried making a joke of it, but it was a bitter statement.

"My Milla has mentioned that Claira isn't the like to stay mad. But we might have been a bit impulsive." Raeghun's clear eyes met his.

"I don't regret anything. We protected her honour. The honour and promise of our house. I might reflect on the lesser actions of an intoxicated man, but he wasn't drunk. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was fully intent on concluding his actions. And then he further insulted my people by denying it... and Falgon stood there taking it." he recalled, and Berin glanced at the horizon before they passed into the shadow of the tower.

"He was trying to avoid more conflict. Despite his allegiance to your house, and especially to lady Claira, if there are ways of resolving matters without drawing a sword he would rather resort to that. He's a great warrior, as having been trained specifically for warfare as far as I could gather; but he's an irenic man." Berin calculated, hearing Raeghun scoff.

"Unlike us, I take it." he sounded resentful.

"We may be many things, Raeghun. But murderers aren't among them. Charle accepted my challenge willingly, and even made me promise not to bury him so his people may find him. He fought well, but I don't think he was truly trying in the end." Berin said, and Raeghun stopped, debating in a moment of silence.

"I apologise that I asked it of you." he said softly, and Berin turned back to him smiling.

"Mount Ardor is my home, as it is yours. You're my lord, and my brother. Claira is your wife, that makes her my lady, and my sister. It is our duty to protect our house, and all of its people; even more so our ladies. They are our future, and the embodiment of our honour. And just like you, I will do whatever it takes to preserve it." he declared, bringing Raeghun's eyes to his with a grateful draw to his mouth.

"I could never have asked for better family, than what I've been given." he breathed, and they moved forward again.

"I could ask Falgon to discuss it with her again, as he is aware of the circumstances. She might listen to him." Berin suggested, but Raeghun chuckled.

"No, give her time. As much as she needs." he finally insisted as they made their way through the hall. They met Cladus further down in the hall, with his pack following him; from where they accompanied him to their hall to meet his father and mother whom had just returned from their endeavour. Lord Baelor Hightower met them wholeheartedly, leaving no question as to why he was appropriately named Baelor "Brightsmile". While awaiting the banquet, they settled in the white marble hall, conversing on the vast differences between their homes and the city under the Hightower's charge over a chalice of chilled white wine; and they shared eagerly. Oldtown was a beautiful city, the largest next to King's Landing. It housed many prestigious monuments including several septs, and the famous seat of the maesters, the Citadel, and lord Hightower briefly mentioned that Mount Ardor's own maester was rather celebrated for his talents. Raeghun confirmed that their maester Adlyn 'the healer' had no less than seven links of silver to his chain, apart from iron, black iron, copper, yellow gold, and a single valyrian steel link. However, he hadn't shared much of his life before starting his studies aged ten and two, apart from that he was born in Flea Bottom to an ailing mother, and a more often than not drunk father. But despite his origin and his circumstances, he was bright of mind and inspired to improve himself and whatever else he could with it. A good while later, a serving girl entered stating that the feast stood ready for their attendance, and they assembled to enjoy it. Mae joined their company first, dressed in flowing green; and then Milla, dressed in elegant blue with open shoulders and gold hemlines, and Claira followed in cream white with a glinting gold and pearl pin centred on her chest binding the low shoulders. They were bestowed seats of honour, to the right of their hosts. The tables were set with polished porcelain and silver, and they were presented with seared haddock, spiced potato, creamed spinach and steamed carrots along with sweet wine. The evening was pleasant, and they could enjoy fine conversation over their meal. Baelor shared with them over their feast, that Raeghun's sister Mae was a wonderful blessing to their family, and he had every faith that she would continue to help them 'Light the Way' for one another, and for their people, and that they looked forward to the union of their houses. Late into the night, with the feast ended and the hall cleared, they returned to their chambers. While the lords shared their final evening greetings, Claira redressed in the lightest garment she managed to find for their stay, and lay herself down on the couch as she thought back on their day. The air was still warm despite the deep of night, but she felt at least comfortable. Spending weeks on a ship through rocking water still had her sensing the sways of the waves, and it seemed that the couch was rolling, still lulling her to sleep as the world slowly started to disappear. Somewhere between the rush of the ocean she heard a door opening and closing softly, and gentle words to her ear: _Good night, my lady._ And her lips moved in return: _Sleep well, my lord..._

Falgon moved about the grounds of Battle Isle; having not asked formal permission to enter the library he decided against it to rather spend the night in the ocean air. The expanse around the great tower was not at all vast, consisting of only several walkways up and down stairways between small trees and shrubs; but he found it fitting enough to at least imagine the resemblance of a garden. He stopped on a flat surface overlooking the blue west horizon of the world, dark clouds and the rumble of thunder signalling the approach of a storm and the erratic winds bringing it swept the space around him. He watched shadows move across the calm of the night sea, occasionally lit by the light of flashes through the sky as he breathed out slowly. His queen was unhappy, and he so wished he could see her smile again. Not the mask that she donned so often since their return to Mount Ardor, but her real smile. The one that glowed. He looked down, recognising the stir of small waves against the stone of the island, knowing that there was nothing he could do for her. There was nothing to do, but trust that she would soften again. No winter ever lasted forever, and even the deepest mound of ice melted away eventually in the heat of the sun. Two sets of footsteps drew his attention and he looked back to see two young guards come up the stairs onto the flat expanse, and they smiled when they noticed him.

"Well, lord Taugere's Sentinel of Flame. What are you doing out here?" one asked as they approached him.

"I can't sleep. I thought I'd enjoy some time outside before returning to the guard's keep." he replied as he turned to face them, they were both smiling broadly. The Hightower guards were friendly, but perhaps a bit overzealous.

"How are you finding the Hightower, ser?" the other enquired.

"It's marvellous. But I'm no 'ser'." he corrected them.

"Oh, sorry. Your lady is very pretty." one complimented, and Falgon smiled.

"She is beautiful. Everything about her. Lord Raeghun Taugere had a truly unfathomable fortune to receive her as his wife." he agreed, and the guards glanced at each other.

"A beautiful wife, and a beautiful sister. Such fortune." one of the guards reflected.

"Theirs was an arranged marriage, wasn't it?" the other enquired.

"It was, as I understand. But a love truer than theirs is almost unfairly hard to find." he mentioned softly, reflecting on something once similar.

"Would you kindly excuse me, sers? I believe it time to surrender to the night, and I should not keep you from your duties." Falgon said, then bowed his head and moved off back to the keep; knowing that what waited for him was yet another evening of making out shapes and faces against the ceiling of a chamber while listening to the hum of falling rain, and old memories.

Claira was standing on the bow of the ship again, feeling the sways of the water and the soft spray on her skin. It was a clear day, and the Shepherds were once again racing along the side of the ship, the shine off their bodies like pearl in the light; and she thought of their freedom. To go where they pleased, to explore the extent of the unknown depths. She breathed in, taking in the salty air that surrounded her, the wind on her skin and the shine of the sun on her. Then the sensation of a warm hand moved down her arm gently, and that world faded away into darkness and her eyes slowly opened to see Raeghun kneeling beside her, and the sound of pouring rain outside.

"Claira, will you come to bed, please?" he asked softly, and she stirred slightly.

"Why?" he scoffed, and then laughed lightly.

"You're insisting on reasons? Al right: You're my wife, you belong by my side. It's too warm for me to sleep alone, I need the cool of your skin… And I miss having you in my arms." he gave his reasons, all quite justified; and she sighed.

"Raeghun…" She started, but didn't know how to continue.

"Please. I won't touch you, I swear." he urged, and she smothered a sob. _Please do! Please take me, hold me in your arms. Please kiss me the way you used to... Make me melt for you again..._

"Al right." she agreed, and drowsily raised herself from the seat while he waited patiently to escort her to the bed. A flash of silver light brightened the room for a moment as she lay down on the sheets, resting her head on the pillows; finding it infinitely more comfortable than the divan, the soft mattress forming to the shape of her body; taking her in almost completely like the water of the seas. And then she felt the pressure of her husband's body resting on the bed beside her, as promised he did not take her in his arms but simply lay against her to feel the chill of her skin; and they both once again succumbed to sleep for several hours before she woke again to a still grey and clouded horizon, the outright rain from earlier diminished to a soft drizzle. She wiped at a tear staining her nose. She could feel him against her, his warmth, his strength… Despite her denying him, he never grew frustrated or angry with her, never tried to force himself, never even ridiculed her, and the stretch of emptiness grew. But she had to confess that she did long for him, for his touch. They had shared little more than a fleeting discussion for near to a month. Perhaps it was time to forgive, both of them. Remaining angry won't change what happened, it only added to the unhappiness of her family. She turned around to face him, finding him seemingly still asleep, and wondered what to do before finally placing her hand to his shoulder feeling him stir. She thought of pressing her lips against his, but that might be too forceful, too sudden. Her fingers slid down to his chest, and even in the dark she could notice his eyes open.

"What's wrong?" and she breathed out slowly.

"I can't sleep..." she muttered, suffocating her emotions; but he gently lay his hand on hers, still against his chest.

"I'm sorry, Claira." he said softly, taken aback she stared at him.

"For what?" she finally managed.

"That you're mad at us." he said, and her eyes went to the silk below her.

"I'm not mad. Not really. Not as much as I am disappointed." she amended him, and heard him sigh.

"I know I haven't been there for you like I should have been. I haven't been a good husband to you like I should have been. Hells, I haven't been much good of anything the last month." he chastised himself, and she raised herself on her elbow looking at him.

"My Raeghun, you're a wonderful man. And the best husband. I just think you make rash decisions." she said, his blue eyes remaining on her.

"Some decisions may be rash, but my decision wasn't wrong. What was done, was to protect you and our house." he said, and her eyes closed for a moment.

"You had Berin kill Charle in the woods." she reminded him, and he smiled slightly.

"Berin is a soldier, not an assassin. He challenged Charle to a duel, like any honourable man would; and he accepted." he told, and a frigid wave struck her. Everything she had thought was wrong, every scenario she brought up severely false as she imagined Berin's sword bursting from his chest, or a dagger pulled across the tender skin of his throat.

"But... But I thought..." she started, and then he sat up to face her.

"Is that really how you see me? How you see him? As cold-blooded killers?" he asked, and she looked away from him.

"No... I just..." she hated herself, hated herself for thinking such cruel things of her family.

"You are mine. You're my wife, the lady of Mount Ardor and nothing less. No less may be expected from anyone to protect you and our honour." he said, taking her hand in his as she breathed out.

"I am yours... but you kept to yourself..." she said softly as he ran a finger softly up the length of her ring finger to her wrist, leaving a warmth she yearned for.

"There may be times when you don't believe this, but I respect you. I respect your wishes and your feelings. Yes, you are mine; but I don't own you. You're not a slave, or a sheep or a coin. You are my lady." he said, and then his hand came to her face, gentle on her cheek.

"Claira, may I kiss you?" she was surprised at his question.

"Why are you asking me that?" although it was an irrelevant question, he deemed it valid.

"Because you deserve to give me your answer." he said as his fingers slowly glided over her skin to her thick hair, and she glanced away.

"I don't want you to kiss me." she said, her heart pounding against her ribs.

"Al right." he moved away from her, stood and while folding a cloth around his waist disappeared through the door to their small private balcony, the heat of his hand leaving her cheek slowly before she stood and followed him outside. She found him looking over the rim of the world, his hands resting on the stone railing bordering the outside area; and she admired him once again. The soft sheen the subtle torch lights cast on the contours of his blatantly outlined muscles in the slight rain, and the obvious blemishes that were once deep wounds. She was his... And this man with a heart richer than any goldmine in the world was hers. She breathed in, expanding her lungs before releasing the air slowly and moved forward into the gentle drizzle to stand behind him, then her right hand gently lay on his shoulder while the fingers of her left moved slowly up his spine and she felt him shudder to her cold touch.

"I don't want you to kiss me..." she said softly, regaining control of herself.

"And I won't." he replied, and then her hands slid around his sides to wrap around his stomach, and her cheek rested against the heat of his back.

"I want you to make love to me." she felt him tense momentarily, and then he turned to face her, his left hand wrapping around her waist to pull her closer and his right settling on her cheek while hers still circled him.

"Are you sure about that? You've been starving me." he teased with a small smile, her hand came back from him and gently lay on his, pressing his palm against her face.

"Do you want me to persuade you, that badly?" she teased back, and he leaned back slightly against the railing.

"I might need some motivation." he said, and she smiled moving forward.

"Motivation?" she whispered as her hands slid down the length of his stomach to rest on his thighs, where she could feel his power. He breathed in deeply, trying to suppress the fire in his blood.

"A good reason to give in." he continued to tease, attempting to ignore her right hand sliding into the fabric around his waist.

"I could do that." she breathed against his neck as she took hold of him, forcing a rush of air into his chest as she slipped the garment from his waist and lowered herself against him while her lips moved softly down his chest and abdomen until she took him into her mouth, bringing a subtle groan from him. His weight rested against the balustrade, the sensation of vertigo overwhelming him as he felt her gentle motion and soft pressure, his hand going into her hair. Unexpectedly, the pressure slightly increased, shattering the chains of his restraint. He brought her up, gently guiding her head back so his mouth could find hers, sweet and soft and frigid and burning in the touch so long withheld. His free hand slid the light robe from her shoulders and then he moved forward to rest her against the wall of the tower, the soft rain adhering to their bare skin as he continued to kiss her, feeding his flames with her frost. Her arms wound around his neck as his hands took hold of her legs and lifted her from the stone floor, bringing her knees past his hips and positioning her above him, and then he slowly let her down over him, hearing her softly whimper as his extent pressed deep into her, the blaze more intoxicating than ever. He found her mouth again with his, his tongue moving in between her lips to stifle her cries and take in all of her, he moved while his hands held her; her weight supported from her arms tightening around his powerful shoulders. A flash of light overhead, followed by the grumble of thunder brought his thoughts briefly back to where they were, and he decided to exchange the harsh elements of stone and rain for the softness of the bed where he lay her down and further satiated his hunger on her enveloping taste. His lips went softly down her neck, bringing tiny prickles to her skin; and then further to the tender tip of her right breast where he softly took the mound into his mouth applying gentle pressure. He heard her gasp as her back arched, her fingers pressing into the flesh of his neck, completely taken by his touch. Then he released her, tracing a warm trail across her chest with his tongue and mirroring his actions on her left side, again summoning a slight moan from her chest before his lips returned to hers and he entered her again, releasing all that had built up inside of him for several weeks, emitting soft sounds of pleasure against her throat and cheek, and then finally his seed as she smothered a contented wail into the skin of his burning shoulder, under the dim of a hazed sunrise.

Berin raised himself from a steaming bath before proceeding to dry himself, vapour still passing off from his skin. He dressed in boots over light breeches, a short sleeved cotton tunic and a red jerkin before fastening his belt with Bristlemane Blade at his right side to his waist, and his red and blue cloak to his shoulders. He held the sentinel pin in his hand for a moment, staring at it. As the head of the Sentinels of Flame, his was the only pin that had a single small but glistening ruby set at the base of the flame, and he could think of no higher formal honour. He smiled for the memories before fastening it to its place above his heart and departed the bath chamber, leaving the door open for the following user. Footsteps drew his attention, and he looked down the hall to see his lord approaching, a selection of garments in his left hand and his lady clothed in the same light cream dress from the previous evening, smiling with her hands around his arm. He turned to face them, issuing a formal bow.

"Good morning, my lord and lady. I hope the rain did not keep you from sleep." he greeted them, seeing his friend smile.

"Good morning, Berin. Not the rain, luckily." Raeghun said happily, drawing a slight flush to Claira's cheeks and Berin shared the notion.

"Then that is good." he agreed, and Raeghuns' eyes met his.

"And yours? How is your dear wife feeling this morning?" he enquired.

"Good, she has already left for the hall a little earlier." he said, and Raeghun glanced at Claira.

"I am happy to hear. I will join you in the hall after cleansing myself." then he turned, and gently placed his lips to hers before disappearing into the chamber and softly closing the door; her eyes came to his clearly.

"I am happy to see that you are feeling better, my lady." he said, and she nodded.

"Much better, thank you Berin." he waited, expecting her to excuse herself again quickly, but was surprised at her request.

"Will you walk with me?" after a moment of daze, he agreed and they started further down the hall towards the wide doorway separating the private chambers from the rest of the tower just as Lorete closed the door behind her and rushed towards them.

"My apologies for being late, my lady. My daughter didn't want to let go of me this morning, and I'm afraid she's a bit feverish." she explained out of breath, and Claira smiled warmly at her.

"Poor little thing. How old is she?" she asked, and Lorete calmed her breaths.

"She is aged two, my lady." she said.

"You may tend to our chamber, and then return to your daughter for the rest of the day." Claira said, stunning the girl.

"But my lady..." she started.

"I am quite capable, Lorete. Your daughter needs you more." she allowed, making the girl's eyes gleam.

"Thank you so much, my lady." she said, and then passed to take care of her chores. Berin smiled, watching her move away. _Still as_ _free-hearted_ _as always..._ Then he turned back to her, raising his hand.

"Shall we, my lady?" he asked, and together they moved forward passing into the next hallway and down the halls.

"I am sorry, Berin. Will you please forgive me?" she suddenly said as they descended a stairway, and he glanced at her.

"For what, my lady?" he asked, and at the bottom of the stairway she stopped looking at him, bringing him to a halt.

"For my behaviour. I have been unkind to you, and it was unjust." she said, and he smiled.

"No. You haven't been unkind. You've been quiet, but not unkind." he corrected her, and they continued down the hallway.

"Still. It was hardly anywhere near acceptable. Will you forgive me?" she asked again, and he laughed taking her cold hand in his as they walked.

"You haven't done anything that needs forgiveness, Claira. You were angry, and hurt; it was you who needed your time to forgive us." he said, bringing her fingers to his mouth briefly before releasing her.

"I knew why. I did. What he did was disrespectful, and not just to me. But what I imagined..." she trailed off, and he nodded.

"He was your friend. I gave him an opportunity to defend himself, as is required for the houses of nobility." he said, and she stopped for a moment looking out to the horizon through a window, registering the still falling rain.

"Did he do so well?" she asked softly, and he nodded.

"He did, my lady." he assured, and then her eyes came back to him.

"Then there is nothing left for me to feel guilt on..." he suddenly understood, and turned to her.

"Claira, there is nothing you should feel guilty for, ever. You didn't go out with the slightest bit of ill intent, you didn't even know he was there. What happened was a decision he made, not you." he said, but she looked down, away from him.

"If I hadn't gone in the first place..." he stepped closer, taking her hands in his once again.

"What happened, wasn't your fault. Stop blaming yourself for other people's mistakes. As our lady, we will protect you, your honour, your virtue, everything you are, everything you represent. But you have to protect your heart, for it is your gentle heart that everyone will take advantage of if they're given the chance." he told, softly squeezing her fingers, and her eyes came to their hands.

"I'm not as strong as you." she whispered, fighting against another well of emotions.

"You are stronger. You just need to realize it, lady Taugere." he said smiling, and bringing her hands to his mouth again, and making her smile gratefully.

"Thank you, Berin." she breathed, and he straightened.

"Any time, Claira." he replied, and accompanied her further down to the hall to meet with the rest of the hold, assembling to enjoy their morning meal. Milla seemed very pleased to see her husband entering the hall alongside her best friend, sharing a more substantive conversation than what she had allowed him in almost a month. They settled in while serving girls supplied the tables with tea and pressed fruit extracts while they waited for the castle's kitchen master to announce the morning's serving. Raeghun joined them then, taking his place next to his wife clothed in light breeches, fine boots, a white shirt and leather doublet; and the families conversed again on fine topics. Given the state of the weather, they decided to remain within the hold; but were assured that the storm should have passed over by nightfall and that the following day was expected to be clear. They broke their fast on fresh bread, smoked sausages, fish cakes, honeyed porridge and sugared fruit pieces before departing to meet their day, and more family members arrived at the great tower. Berin asked Falgon to accompany him for a walk along the pathways around the tower, leaving the binding families to continue their activities. The sky was still clouded, but the rain had subsided as they walked up and down the routes, and shared their own thoughts.

"It is good that you, and her grace has made amends." Falgon said as he looked at Berin.

"Yes, that is a relief. I must say it was quite sudden, but I am happy that it has finally ended." he breathed.

"How is your lady faring?" Falgon enquired, and Berin laughed.

"She is well. She's had no abrupt qualms for a while now, and I think she's grateful for that." he said as they walked.

"It is an elating time. Your family grows substantially." his friend said with a smile.

"If it keeps going on like this, the extent of the continent will be family." Berin joked, and Falgon shared the humour.

"Another reason for excitement." he added, and Berin stopped on the flat expanse overlooking the waters.

"I keep imagining what he or she will look like. Will he have my eyes? Will she have her mother's hair? Will he have my nose? Will she have her mother's lips?" he wondered, bringing the visions in and out of his mind.

"You will know soon, my friend." A hand found his shoulder, and they continued down the path.

"Once, I couldn't imagine myself as a father; but now I can't wait." he expressed, the smile not leaving his face.

"You'll be a good father, Berin." Falgon encouraged him further, and then he looked up meeting the dark eyes.

"Have you ever thought about it?" he asked, leaving an instant of surprise.

"About what?" he asked, and Berin turned towards him.

"About being a father, Falgon." he clarified, and the stern face went away from his.

"I have, once. Had things turned out differently for me, I'd like to imagine that I might have been a fair father, at best." he reflected and they headed further down.

"For all your skill, you're a modest man." Berin teased.

"You can't compare a sword to everything, it's not the same." Falgon retaliated; and Berin sighed.

"Well, for whatever it's worth to you, I believe you would have been a wonderful father." he said, and Falgon laughed.

"To six children, strong sons and beautiful daughters." he added, and they shared a laugh.

"You never told me why you left your home, though." Berin pried slightly again, and Falgon glanced at him.

"I did. I told you that I left, because I had to." he answered, rather solidly.

"You still don't trust me?" Berin asked, and Falgon stopped; his gaze lost on the horizon.

"I do trust you. I trust you with my future, but my past is no longer important." he said, and Berin felt a stab of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Falgon. I won't ask again. If you believe that I must know something, I trust you will tell me on your own time." he said, and the dark eyes came back to him again with a gentle smile.

"It's al right. Like I said, it's not important. I've found a place I may call a home again." he said, and resumed their way forward.

"Yes. Yes, you have." Berin agreed, a strip of clear sky emerging between the clouds and the horizon.

By late afternoon Claira and Milla accompanied Mae to her private chamber high in the tower, as she spoke happily of her enthusiasm. She told them of her expectations for the hall, for the entertainment, for the feast, and told them about her dress that had been specially made by a contractor from Qarth. They entered into a spacious room with wide arched windows that stood open to the world, allowing the moist breeze to filter through. A large bed stood against the wall, drapings of gold and white hanging from the canopy flanked by end tables holding vases with bright flowers and a silver pitcher alongside two glass goblets, and a dresser next to a tall wardrobe stood along the opposite wall. A carpet of green and silver covered the stone floor, and a small hearth set dormant on the inside wall.

"Have you decided on your attire for the occasion?" Mae asked as they sat down on the wide divan facing the windows.

"We have brought something that we believe would be fitting, my lady." Milla said, glancing at Claira.

"Long or short sleeved?" she asked as a serving girl entered with a tray holding fresh fruit, setting it down on the low table in front of them.

"Long, but the shoulders are open at least." Claira said as they each seized a sweetness.

"Light fabric?" Mae asked, bringing a grape to her lips.

"Medium, but it should be fine." Milla said, thinking that lady Mae had conformed well to the deep summer weather, compared to theirs which was normally ranged between the stages of early winter to late spring.

"It's much too warm, you'll both faint from heat exhaustion before we get back from the sept." Mae mentioned, fully aware of the vast differences.

"We'll make due, Mae. Don't worry." Claira assured, smiling.

"I want you to enjoy tomorrow with me, not to think about how uncomfortable and burdened you feel…" she said softly, her blue eyes going to the silver on the table; and then her face lit up and she looked at them.

"Wait, I have something for you." She said standing and going to her wardrobe. Claira and Milla glanced at one another again, sharing confusion then stood to follow as Mae rummaged through the accumulated soft colours. Then she pulled a long gown in glimmering shades of green with gold details, and presented it to Milla, who took it gingerly in her hands, feeling the soft cool fabric.

"I believe that green is your suited colour, lady Milla." She said, and then turned back to her wardrobe and continuing her search. Milla opened the dress, marvelling at its beauty. Layers of light chiffon ranging from lime to jade green fell to the floor, a golden band accentuating a delicate waist and gold spheres decorating the shoulder leashes. Another stretch of fabric hung down the back from the golden spheres, three gold circlets on each side of the emerald green cloth to hold it to one's arms.

"And this one is for you." Mae said, turning with another soft dress of light blue and presenting it to Claira, who took it smiling before examining the dress. The same cool chiffon in light blue fell to the floor, the bodice and most of the centre beset with glittering rhinestones; decorated leather belts crossed the front of the dress, and light fabric hung from folded shoulder straps with two rich copper rings attached to the ends.

"Thank you, Mae. They're beautiful…" she said softly, and Mae smiled happily.

"It's my pleasure. I can't wear them anyway, they're too long. I keep stepping on the seams. Please consider them for tomorrow." She pleaded, and Milla smiled.

"We will consider them." she promised. They spent the rest of the day there, sharing their hopes and dreams and expectations before enjoying a warm bath and joining the rest of the hold for their evening feast and retiring to bed.

The sun rose into a beautiful clear blue sky, the day as warm as predicted; and as was custom in the Reach, family and guests met for the wedding breakfast. But whilst Mae did not have a great number of family attending, the Hightower ladies joined them in the lady's ballroom to break their fast while the lords assembled in the great feast hall. It was a wonderful occasion, and the visitors presented the bride with gifts of dresses, perfumed oils, jewellery, and all manner of finery along with feminine wisdom while a girl filled the space with beautiful songs of the Mother, and the Maiden. Before noon, the hold started its preparations for the wedding feast while the inhabitants and visitors made ready for their departure to the sept for the ceremony. The Hightowers left Battle Isle first, on their way to the sept to ensure everything was in order while the Taugere's and their people would meet them there. Claira and Milla accompanied their hosts as far as the great doorway from where their husbands would escort them the rest of the way to the small private port while they prepared themselves. They started back to cleanse and redress when a lean copper skinned woman emerged from one of the tall doors, dark red hair cut short. Claira paused staring at her, before she smiled and bowed low.

"Beautiful girl; sweet, gentle girl." she greeted, bringing a warm smile to the lady's face.

"Kyra?" she could scarcely believe it.

"I did not think to see you again, child." she said as she straightened, and Milla looked somewhat lost.

"You know her?" she asked softly, and Claira laughed.

"Yes. This is the woman that made my wedding dress for me." Claira explained, and Milla's face lit up.

"Oh yes, I remember now." she thought back, remembering the beautiful dress that represented one of the great houses of the north, and how marvellous her friend looked wearing it.

"The creation of extraordinary garments is one of my greatest pleasures. To add a dream to my ladies' special glow on these unequalled days." Kyra said proudly, and they knew it to be true.

"Where are you heading from here?" Claira asked, and Kyra thought for a moment.

"My road takes me to Highgarden, and from there to King's Landing before returning to Pentos." she said, and Claira nodded.

"We wish you safe travels, Kyra. And thank you for your beautiful gifts, and your special talent." she said, and Kyra bowed again.

"Thank you, my lady. Never again will I have a bride that quite resembles the way you looked three years ago." she praised and then left to begin her journey into the world while Claira and Milla returned to the private chambers to bathe and redress and close to an hour passed. Raeghun, dressed formally in leather and the colours of his house, with the black cloak hanging from his shoulders and the phoenix pin above his heart waited with the sentinels in the great marble hall in front of the throne for their wives to join them, discussing the oncoming events when someone caught Berin's attention and he looked up to see a decorous woman emerge from the doors, followed by a handmaiden. Her hair was woven and swirled against her head, small gleaming grapes hung from her ears framing her neck around which hung threads of gold and pearl, while a dress of glimmering green hugged her bodice, then flowed around her body from a golden belt around her waist. Three rings of gold circled her arms, and a short covering of emerald green shielded her open back, but long enough so she was able to fold it and drape the fabric over her unprotected arms. He breathed out as she reached him, and he took her hand.

"You look amazing." he said softly, and leaned forward to kiss his Milla.

"I feel a little uncomfortable, it's much lighter than what we brought." she said when he drew back,

"There's nothing wrong with it, I wish you would dress like this more often." and then her face lit up.

"You should see lady Mae, she's glowing." she mentioned excitedly, and then their attention went back to the doorway where someone was standing, a subtle argument only barely audible.

"Your lady is feeling a bit anxious, sire." Falgon mentioned, being the first able to see her clearly. Raeghun moved forward, finding her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and Lorete standing at her side. The soft blue fit tightly to her body and the rhinestones glittered in the sunlight, the decorated belts accentuating her figure as they crossed over the front from their hold around her breasts to her hips, the dress only releasing her contours from around her thighs into the wider seam and a short train. The rich copper rings adorned her upper arms while the soft blue fabric hung in loops from her shoulders and the circlets, leaving her back completely open. Her hair was done up and held in place by her jewelled pin, several stray strands framing her face and neck, while blue gems in gold further enriched her throat and ears. She looked up, suddenly startled at his presence.

"My lord, would you please be so kind as to express to your lady how beautiful she looks?" Lorete encouraged with a tender smile.

"I'm not used to this…." Claira breathed softly.

"You look wonderful, my lady." he complimented with a smile, bringing his hand to her face.

"I feel bare, I feel exposed…" her arms tightened over her chest, and he examined her.

"Come here." she took a tentative step forward as his eyes went over her, and then he glanced at Lorete.

"Lorete, do you suppose you could try something different with my wife's lovely hair?" he asked, and she moved forward carefully taking the pin from her and letting the hair fall naturally down her back. He softly took her arms from her chest, and draped long strands over her shoulders and chest to shield her while Lorete restyled the long strands, leaving a layer free to cover her open back before refitting the jewelled pin to her hair; and he studied her again.

"There." he smiled as he corrected a stray strand over her chest and she blushed.

"Thank you, Raeghun." his hands went softly to her face.

"You're beautiful, my Claira. Let them see who is mine." he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, and she smiled, feeling more confident than before then he led her to the group waiting for the bride to join them. Moments later, two handmaidens emerged and she appeared, not just glowing but shining as bright as the sun in a wide gown of sparkling pearl silk, glistening gold threading spread in complex patterns across the bodice and a long train flowing from soft shoulder guards above open arms and a luminous diamond set in a delicate gold pendant hanging around her neck. Her silver-gold hair hung loosely down her back from a swirl of braids against the nape of her neck, and the group received her happily, all giving their compliments, from the customary statements on her unequalled beauty and fond wishes, to their tallest sentinel's more foreign comparison to a spring sunrise. Raeghun stood in front of his sister.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Yes. But I am afraid that my dress is too long, it will be soiled before we reach the sept." she said, sounding rather disappointed. He paused for a moment's thought, trying to find a solution and then Falgon stepped forward.

"May I offer you my strength, my lady?" he asked politely, and her eyes went to him in wonder as Raeghun smiled relieved; and then her eyes came back to him the sheen of confusion behind the blue.

"He means, he will carry you as far as the doors of the sept." he clarified, and she blushed above a grateful smile.

"Oh. Thank you, ser. That is very kind of you." she said softly and he moved closer.

"With your permission, my lady." he stood next to her, and after a moment of consideration she nodded. He leaned forward, his arms going gently around her back and behind her knees before lifting her from the floor, the dress well away from the ground. She glanced down, and gasped as her arms suddenly wound around his neck, realizing how high she was; and Berin chuckled.

"There's no reason to be afraid, Mae. Our Falgon is very sure-footed." he eased, then her arms slowly came away from him as not to crumple the front of her dress, and then Falgon turned towards Raeghun.

"Whenever you're ready, sire." he said, and the lord turned to face the others.

"Yes, I believe it is time." he agreed, holding his arm for his wife as Berin did for his. They departed the tower for the small port, finding the ferry awaiting them to carry them across the Whispering Sound to further make their way to the sept. Mae looked over the waters, and then her eyes came to the face of the man holding her in his arms.

"You may put me down for a while, if you want to. I must be getting heavy." she said softly, and he smiled at her.

"Not at all. I can barely feel you." he assured before returning his attention to the oncoming shore, and she eased just a little more against him. Claira was right. Despite his massive strength, it felt like she was drifting on a cloud; his muscles hadn't even the slightest strain under her. Her hands went to his shoulders, and she drew herself forward to place a gentle kiss on his smooth cheek.

"Thank you, ser Falgon." she said softly and he glanced at her again.

"It is my great pleasure, sweet lady." and she found herself blushing again. They left the ferry, making their way through the streets to the sept while people gathered, here and there a staring face. Two Hightower guards followed closely behind the sentinel, and finally they reached the doorway into the great hall where soft songs could be heard. Raeghun's attention went to his wife, and their sentinels.

"I will find you inside." he assured, bringing Claira's hand to his mouth before she moved into the shadow at Berin's left side, his own wife at his right and the sentinels following. Then he turned to Falgon behind him as he carefully set Mae down in front of the doors while her guardsmen took their places on each side of the arch, ensuring that she was secure on her own feet before bringing his arms away from her; then he bowed formally and left again down the steps while Mae stared in surprise.

"Where is he going?" Raeghun laughed.

"He won't enter here, so I assume he'll wait outside. Falgon isn't inclined to religious rituals. He refused to enter the gods grove at Pale Haven until..." he paused, cursing himself for bringing it up and feeling the heat in his fingers.

"Until what?" Mae asked, and he shook his head shooing the thoughts.

"It's not important. What is, is this day. Your day." he said smiling, and taking her hands in his.

"I've never been able to imagine you as beautiful as you are today." he complimented, again seeing the shine in her eyes.

"Thank you, Raeghun." she accepted softly as he regarded her.

"I'm proud of you. And I'm sure that father and mother would be, too." Her hands tensed in his, a light pink coming to her cheeks.

"I miss them, so much. I wish they were here." she whispered, the telling tone of sorrow under her breath, and then his hand went to her face.

"They are here. In the blue of your eyes, in the blood in your veins, and in the fire burning in your heart. You take the name of Hightower, but your line will always be that of Taugere. You will always be a lady of the burning mountain." he promised, and brought his lips softly to her brow as his thumb ran along her jaw and her eyes closed in remembrance. Right now, she was all he had directly of the Taugere line apart from his wife and the realization that he was letting her go felt heavy. But this day had come, and now it was here, and it won't wait... not for anyone, no matter how much he wished for it to do so. He drew back and examined her a final time before holding his arm for her, waiting patiently as he gave her a moment to claim a deep breath and steady herself. Then she smiled again, happy and glowing like always as her fingers went around his elbow and together they entered the sept where they were waited upon, families and friends on both sides and her groom at the other side equally bright in white and smoke grey silk.

Following the grand ceremony where vows were exchanged before the new ones, they returned to the tower for the feast. The hall filled with joy and song while the guests enjoyed chilled wine, roasts with buttered greens, and sweet pastries along with the customary pigeon pie. The lords and ladies shared their conversation and predictions for the future while others met in the centre of the hall for dances, and children played in the passageways with the dogs. Milla sat next to lady Olenna Tyrell of Highgarden discussing their homes as she watched the people circling the hall, lord Raeghun dancing with his sister and lord Cladus with his mother, Berin asked Claira to join the dance shortly after many others followed as Milla declined, feeling her feet swollen and sensitive.

"How far along are you, child?" Olenna suddenly asked, and Milla's eyes came to her.

"Pardon me, my lady?" Olenna indicated the still full goblet in front of Milla.

"This is the best wine of the Reach, and you haven't touched it. I'm assuming there's a good reason for that on this grand feast." she mentioned, bringing her own chalice to her lips and Milla blushed.

"Oh. I'm not exactly sure, my lady. It's near to sixteen weeks by now, I think." she said, laying a hand on the little swell of her stomach.

"Well, we can't have you sitting here with a thirst all night." she said, indicating to a serving girl nearby.

"Have the cook send us a decanter with something special, but healthy." she instructed, and the girl vanished to the kitchens, and Milla thanked her gratefully, thinking that the fearsome matriarch of Highgarden was kinder than what she'd heard her to be and despite having a level of petulance she loved her people very much, and they continued their discussion on growing houses and families as the night went on and Milla was presented a decanter of warm honeyed milk to sate her thirst; they shared over the pride of their future. Lady Olenna's own grandchildren and the heirs of their house was to turn five and six in this year, and she praised their talents. Loras Tyrell was turning out to be a fine future knight, while little Margaery poised all the grace of the golden rose, and she spared a fleeting sympathetic glance at Claira.

"But one great house, has yet to grow..." she mentioned softly, and Milla nodded.

"I will admit that it is taking longer than would be expected, but we still have our hope. It will happen." she said, and Olenna agreed.

"Of course it will. While not many have faced the same situation, it is not unheard of. My own second cousin had to wait well past her wedding night to receive her first child." she told, and Milla felt strangely relieved, that her friend was not the only one forced to face a lingering state. Then a shadow appeared in front of the table, where Raeghun stood smiling at her.

"Lady Milla, might I ask you for a final dance?" he asked as she looked at the lady at her side.

"I'd love to, lord Raeghun. But my feet won't agree to that, tonight." she declined and he nodded before his attention went to her current companion.

"Lady Olenna, would you do me the honour?" he asked, and she debated for a moment before draining her goblet and standing.

"Yes, I would. I haven't shared a dance with a young man in years." she joked as he extended his hand for her, which she took and they joined the last dance. Milla scanned the faces, Claira had evidently accepted lord Baelor's invitation and was smiling, possibly further eased by some wine she didn't seem as concerned with the dress that had been an irritation to her this afternoon. Berin took the empty seat beside her, and lay a hand on her lap.

"How are you feeling, my sunflower?" he asked, a subtle bitterness of wine coming off him.

"I'm fine, my company has been very amiable. But I will confess I am beginning to feel tired." she said, and he leaned forward slightly.

"We can go, if you want." he suggested, and she shook her head.

"It's al right, I'm sure it won't be much longer." she looked up as the song slowly died away, and Baelor moved to the high table to seize a cup and held it high to share his words. The customary bedding ceremony followed in all its excitement, and while Claira and Milla remained in the hall choosing not to follow this fervently practised ritual, Raeghun and Berin ensured that the process did not tarnish the lady's virtue before returning to the hall along with everyone else, further revelling in the feast for a while before retirement as the bride and groom united their families and their bloodlines.

A fortnight was spent at the great Hightower, and they partook in all its activities while ocean storms came and went, and guests started to depart for their homes on clear days. On the morning of their own departure Raeghun and Cladus shared a walk around the tower grounds with the Hightower pack of hounds leading the way as his people oversaw preparations to leave the tower and they shared their thoughts freely. They stopped on the flat expanse overlooking the ocean.

"You must long for home." Cladus mentioned, and Raeghun breathed in the moist air.

"I do. The heat here has been rather arduous, but we enjoyed our stay." he said, and turned towards Cladus.

"I hope that my sister will remain content here." he said, and Cladus smiled.

"I will do anything I can for her." he assured, Raeghun's stare remaining on the calm blue.

"Mae is a tender woman, free spirited and gentle. She requires the utmost care." he advised, and Cladus nodded.

"So I've come to realize. She's not as erogenous as most women." he said with a slight snigger,

"I'm sure everyone has shared with you their words of wisdom, Cladus. So, allow me to share with you mine. My father taught me, that as men we do everything we can do protect our families. Our whole families, no matter who or where they are." he said, and Cladus took that in.

"Thank you for your words." he said, and a powerful hand took hold of his shoulder solidly.

"So, If you ever break my sister's heart, I will hunt you. No mountain or sea, nor wall or tower will be able to hide you from me." he said, and Cladus stared at him, at the burning blue of his eyes as he tried to steel himself.

"Is that a threat, lord Taugere?" he asked, and Raeghun grinned.

"No. No, it's not a threat. But I do have a tendency to keep my promises." he corrected, and Cladus glanced down. In spite of the suddenness, he understood how he felt; and could imagine himself making a similar promise if he had a young beautiful sister who married to a far off stranger.

"I would never cause her deliberate heartache, Raeghun. I swear it." he said, and felt pressure to his shoulder, discharging a noticeable warmth.

"Good. That is a great comfort." Raeghun said, the harshness leaving his eyes and his hand coming away from the shoulder.

"My union with your sister was more a proposal by our fathers than your ordered marriage, but I don't care for the circumstances. I love Mae, just as much as you love your Claira." Raeghun nodded and looked away from him, leaving a moment of silence and Cladus realized that the sheen to his eyes was not unpleasantness. Not as much as it was sorrow.

"You still want to keep her safe." he said softly, bringing Raeghun's attention back to him.

"She's my sister, and I made a promise." he said, and Cladus stepped closer.

"She will be protected here, I give you my word." he assured, and they both eased feeling more like brothers in their honesty, and they further enjoyed the garden route with lighter conversation. By mid day, the Taugere's and their party issued their farewells and boarded the ferry to return to the burning mountain, and by sunset found themselves back on the deck of the _Willow Horizon_ as it cut through the waters off the coast. As before, the journey was pleasant with good company, but seemed shorter as they would enter Lannisport within a fortnight, and one evening a rough storm rolled in from the horizon, throwing the barge remorselessly over the tossing waves. Claira sat with Milla in their private cabin in the stern of the ship softly stroking her arm and trying to comfort her as the motion brought on an onslaught of queasiness. She lay on the small feather bed with her arms wrapped around her stomach, breathing deeply and forcing the rate to remain calm and even, but her skin emitted a slight hue of pale.

"It should pass over soon." Claira said softly, and Milla slightly moaned.

"I hope so. This is embarrassing." she said, and forced a laugh.

"No, Milla. We understand. Is there anything I can get you? Some water, perhaps?" Claira asked, and Milla's green eyes came up at her.

"You're not my handmaiden, my lady." she said, and Claira smiled.

"No, but I am your friend." she said, then gently pet her arm and stood.

"I'll be right back. Try not to fall off the bed." she teased, heading for the door and at least heard her friend snigger as she took a clay cup from a barrel used as a small table. She found Colbert outside the door, standing guard.

"How is lady Milla?" he asked, being aware of the situation and Claira softly closed the door.

"She'll be better once we leave this storm. I will find her some water, please stay with her until I return." she said, and the sentinel bowed his head.

"Yes, my lady." she left down the tiny space, and found Falgon vigilant near the stairway heading to the deck and he looked down at her.

"Is there something you require, your grace?" he asked, and she paused.

"I need to bring water back for lady Milla." she said, and Falgon held out his hand.

"If I may, your grace. I will retrieve it for you. Your husband will have me thrown to the waves if I allow you to venture out where you may be injured." he advised, and she placed the cup in his hand.

"May I ask a final favour of you, your grace?" he asked,

"Of course." she allowed, and he glanced at the doorway.

"May I have the use of your shoulder cloth for a moment?" She nodded, and pulled the fine cloth from her sleeve and gave it to him; for a moment wondering why she always carried these things with her as she never used them, but at that moment was grateful that it was a solid habit. He bowed and headed out into the cold wet night, but she saw him standing on the deck blatantly ignoring the sways of the ship. He had drawn his sword, and spent a moment cleaning the glistening blade and the cross guard with the fabric before holding it out to the rain which adhered to the steel almost instantly, running down its length to the cross guard and into the cup in a small stream; then he replaced the sword and returned sopping wet but with a full cup of clear, fresh water and handed it to her with the cloth, only slightly dirty.

"I've never seen anything like that." she said, and he shrugged.

"It's something I learned off a pirate. But it's only useful on nights like these. Rain water is cleaner than what is stored in the barrels." he said, and she nodded taking in his advice.

"Shouldn't you redress? You might catch a cold." she asked, noticing the water dripping from him.

"Don't worry about me, your grace. I'll be fine." he assured, and she smiled.

"Thank you so much, ser Falgon. I should get back." he bowed his head.

"It was my pleasure, your grace. I hope our lady recovers soon." he said, then she turned and left back to the small cabin, and found Milla as she left her and she sat down on the edge of the bed again.

"Here." she held out the cup to her friend, who slowly raised on one elbow and took the cup in her hand bringing it to her mouth, first in a tiny sip and then swallowed eagerly before returning the cup.

"I've never tasted better water than that." she said softly, savouring the almost sweet taste that came from the cup, laying herself back down on the little bed, some colour returning to her face, and Claira put the cup down on the chair at the foot of the bed.

"It's rain water. Falgon got it for you." she said, and Milla laughed.

"He is an inspiring man." she complimented, easing into the pillows while Claira smiled under a soft blush.

"We were very fortunate, I still can't believe he is one of ours. Things may have been very different without him." she whispered, and then the door to the cabin softly opened and closed. Claira looked up to see Berin approach, removing his cloak and laying it down on a chest next to the door.

"Thank you so much for staying with my wife, my lady. The captain has assured that we should reach Lannisport by noon tomorrow if the winds are kind." he said as he came closer, and Claira stood.

"It was no trouble. I hope that the remainder of the night will be at least peaceful for us all. But if you need anything-" he raised his hand.

"Not to worry, my lady. You should find your rest. Your lord husband awaits you." he eased, and she sighed.

"Very well. Good night, lord and lady Trentin." she greeted, and they returned her fondness before she left the room and made her way to their own cabin three doors away, finding Raeghun sitting on the bed with his boots already removed and undoing the lace of his doublet. She closed the door and went to him, laying her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Shall I help you with that, my lord?" she asked, and his clear blue eyes came up to her.

"Only if you'll grant me the same honour, my lady." he teased smiling, and her fingers went to the threads fastening the doublet while his went around her sides to loosen the ribbons holding her purple dress to her body. With the laces undone she slid the garment over his shoulders before pulling the tunic up over his head and removing it, exposing his skin; and as the shirt left his wrists his hands deftly slipped the straps from her shoulders, allowing the dress to crumple to the floor by her feet, leaving her completely bare. His hands slid around her hips to the small of her back to pull her forward, and pressed his lips against the flawless cool skin of her lower abdomen; her cold fingers ran over his shoulders as she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, her skin tingling under the warmth he brought to her, secretly wishing for more. _I never want this to end..._ His right hand slid down her hip, over her leg and found a place behind her knee drawing her forward onto his lap with her knees past his hips and then his arms wound around her waist while his lips branded another adoring kiss on her chest, and her hands rested on the sides of his neck.

"Raeghun, will you love me the same way, in ten years?" she asked, and he drew back.

"I will love you the same way, and more in even a hundred years. I want to see our sons and daughters, our grandchildren and our great grandchildren, all with you at my side. This may have been our last endeavour, as I'm not planning to leave the Corridor or even Mount Ardor again unless it is deemed necessary. And although I don't know what the future holds for us, I do know that nothing will ever change us." he said as his hand softly went from her back to into her hair. She smiled, and then leaned forward to find his lips with hers, then his fingers gently strained into her delicate skin.

Sunrise saw calm waters, and a welcome peaceful day before the _Willow Horizon_ docked at the grand city of Lannisport by dusk, a bit later than was expected. They spent the night at a tavern named _The Golden Arms_ planning their return to Mount Ardor where they met a merchant called Cole, who was second cousin to the stable master at Seagard and made his living off hauling commodities up and down the roads between settlements and holds. Over a horn of golden ale, Cole insistently persuaded Raeghun for his party to join his and travel with them, as they would be heading up north and was expected to trade in Seagard, which was finally accepted; but subtle whispers of unsafe roads left Claira feeling uneasy. Whether the merchant's kind gesture was purely out of courtesy, or if he hoped for the additional protection of the sentinels was left to be debated by the mind. By mid morning the following day, subsequent to discussion with the Lannisport stable master who was well acquainted with the master of Seagard and assurance that trade between their yards was fluent with travelling parties, they acquired the use of four young geldings named Rusty, Dusty, Misty and Sandy for their pelt colours to be ridden by the sentinels. They joined Cole's fellowship at the city gates where he awaited them on his sizeable merchant cart, drawn by four more horses. His group consisted of five members, two women and a man that helped with his trade, and two mercenary guards whose assignment was the safety of the wagon, whom all expressed an instant liking for the accompanying group. Claira and Milla were given comfortable seats on sheepskins and animal pelts at the front of the wagon while the back held barrels and crates and chests, the remaining sentinels left to find whatever comfort they could among the clutter with the workers while Raeghun and Berin joined the merchant on the seat; and as the sun touched its highest point in the sky, the wagon pulled through the city gates, with Falgon, Gavin, Edur and Saerus positioned around it, the mercenary guards perched on the back of the cart and they took the River road that would join the King's road and lead them north. Almost a mile along the road, the merchant pointed towards what seemed to be a vast cliff and mountain range along the coast.

"That there's Casterly Rock. Home of the richest family in Westeros." he indicated, bringing everyone's attention to the solid mass as they passed by.

"Oh, yes. The famous Rock, seat of the Lannisters. It is said to be absolutely unassailable." Raeghun mentioned, and Cole laughed.

"Aye, I've heard stories. One is of deep cells where prisoners wither in the dark. Another is that the ghost of Lann still walks the halls." he told, and they spared a moment of awe for the grand fortress while the landscape passed, crossing wide fields, lush woodlands and rushing rivers. In the days that followed they passed Oxcross, Sarsfield, the Golden Tooth and Wayfarer's Rest before reaching a woodland by late noon. A great pine lay across the road blocking their way forward.

"There haven't been any storms for several days..." Raeghun muttered as he stood, the scene leaving a chill down the sides of his throat as he turned towards Berin.

"Take Remir, go have a look." he instructed, and they stepped off the wagon, heading into the thicket. Moments later they returned, looking rather sombre.

"This tree didn't break, it was cut." Remir reported.

"Do you suppose the lumberers left it by accident?" Gavin asked from next to the wagon, and Raeghun felt the chill intensify.

"Right across a main road is an odd place to leave a tree 'by accident', Gavin." Raeghun said, and then brought his attention to Cole.

"I'd suggest we head back to Wayfarer's Rest, and resume the journey by first light. The road might be cleared by then, or give us enough time to find another way." he mentioned, and the merchant's gaze followed the trees to their right.

"There is a smaller route just a ways off to the south; I've used it before. My goods will be expected to be delivered to Riverrun before noon." he urged, and Raeghun's eyes went back to the trail. _I don't like this..._

"We'll go as far as we can before stopping to make camp." Cole said, driving the wagon off the road along the trees for another mile and further into the shade on a smaller path. They followed the narrow path amidst the trees until it was little more than a darker shade than the area flanking the trail, then finally it spread into a small clearing and Cole stopped the wagon.

"This is far enough for now. Any further and we'll be going blind." Raeghun had to reluctantly agree. He and Berin helped Claira and Milla from their seats on the wagon while the sentinels and the trade workers started to prepare what could be called a camp site with small tents, and a fire while the horses were unsaddled and unharnessed before they were haltered to a rope spun between two nearby trees. Cole offered five pheasants and three hares from his stores.

"I'm afraid I ain't much of a cook." he mentioned, and Milla held out her hand.

"It's al right. We'll manage, but we might sup a little late." she said taking hold of a fat bird while Remir, Derric and the women claimed the other four; and Claira, Adelard and the man saw to the large hares and Saerus along with Edur foraged the nearby area for herbs and berries. Cole headed back to the wagon to bring out bread and cheese, with five wine skins, one filled with water and Raeghun and Berin set out the nightly vigil, of which Falgon and Hernaut would take first watch, and then the lord scanned the faces. All of them in their belonging, as he watched their wives and those around them smiling as they shared stories while methodically removing the limbs of the carcasses before pulling the skin from the meat. Not just fine warriors, and certainly not just pretty faces; and he smiled adoring each of them. His people... His family. Before too long, the meat was prepared and suspended over the flames to roast as the group shared the fire, and the wine skins; the wine passing freely while the water was limited to a young bearing mother. Berin looked up, noticing Falgon standing several feet away watching the woodland; and recalling that he hadn't eaten at all today he stood taking a heel of bread and one of the roasts which still bore an untouched pheasant breast and made his way to him.

"Here." he presented the food to his friend, who gave little more attention than a fleeting glance before returning his eyes to the shadows.

"Thank you, Berin. I'll have something once my vigil has ended." he declined, but Berin brought the portions closer to him again.

"I'm not leaving you alone until you eat. I swear you'd starve yourself before just accepting something from anyone." he said, pretending irritation as he shoved the food into the sentinel's hands, demanding his attention again.

"That's not true." he started.

"Falgon. Eat." Berin said, almost ordered; and Falgon sighed bringing the pieces to his mouth, which were surprisingly succulent and well flavoured for field rations, and he thought of the soft hands that prepared it.

"You're uneasy." Berin identified even in the shadows as he studied the man in front of him.

"I don't think it's safe here. Cole should have heeded our lord's advice to return to Wayfarer's Rest." he said, and Berin glanced back at the merchant sitting next to the sentinels around the fire, the wineskin in his hand.

"Knowing you, you're probably right. We should have gone back. But we weren't given a lot of options. Alternatively, we should have kept going, but everyone is tired." he confessed, feeling the same suspicion.

"I hope that dawn comes soon, and without disturbances." Falgon muttered, and Berin nodded in agreement. Under the passing stars the night waned on, and Cole abandoned the fire for his wagon to rest until sunrise; while the rest vanished into the small tents for soft bedrolls or kept watch. Sometime during the night, Claira woke to find her husband sitting up next to her, tense and alert; his focus on the outside world as he listened.

"What is it?" she whispered, and without turning he lay his hand on her arm.

"Something is not right. It's too quiet." he raised himself from the bedroll, refitting the breeches to his waist and pulling on boots before silently making his way to the entrance of their tent as she raised herself. He found Berin crouching on the outside, having just came from their shelter a few feet away.

"Raeghun." he whispered, scanning the outside that was completely dark as the fire had died out.

"I know. Where's Milla?" he asked, and Berin's voice came back.

"Still asleep." he said, and Raeghun glanced back at his wife, indicating for her to get dressed. Berin drew a dagger at the sound of soft oncoming footsteps, but then eased as the shadow came into view and knelt.

"Cole is gone, and I can't find Adelard or Remir." Falgon's voice came softly from the shadows, and Raeghun breathed in slowly as he thought.

"And the others?" Raeghun enquried.

"Derric is scouting the border of the camp site; I've sent Saerus to wake the others" he informed. Just then, another set of soft footsteps rushed in from the darkness.

"I can't see much, but there's definitely activity all around us. I'm afraid we're surrounded, and they don't mean well." Derric's whisper came.

"How many?" a short silence followed.

"I'm not sure, my lord. Twenty, at the very least." he calculated.

"Fuck..." Raeghun glanced at Claira, silently coming to his side, having pulled on a faded grey gown, her hand resting on his elbow and he could tell she was deathly afraid. _I won't submit you to the same nightmare, ever again..._

"Falgon, can you get to the horses?" he asked softly.

"I should be able to, sire." he confirmed.

"Good. I'm sending you and three others ahead. Hurry, and keep out of sight." Raeghun instructed, and the tall shadow vanished without a sound. Then his attention went to Berin.

"I'm sorry my friend, you'll have to wake your Milla. Take our wives, get them away from here, head for Riverrun, but don't stop at a farm or those people will be endangered as well." he said, and Claira's grip tightened on his arm.

"Raeghun-" he looked at her,

"I'm staying. I'll help who I can, and then we'll follow." he said, and heard Berin move outside

"It's too dangerous. I'll stay and help the others." he insisted, and Raeghun's attention went back to him as the steady trudge of hooves and footsteps sounded from the shadows.

"You take your orders from me, sentinel. You have an expectant wife to protect, now go. I'll find you at the next hold." he said, bringing his wife out into the night and guiding her into the hands of the sentinel who stood waiting. He picked her up and seated her on the bare back of the copper roan gelding before swiftly mounting behind her.

"Raeghun, please..." she begged as she leaned slightly forward, placing her hand to his face; and he covered her hand with his.

"I will find you, I promise." his attention went to the sentinels watching their surroundings next to the tent.

"Gavin, Saerus, go with them." he instructed, and then looked at the remaining members of his order.

"And the rest of you are with me." he assigned, bringing his attention back to Berin.

"I'm not leaving you here." Berin insisted glancing at Gavin, believing his wife could be safe with him up to the next holdfast, then Raeghun's hand found his shoulder solidly guiding him towards the tent.

"I am not going to argue with you about it. Do as I say!" he ordered, and Berin moved off returning in an instant with an equally frightened Milla and seating her on the grey gelding before mounting behind her.

"I'll come back for you." he promised, and heard his friend sigh heavily.

"There's no time. Just go, now!" he said, and turned to move away into the centre of the camp site, taking a sword from a crate next to their tent. A sudden daunting cry shattered the night as he called for the intruders' attention, giving the four sentinels a single window of escape to disappear into the night. The horses ran down the narrow trail, hooves thundering and hearts pounding through the woods, the chirping of birds waking to early morning sounding around them as they raced along. Claira's face felt cold, the wind clinging to the tear stains down her cheeks and her hands straining into the shoulders of her sentinel as they emerged into another small clearing along the path, making out through the diminished trees that the horizon was a shade of dark blue. She looked up at Falgon, and then at Berin.

"We have to go back! We have to go back for him! We can't leave him!" she suddenly cried, and Berin looked back.

"I know. I know, I will. Gavin-" he started, silently debating his options.

"We have to go back, Berin!" Claira cried again desperately, then Falgon dismounted and took her from the horse's back.

"I'll go back. Take them, and keep heading down the path; Riverrun is not far." he instructed, seating her on the flank of the horse behind Berin and then turned to mount again.

"Gavin, Saerus with me." he further assigned, falling into command easily and Berin regarded him.

"You are the lady's sentinel, Falgon." he reminded, and the dark eyes came to him from his position on the horse,

"You love to argue, Berin. Your child cannot enter this world without a father, now get going." he said, then simply turned the horse around and started back to the woodland with Gavin and Saerus following; and Berin was left to contemplate him yet again before resuming the way down the road.

The company lay scattered, either killed or dragged off or fled. A bolt protruded from Raeghun's back, another severed muscles in his right thigh, and he was struggling to breathe as he watched the men circling him. His four remaining sentinels on the ground by him, bolts and arrows in their legs and shoulders. They were fierce fighters to be sure, but swords and fists were of no use if you couldn't reach your attacker who sat grinning at you on horseback with a crossbow in his hands. They won't kill him, he was worth more alive. But you could still torture without taking a life, of the others he couldn't be sure. Derric looked up from his side.

"My lord, you have to go. We'll create an opening-" he started, before Raeghun silenced him.

"I'm not running." he said stubbornly, clasping the sword tighter in his hands and ignoring the bitter burning pain in his chest and leg.

"My lord..." he started, holding his weight on damaged legs.

"I'm not leaving without you. Any of you." he said again, and glanced at his sentinel.

"You are my people. What good am I as the liege lord, if I can't protect my people?" Hernaut rose to his feet, clasping the sword in his hands.

"Your safety is our charge, my lord. Not the other way around." he said as he scanned the faces around them as they moved in closer, the horses trudging about briskly.

"I don't care. Peasants to nobles, all stand under my protection." Raeghun said, and heard Hernaut step forward.

"A greater man, there has yet to be..." he breathed softly, and lurched forward in painful motion as another bolt shattered his shoulder, forcing an almost echoing wail from his chest.

"Get back, you fool!" Raeghun ordered, but the stubborn sentinel found his footing.

"No. A fool I am, but I am your sword and your shield bound by honour to give my life for yours. If I don't leave here alive, you must." he moved forward again into a surge of sudden chaos, and the confusing rain of clashing steel, the world was drenched in a crimson agony, made clearer only by a few moments of daze when starlight flashed off bright steel. He could hear them around him in the throngs of battle as they warded off the siege laid to them leaving a wall of blood. The edges of swords cut into limbs, the eerie dull screams of friend and foe whisking through the trees under incessant laughter as the wounds drained away at their strength. Derric focused on an oncoming attack from his right as the pommel of a sword struck his neck, rendering him lifeless on the ground while Colbert and Edur's attention was fixed on the onslaught of the sides, and through the pain and resisting breaths the lord took down those that came at him. The blade in his hand forced away the cut of an axe before an arm wrapped solidly around his throat, further limiting what his lungs could take in, and sour breath wafted by him.

"That's enough of that, now." Raeghun lowered the sword, resisting the urge to retaliate from this vulnerable position. Had he been uninjured, it would have been easy; but wounded as he was if the retaliation failed he could be killed.

"Tell your friends to put down their swords, and there won't be no more of this game." the bandit ordered.

"Lay down your arms." he instructed, and the sentinels turned to face him.

"Let him go!" Edur demanded, and Raeghun brought his hand up.

"It's al right, Edur. Do as you're told." he said, sensing the burn to his own skin; but forcing a reluctant surrender as the sentinels gave up their weapons and were seized by the group. The bandit's hand came up to the bolt in Raeghun's back, taking hold of the shaft.

"Sorry about that, let me help you out a bit." he pushed the bolt further into the flesh, sending searing pain flooding Raeghun's body and he bit back an excruciating cry, but a small sense of relief came when his breathing slightly eased. The sentinels moved forward, before being halted with blades to their throats.

"There, better ain't it?" the bandit said slamming a hand into Raeghun's back, sending more burns through his chest. Derric was brought over as he regained consciousness, being thrown down at Raeghun's feet.

"You don't know who that is, do you?" Edur directed at the bandit, some of their members discarding their horses to rummage through the camp site. The bandit glared at Raeghun, examining him and then brought his attention back to Edur as another joined him, taking hold of the lord's shoulder.

"Should I care?" he asked, his flat face drawn with sarcasm.

"Hold your tongue." Raeghun ordered, _If they know who I am..._ but Colbert silenced his thoughts.

"He is Raeghun Taugere, lord of the burning mountain, Mount Ardor and liege of the Corridor. So I would suggest you let him go, lest you want a bigger bounty on your heads." he identified, and the bandit's eyes came back to him, live with greed.

"He don't look much like a lord." he mentioned.

"He doesn't need the refinement, when his blood alone exceeds all else." Hernaut said, and the bandit looked back smiling broadly, revealing skewed brown teeth.

"A man of rich blood, is it? We'll get a good bargain for you, we will." he said, stepping around to face him.

"I won't relinquish the labour of my countrymen for your desires. If you want to kill me, do it. But leave my people be." he said, and the bandit stepped closer, still grinning.

"No?" his sour breath was as nauseating as it was maddening.

"I don't make deals with threats." the words sounded oddly familiar, but he couldn't recall where he would have heard it.

"You don't; but your lady might, to get you back. I'd bet every pound of silver we ever stole that she's a pretty one. One night with her-" in a sudden instant of blazing madness, Raeghun's head shot forward disregarding the sear through his muscles, connecting with the bridge of the bandit's nose with an ominous snap and he stumbled away with a suppressed wail, his hand clasped over his face.

"And that's only a slip of what you'll get." he said, watching the bandit stagger around, blinded from the impact. The hand on his shoulder jerked him backwards, and he winced at the movement of the objects through his skin. The bandit straightened, his hand leaving his face to reveal bloodshot eyes, broken skin above a destroyed blood flanked nose and red running down his mouth and chin. He walked forward, raising the blade to Raeghun's chest.

"You pompous swine!" he spat through the blood.

"It's an improvement." he stopped, and looked back at Hernaut.

"Even the most desperate tavern wench might look at you for a fifth time now." he brought the bandit's attention away from Raeghun, to focus on him.

"Assuming you bastards don't have wives, you probably keep it in the ranks." he looked back at the younger man whose hands were clamped on his shoulders.

"So, how does it feel to have it in the ass, boy?" he grinned, receiving a returned smirk.

"How about my foot up yours, old man?" a hard knee went into the back of his left thigh, sending him down on the ground; and multiple fists and boots assaulted him, ignoring the bolts as well as the shouts to stop. A sudden nearby cry made them freeze, and they looked in the direction seeing nothing but darkness. The first bandit wiped the blood from his mouth, and looked at two others.

"What are you standing around for? Go take a look." he ordered, and they cautiously moved off, disappearing into the shadows. Moments passed, before again the surge of screams tore through the air; and the men rose the blades in front of them; their attention fixed on the space where three men vanished. Raeghun looked at Hernaut, still lying on the ground. _I'm sorry..._ Another explosion of chaos erupted as four massive shadows burst from the tree line, a long glimmering blade cut through three men while shorter blades severed throats and stomachs of others. The restraining hands vanished as the first shadow rushed past while the others stopped around Raeghun, and somewhere in the bout he felt calmness come to him, and he took in familiar faces as drowsiness washed into him. The hands of Saerus found him, and forced him onto the saddle of a horse next to him before he mounted behind him. Gavin, as quickly as he could while the attackers were distracted by the greatest mass hauled Colbert onto the back of another horse, and then mounted Derric on his own before joining him. They drew their swords and then moved forward, driving back those who came at them as the first shadow came back, and in less than a moment touched ground, hauled Hernaut over the saddle and swiftly mounted again.

"Let's go!" a deep voice ordered, and they broke through the line again racing along the narrow trail, drawing a frustrated command from behind.

"After them, you useless shits!" The group rushed through the shadows, passing trees and shrubs, fluttering wings and waking sounds. Falgon looked up, through the leaves he could make out the sky taking on a hue of dark purple. He listened, drowning out the frantic beats of the horses, and recognised the inconsistency of the thunder behind them; and he hoped they would make it. The path started to grow wider, and in the distance he could make out the shape of a cantering horse, three figures on its back; and he cursed. Listening again, the hoof beats were louder and closer than before. As they neared, he called out.

"Go! Go! Ride!" Berin's face came into view as he glanced at Claira behind him.

"Hold on to me." he instructed, and her arms went securely around his waist while his left arm wrapped around Milla in front of him, the fingers of his right mangling into the silky mane with the reins. _I'm sorry about this, boy..._ His heels went into the ribs of the horse painfully, lurching it forward into a sudden gallop and the party raced forward through the trees, nudged closer by a narrowing trail, but the edge of the woodland came into view revealing a greying horizon. Falgon looked back, again listening. _The horses are double mounted; we won't get far..._ He stopped the horse, and slipped from its back as the others halted.

"What are you doing?" Falgon ignored the question.

"Colbert, take Hernaut." he instructed, and the sentinel exchanged horses; and then his dark eyes went to Berin.

"Go, get them away from here! And whatever happens, do not come back for me!" he ordered.

"You're mad!" Berin felt the surge of acid through his veins.

"Just go, Berin! I will find you at the hold!" he said again,

"Falgon!" Claira called to him,

"Go!" he struck the flank of the nearest horse hard, sending it off and forcing the others to follow. He breathed in deep, watching them as their forms grew smaller down the path and then removed Summit from his back and turned to face the oncoming horde, assuming a position in the centre of the path that would lead them from the narrow trail into open fields; the first riders stopped noticing the tall figure blocking their way, his great sword clasped in his right hand and despite the eminent light of day, a darkness spread all around him.

"This is as far as you go." he advised, the bandit leader sat grinning at him.

"What the hell are you waiting for? It's only one man. After them!" he ordered, and two others continued their pursuit. Falgon moved, and blood splattered the trees to his sides, headless corpses falling from startled horses.

"You deal with me, first. Perhaps you didn't hear, or you have the concentration span of a herring." Falgon said, smiling confidently, and the bandit grimaced baring his now bloodstained teeth in rage.

"Kill him!" he screamed, motivating the others into an attack, and laying the edge of his blade over his shoulder, again Falgon moved forward into screams. He hadn't been able to release his restraints in a long time, and it sang to him; every strike against steel, every cut through flesh and he heard his father's voice again. _Forward! Forward! Always forward! The only reason you go back is because you're dead!_ He'd been moving forward so long, he couldn't remember taking the first step.

The horses ran along the road, the river castle coming into view as they moved forward. Claira stared at her husband, fear stabbing at her heart just as much as the bolt in his ribs. He was pallid, and all but limp on the seat in front of Saerus as they rushed on, the new light revealing that the left side of his back and most of his breeches were soaked through in crimson. She looked up at the sky, again praying to any who would listen. The sun loomed over the horizon as they approached the bridge to Riverrun; and perhaps sensing their plight they heard a guardsman call out to lower the drawbridge; allowing the horses to enter swiftly. They stopped at the foot of the stairs leading into the hold, the poor horses breathing heavily from the extended flight as three men rushed down to meet them.

"What happened?" the youngest of the men asked as Gavin and Saerus quickly dismounted. He went to the horse, holding his arms to help Claira down, and she recognised the stocky build, rich auburn hair and blue eyes as Edmure Tully.

"We were attacked on the road... Please, please will you help us? One of our people were left behind." she asked as he gently brought her down.

"The Taugere's. You're lord Willmon Tormont's daughter, aren't you?" he asked, the identification sparking his eyes.

"Yes, yes I am." she confirmed, and he looked at the others.

"Let's get them inside, quickly. Have a company of guards assembled!" he called into the yard, and several soldiers and castle hands gathered to help the wounded inside. Berin helped Milla from the horse, and glanced at his friend only just able to keep his balance. The right side of his breeches left a trail of blood behind him. But he managed a sigh of relief, knowing that they were now safe and could be tended to by the best available abilities. Then his eyes went back to the gate, and he mounted the horse again.

"I'm going back." he said, and Milla turned to him.

"Berin, what will you do?" she asked, the terror clear in her voice.

"I don't know, but I'm going back." he said turning the horse around, and she took a despairing step forward.

"Berin…" his eyes stared through the arch of the gate.

"We can't just leave him. We can't leave him." he muttered.

He stood as they circled him, eyes focused and mind clear of anything. A blade came at him, and he ducked away before bringing Summit up and severing the arm so his attacker would bleed out wailing on the ground, and bringing his count to thirteen. _Forward… Always Forward…_ The edge of his sword deflected a club, and the tip dug into the ribs and exited the back before he pulled back and ducked away from another blow from a rusted mace. _Why are you doing this?_ It came at him as another blade flashed in front of his face. _Why are you risking this?_ His sword opened the stomach of another. _There's no time for senseless thought. Forward. Always forward…_ He scanned them again, each face the same as the next. He had faced twenty-seven men on his own before, bringing their numbers down to twenty two before they took him for themselves, but these numbers didn't seem to lessen. _I could be in trouble, here._ He blocked the tip of an oncoming spear, broke the shaft and sent his edge into the attacker's chest. _No, this is nothing. Move forward…_ And so he did, moving instantly to his right as a blade brushed by his side, into the stomach of an oncoming assailant, then he turned and severed the arms in a swift strike. He looked at a wall of men, staring at him from the narrow path.

"What's wrong? I'm only one man, and you've barely been able to scratch me." he invited, the darkness around him intensifying.

"You're no man, you're a monster!" one of the men called, and he grinned.

"A monster? Well, you're not wrong. All men are monsters. And it is the cruellest that wear the most colourful masks." he said, bringing the blade over his shoulder again.

"Kill him! Kill him, you shits! Kill him!" Broken-nose sneered, moving his men reluctantly forward.

"KILL HIM!" Falgon balanced himself. _FORWARD!_ Again he moved, slaughtering as he did and bringing forth more screams as his blade cut through multiple men. _Is this all there is to you? You've been fighting forever. When will it end? Never?_ He grimaced, forcing the thoughts aside with a sharp: _Shut up!_ _I'll keep fighting, I don't care how long it goes on. It may be the only thing left of me, but if it protects her, I'll keep fighting until the world burns!_ Reality returned to him when the sound of heavy footfalls drew his attention, and he turned to see Berin behind him, his own sword carving through an attacker; and then he was behind him, his back to his.

"What are you doing here?" Falgon clasped the sword in both hands, calculating the number of men around them.

"Enjoying a cinch in the woods. What the hell do you think I'm doing?" he asked, irritably.

"You shouldn't have come." Falgon said softly;

"It's too late to complain about it, I'm here. So focus on what to do about them." Berin said, indicating the people around them coming forward.

"Al right." they warded off attacks from several sides, leaving deep gashes.

"You're fucking useless! Kill them!" Broken-nose again ordered, and Falgon raised his blade in front of him.

"Come do it yourself, you coward." he invited, and the man stared at him while others reluctantly moved forward; and then the grand wail of a war horn washed over the fields and into the woods, followed by the rumble of thundering hooves over the earth. Berin glanced back to witness a battalion of Tully soldiers clad in gleaming armour race into the shadows, cutting down the remaining marauders as they went; and a small number fled back the way they came, disappearing into the distance as the guards pursued them. Berin sighed, and replaced his sword at his side before turning to Falgon who stood facing away from him, the great sword still in his hand. He turned towards him.

"Falgon-" in an instant he turned, his hand taking hold of the fabric across Berin's chest and slamming him against the trunk of a tree with tremendous strength. His dark eyes were hard, stained by the fury.

"Why? Why did you come back?" he demanded, and Berin raised his hands in a calm gesture as he breathed in.

"Did you honestly believe, that I would leave you behind?" he asked, and the eyes softened again. The hand came away from his chest as the woods grew lighter, like a cloud pulled away from the sun and its rays reached the earth.

"I told you to." Falgon breathed, replacing the sword on his back, and Berin stepped forward away from the tree.

"I am the head of the Sentinels, Falgon; not you. Not yet. You fall under my command, not the other way around." Berin reminded him, and he looked away.

"You owe me nothing…" he breathed softly, tranquillity returning to his worn body; and Berin's hand went to his shoulder.

"Does a life mean nothing to you? I owe you the life of my best friend, of our wives and my unborn child. We may not share blood, Falgon. But you're a sentinel. You're my brother." he told him, and a bitter thought went through his mind and he tried to submerge the memory. _My brothers were killed because of me..._ Berin stared at him.

"Are you al right?" he asked, the sentinel still not meeting his eyes.

"I'm uninjured..." he assured, but Berin's eyes still searched him.

"Good. But that's not what I'm asking." he corrected, and there was a drawn out silence as Berin watched him slowly claim deep breaths; and the stern face came to him then, the same gentle smile they knew looking at him.

"I'm fine, Berin." he promised, and then Berin returned the smile. Lord Edmure Tully, who led the force himself rode up to them.

"We've been looking for these men for a while, they've been terrorising the roads around the Riverlands for a while now." he said, and Berin looked around at the corpses littering the ground.

"Well, there's not a lot more to worry about." he said, and the Edmure smiled.

"That is fortunate. We'll find the others soon enough." he vowed, and then moved off as others followed, and Berin's attention went back to his friend.

"Come, we should get back." he urged, and they returned to the hold with the soldiers. The ride back to Riverrun was fortuitously more peaceful, and by noon the horses entered the gate under the shadow of clouds that had come in from the east, bringing the sound of rain and flashes of light through the sky. They dismounted, and left the horses to the care of stable boys and their master; most of the guards returning to their prior activities while Edmure made for the calm of the hold. Berin and Falgon walked to the stairs, feeling drained but at ease. From the doors Milla appeared, flitting down the steps like a butterfly and threw her arms around her husband's neck to hold him, and he embraced her breathing in her scent deeply. Falgon smiled, sharing the joy of their union and then looked up to see his queen descending the stairs towards them, little more than sorrow drawn over her lovely face and then he turned to Berin and Milla at his side.

"Go ahead. I will join you later." he urged, and Berin spared him a fleeting glance before they left and Claira stood in front of him. She stared at him in silence, her bright blue eyes frigid in their glare. Was she angry with him? He bowed to her formally.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, your grace." he pardoned, and after another moment of silence she pitched forward and the single mad though occurred that she might strike him. But her arms went around his waist with more power than he would have thought for such a small lady, and she held him firmly, her cheek resting against his chest and her quivering touch burning through him in her embrace; yet all he could do was stand there stunned.

"Thank you. Thank you for bringing my husband back to me. I'm so glad that you're safe, too." she said softly against him, and he looked up through a tense breath seeing Berin looking back at him and smiling as he nodded. Falgon eased slightly then, bringing his arms slowly around her as he looked down and recognised the smell of vanilla, the corners of his lips rising as he pressed her gently against him; just sharing a moment of intimate peace, and in that instant he could feel the sure beat of his own heart. Then she drew back and looked up at him.

"He wants to see you." she informed, and then led him into the castle; up stairways and down halls to a chamber. She opened the door, briskly glancing inside and then stepped aside.

"Go on in." she urged, and he bowed his head before moving past her into the space and she closed the door behind him. Raeghun was sitting on a small chair in the corner of the room, the bolts had been removed from his thigh and back; dressed with odorous medicinal herbs and bound with white linen. He was pale, and the tremble of his muscles evident to experienced eyes as his body fought to regulate the flow through his veins after suffering blood loss; but as he looked up Falgon thanked his lord's spirit that the burn of the phoenix did not leave his clear blue eyes. He leaned back, studying the tall sentinel.

"You left my wife's side, to come to mine." he indicated, and Falgon nodded.

"I beg your forgiveness. I assessed our situation, and acted in its accordance." he explained, and Raeghun took that in. He paused, thinking and then forced himself to his feet unsteadily.

"Again, you have done more than what was expected of you." he turned to face him fully, and forced a breath into his marred lungs.

"Ask anything from me, and it's yours. A horse, a wife, a hold, lands, a title. Ask me, and I will see it done." he promised, and Falgon stared at him in a moment of surprise, then looked down and smiled.

"I don't want anything else, sire. I am happy where I am." he said, honesty as clear as the brightest day; and Raeghun regarded him before a slight flout.

"You have given yourself to us entirely, without any expectations." he determined, and Falgon's eyes came up at him, lucid and soft and truthful.

"It seems that would be the case, sire." he confirmed as Raeghun took him in. The tall man that was their protector. He who gave everything, and wanted nothing. Powerful and resilient, bringing with him hope and comfort. In their darkness, a tower of light...


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 – THE STRUGGLE

The sky was deep and dark with the shine of the stars, and yet another full moon. The unplanned circumstances forced their company to spend at least a month at Riverrun, time enough for their people to heal and recover adequate strength to return home despite lord Edmure's invitation to stay under their care for any length of time they needed. He was very kind, and eager to help where he was able to; and lord Hoster Tully was not at all diffident of the companionship as both his daughters had married and were living their own lives, yet they granted that he could entertain the thought of earlier years in his home. In the days following the incident Berin, Gavin and Saerus went back to the camp site in the woods, returning with what was not carried off and the bodies of their order's two lost sentinels. Remir was found in the woods, a deep cut across his throat while he was in need of relieving himself; and possibly hearing a struggle in the darkness, or just growing concerned regarding the outdrawn absence Adelard went to investigate, only rounding the side of the merchant cart to be struck in the heart by a bolt, his body being concealed by the shadows. It was a dispiriting time, and the sorrow was as heavy. The remains were entrusted to Riverrun's maester for preparation to journey home, and be lay to rest by their families. Over the weeks that followed, the wounded recovered; all except for Hernaut. He tried to dismiss the fact that his body was no longer as it used to be, and insisted that he will return to his service once he has again found his footing. Wounds did heal, and both body and spirit became stronger, but for the time being Raeghun had to resort to a cane to help his walk. Initially he hated the idea, and refused its use; but following pleas from his wife he accepted the aid. Finally deeming themselves fit for travel, their visit to Riverrun ended, and Edmure assigned a small party of guards to escort them as far as Seagard to retrieve their horses, from where they headed home. By this time having developed an evident bearing stomach, Milla decided to exchange her horse for a less hazardous seat on the small cart holding what they reclaimed from the road; and to their elation on a warm day the burning mountain came into view over the horizon. Their arrival was met with both great joy and concern by all of their household, but the happiness of being home and safe was greater than any other; and cook Jeody prepared something special for their welcome. Subsequent to seeing that the remains of Remir and Adelard, along with all of their belongings were returned to their families, Maester Adlyn again tended all of the wounded, and gave his aid and advise. In privacy, he examined the damage to Raeghun's back and thigh, finding that there was no damage that would lead to striking alterations, that the wounds healed well and that with enough time, care and exercise the lingering weakness to the lord's leg would diminish enough not to be obvious should it not vanish entirely, again giving his advice to try and adhere to his previous routine as much as he found possible, and walk the castle and its ground as frequently as he could to fortify his strength; yet insisted on the continued use of the cane to aid his balance. He gave his time to see Claira and Milla as well, relieved that apart from fatigue and a small degree of anxiety they were otherwise unharmed and in good health, and in a bout of excitement determined that the court maiden's expectancy was faring well, calculated at around twenty five weeks. Yet, another serene week passed bringing with it Milla's ten and ninth name day on clear skies and warm sunlight while her handmaiden Aurelne displayed an enhanced attraction to the order's tallest sentinel, one he didn't care to notice or intentionally dismissed as her continuing attempts for his attention failed. One overcast morning, Raeghun sat at the table in the Hollow, going through a selection of letters, mulling over the situation they were forced into. Two members of their order were stolen from them, and another left severely wounded. And while most of their strength returned to them, one did not. He had known this sentinel his entire life, and while he had an astounding adoration for him, it was unfair to expect something from him that his body would no longer allow him to do; and the heartache of what must be done tore at him. He breathed in deeply, attempting to lessen the quiver of his muscles and the prickles to his throat and chest, then he brought his attention to the sentinel entering Mount Ardor's rounded counsel chamber.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and the broad shouldered man with sand brown hair and green eyes smiled at him.

"I am well, my lord. Maester Adlyn has ensured that I am fit." he reported, and Raeghun nodded.

"That is good to hear. I need..." he thought for a moment, trying to delay the moment he would have to bear with a heavy heart.

"I need to speak to Falgon." he said, and Edur bowed his head before he left to call on him while Raeghun sat, trying to discern the shadows from the dull light. _I probably shouldn't have waited this long..._ A moment later the tall sentinel stepped inside, stopping next to the table and bowing formally while the door was closed behind him.

"You summoned me, sire?" he enquired as he straightened, and Raeghun smiled softly through a small sigh.

"I did." he confirmed, looking up. _Although, I'm not exactly sure why..._

"I need..." he started, but didn't know what to say as he studied the man in front of him, calm and patient, waiting for something that even his lord was at this moment unsure of.

"No. No, that's not exactly right. I want you to make a promise to me." he finally said.

"Anything, sire." Falgon assured, and Raeghun nodded.

"Please do not misunderstand. I will always be grateful for what you've done for me. However, you were assigned as my wife's sentinel. I placed you at her side for a reason, so the decision of choosing at whose side you stand does not fall to you." he said, but the dark eyes remained soft and understanding.

"Of course. Give me your command, sire; and I will obey." he promised, and Raeghun could find a genuine smile.

"When peril is present in any circumstances, never leave her side again. The lady of Mount Ardor is more important than I, or any other in this hold or even this domain, she is the future of our house." he said, and Falgon again bowed formally, acknowledging his command.

"As you bid, sire." he said, and then again met the burning blue eyes.

"Promise me." he said, and Falgon nodded through his gentle smile.

"I promise." he agreed, and Raeghun took yet another uneasy breath; the sting of the bolt still light in his back, but then he looked up hardening himself.

"Good. Have Hernaut summoned to me." he instructed, and the Falgon bowed before leaving. Moments later the older man was helped inside by his companions and set on a chair facing the lord, and there was a few moments of drawn-out silence before resting his hand on the table.

"How fares your recovery?" he asked and Hernaut smiled nervously.

"Well, my lord. A bit slower than I hoped for, but I'm becoming stronger each day." he assured, trying to mask the true outcome. Claira came up the hallway and found Berin at the door, looking morose. She looked at him, studying his features before reaching for the door feeling an ache to her heart.

"Perhaps you should not, my lady. Don't make this harder that what it is..." he said softly, and slowly her hand pulled back from the door.

"I've spent a lot of time reflecting on our circumstances, and I had to come to the conclusion that with the situation being what it is, I must release you from my order. You will be well compensated for your years of loyal service to my family, and you are free to rejoin your own in Garde's Post." Raeghun said, shunning the bitterness on his tongue. Hernaut stared at him, sorrow drowning the deep blue eyes.

"Lord Raeghun, I have been watching over you since you were a boy. The order was the greatest part of my life. Please, please don't send me from your side. I can still fight." he pleaded, and then the clear blue eyes met his, fervent and hard.

"You can barely stand. Do you believe that my father would have continued your service in your condition?" he asked and the sentinel leaned back against the chair.

"You are not your father." he reminded softly, and Raeghun sighed.

"No, I might not be. But I am the lord of this hold, and must make the best decisions for everyone, even you albeit against your will or better judgement." he stood, taking the cane next to him and came forward in a strained walk, laying a hand on the sentinel's shoulder.

"I will have three of our castle hands help you to gather all of your belongings, and then take you home. Give your daughters the chance to take care of you, when so many others will not be allowed that same honour." he promised, and then left the Hollow. He looked at Berin still beside the door.

"Our order is in need of three new sentinels, Berin. Do you think you can manage that?" he asked, and his friend nodded.

"There may be some promising members of the guard. I will inform you at the soonest." he assured, and Raeghun glanced back at the space now only holding the shadow of a man whom was entrusted with the protection of their lives, and their bloodline.

"Come, it is time for my walk." he said, and they left down the corridor to trail on the outside pathways.

"Do you think he will hate me?" Raeghun asked softly as they descended the grand stairway.

"He might, for a while. And then he will come to understand." Berin assured as they headed towards the great door, and before leaving the attention of three young men were called upon, and given instruction to tend to Hernaut, the assembling of his effects and his safe conveyance home, to his two daughters.

Claira and Milla enjoyed the afternoon in the lady's common room in the sun tower while listening to the gentle rain outside, working on their embroidery and sharing their thoughts. A serving girl brought a tray stocked with fresh crispels and pressed fruit extract for their enjoyment. Claira glanced at Milla, taking in her beautiful smile, the face of a mother and she thought for a moment of her own. How strong she was, the lady of Pale Haven that reigned its halls with an argent hand. Pure and inflexible, like her father's sword that she had once heard was named Talon; a long shimmering blade of silver that glistened in sunlight. How she missed them, their faces, their voices, their smiles just like the one she saw in front of her now. Hers was a happy life, it always has been except for one thing. Only one more thing. A new face, a new name, a new laugh, a new life to complete her family. The one thing she had been thus far been denied despite her yearning and her attempts to ignore it. _It will happen. It will..._ Her attention went back to the work in her hands, and she examined the image. Originally, she planned to only have six roses, the colours of the petals changing from blue centres to purple to red to orange and finally bright yellow edges. But now that she stared at it, she still wanted to add more flowers to her basket, it felt so empty. She considered Moonflowers, Lavender, Morning Glory's and Marigolds in all their rich colours, Foxgloves and Poppies, perhaps leaves in all their different greens. Tiny blossoms of soft pink, yellow and blue. A few small twigs...

"Claira?" her eyes went up to meet Milla's.

"I'm sorry." she said after a moment, realizing her thoughts had dragged her away again; and Milla laughed softly.

"It's al right. I know you have a tendency to 'wander' a bit." she said, adding another stitch to her work.

"I shouldn't do that, it's silly. You asked me something, didn't you?" she enquired as they continued their work.

"I was only asking, how your dear husband is doing?" she asked, bringing a slight smile.

"Better and better, each day. But he is severely frustrated with the situation, Raeghun is not the most patient man. And he thinks others might believe him unfit." she mentioned, and Milla scoffed.

"Oh, stuff those 'others'. You don't just jump up one day and everything is the way it was. Not after what they had to face." she said, and then lowered her hands thinking back.

"We were completely unprepared for what happened. We were lucky to get away with our lives... well, most of them." a tear ran down her cheek, but then looked up with a smile.

"Mount Ardor is blessed, to have him. I don't know what would have happened otherwise." she said, and Claira nodded.

"He did it all, without a moment's hesitation. Without any second thoughts. And then he came back, without so much as a bruise..." she shared the thoughts,

"Did you ever find out how many there were?" Milla asked, and Claira sighed shaking her head.

"No, but they said they were more than fifty." she mentioned, and Milla sat back against the chair staring at her.

"That many?" she didn't believe her, and honestly she wouldn't have either.

"It might have been sixty, I'm not sure. But it wasn't less than forty." she tried to correct it, but the words she heard was unclear. The final part at least she heard. _No less than forty..._

"And how are you feeling? Is your Berin excited?" she guided their conversation into a less sombre direction.

"I'm feeling very well, except for my feet; and Berin has been very helpful. My baby has been moving quite a bit more lately, but then he sings to him. It seems to calm him." she said, and Claira couldn't help but snigger through a smile.

"Berin sings?" and she tried to imagine it, seeing Milla blush.

"Yes, as best he can." she said

"That is adorable. Maybe I'll ask him to perform in our hall one evening." she joked, and Milla laughed with her.

"And you'll make sure to give instruction to Jeody to bring out his very best for the tables." she added, their attention went back to the work in their hands.

"Have you decided on a name?" Claira asked, and Milla nodded.

"A son we will name Berterin, and a daughter we will name Bella." she told, and Claira nodded.

"What beautiful names..." she reflected, and saw Milla glance at her again.

"Have you ever given any thought to your children's names?" she asked, and Claira felt the sting of a bee in her chest.

"No. But I suppose I will get to that, at some point." she said softly, driving away the bitterness.

"Soon. My child will be in need of a best friend." Milla tried to ease,

"Yes. Soon." but this time the dark would not fade. She added another three stitches to a rose petal, and then a shadow darkened the doorway; and they looked up to see maester Adlyn smiling at them with letters in his hands.

"My apologies for interrupting you, my ladies. We have received ravens from both Pale Haven and Oldtown. Houses Tormont and Hightower grows, both ladies are with child." he informed excitedly, passing a glance between Milla and Claira that was at first excited and then uneasy as a pause of silence followed, and Claira's eyes remained on the space in front of her.

"My lady?" Adlyn called again softly, unsure of his fault; but then she looked at him smiling.

"That's... That's wonderful, maester. Please send them our congratulations." she said, and then stood laying her embroidery hoop down on the chair.

"Would you please pardon me for a moment? I... I need to see that cook Jeody has everything in order for this evening." she excused, and then left the room with Milla and Adlyn remaining behind. The maester looked back at their court maiden.

"Was it something I said, my lady?" he asked, and she took a deep breath feeling the pity grow.

"No maester, you haven't done anything. Our lady is... yearning." she said, and he nodded as he rolled the letters between his fingers and his eyes went to the empty space where she vanished; wondering if there was anything he could do to help. There was the Orchid, of course; but that brought its own dangers that were often disregarded despite this aid being frequently recommended for those longing for motherhood. Lengthy and immoderate use resulted in complications and on lesser occasions to complete loss of the opportunity it was meant to present. But there were other, better ways that did not require any external assistance; but possibly a little bit of timing. He shoved the letters back into his sleeve, and looked back at Milla.

"Is there anything I may help you with before I leave?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No maester, I'm fine. I'll stay here a little bit longer." she said, and returned her attention back to her embroidery; and he left deciding to try and give his advice. He went down the steps, then passed the arch heading into his tower and down the incline that led past the lord's wing, heading further down on his way towards the Hall of Fire, and then he paused glimpsing a figure in red standing in front of the window on the other side of the wide table that was in the Hollow. Then he took a deep breath and stepped inside before closing the door.

"My lady?" she didn't turn to face him, but her motion told that she was wiping away tears.

"I'm sorry, if I upset you." he said coming closer, and then she turned.

"I'm being stupid, maester. It's not your fault, it's not their fault... It's no one's fault, this is just me being stupid. Just me being..." she started to explain, but then he took her hands.

"Just you being lonesome. Everyone close to you receives this blessing, every house grows effortlessly while yours have been delayed." he finished, and she looked down shielding her reddened eyes.

"My lady, I want to help you." he said softly, and felt her fingers softly tighten in his.

"Can you?" she asked looking up, and he smiled.

"I promise you that I will try." this brought a slight smile to her, a little glimmer of hope. Then their attention went to a knock at the door.

"Enter." Claira allowed, wiping away another tear, and a young page entered.

"My apologies for interrupting you milady, maester. We need your help, the smith's apprentice burnt his hand." he said, and then Adlyn looked back at Claira.

"Come see me after supper, then we will talk." he said, petting her hand and she nodded in agreement before he left the Hollow to attend to his bidding and she remained standing there in the empty space, listening to the hum of the rain and the roll of the thunder. Then she turned and looked at the clouds, dark and thick and ominous, and while the clouds passed over the darkness remained. She breathed in, feeling the moist cool of the breeze filtering through the window, and then as planned made her way to the kitchen to finalize their options with Jeody before returning to her common room and adding several lavender stalks with their delicate purple petals to her basket; and in a few hours a serving girl came to announce that the banquet will soon be served and they proceeded to the feast hall to enjoy their evening with each other's company while they shared honey glazed goose and countryside greens with sweet potatoes, sating their thirst on ale and fine wine. Shortly after, Claira excused herself to meet with their maester, who gave his advise and soundly explained each choice with its effects and risks, and she was allowed to decide. Following a brief examination she returned to the lord's wing to take her bath, and she headed up to their chamber waiting for her husband, hoping and praying that the maester was accurate and that the slight pain she had been experiencing on her right side since early this morning was not merely anxiety like she had thought several times before. _This is your body's way of telling you when you are ready. It is brief, lasting a day or two; but this time has the highest possibility._ She looked down at her hands folded on her lap, and listened to the world around her. The soft crackle of the fireplace, the pop of the torches, the sounds of the night from outside, and finally footsteps approaching the door. Her eyes went up to see her husband enter still holding the cane in his right hand, and then closed the door behind him leaving his walking aid next to it and then he came towards her, his fingers starting to unfasten the laces holding the jerkin to his body. He was walking better than he was some weeks ago, but the lameness remained. She stood and went to him raising her hands to help him, and softly pulled the threads free. With the jerkin and tunic discarded, her arms went around his waist while his circled her arms and back.

"Thank you, my sweet." he leaned forward and kissed her, tender and lingering before drawing back.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and he softly smiled.

"Better. It's easier to move around now, and the pain has lessened." he said, and she lay her head against his chest.

"That is good..." she breathed, and his left hand went up into her hair as he pressed her tighter to him.

"And you?" she looked up at him again, the blue of their eyes merging.

"I'm fine. Why?" then lowered himself again.

"Then that is good." he whispered before placing his lips to hers again, and her arms tightened around him betraying her desperation. She drew back, her lips only touching his as the sensation of flames and frost dancing in a swirl through her body left her skin tingling.

"Raeghun... Make love to me..." she breathed against him, then he kissed her again and drew back staring at her. His hand went to her cheek, his fingers softly caressing the edge of her cheekbone and jaw.

"Is something wrong, Claira?" the clear burning blue was even brighter, but the concern veiling them forced a sting to the frost blue.

"No. No, nothing is wrong." She assured as her hands came back from him, her left going up and around his neck while her right hand rested against his chest, feeling the beat of his strong heart, and he sighed. _My dear wife, you're a beautiful woman with a beautiful heart and a gentle nature; but you're a terrible liar..._ He kissed her again as his right hand slid the gown from her shoulders, and he took her from the floor to the safety of their bed. Discarding what was left of his garments he covered her body with his, branding gentle kisses to her right cheek, down the length of her neck to her chest while her fingers traced icy trails up his thighs to his hips, back and shoulders, and his left hand tenderly touched the form of her arm, the round of her breast and down her stomach, over her hip and thigh to her knee, drawing it past him. Her mouth found his neck as her arms went around his shoulders holding him close to her; then she gasped against him, set in the moment he entered her. He buried his face in the corner of her shoulder, the strands of hair brushing against his cheek as his lips pressed against her neck and he winced, cursing the sting in his back and thigh as he moved and her soft gasps transformed into light whimpers to his skin. Her fingers strained into him as she held him, her legs bringing him closer to her, feeling his heated breaths over her. Then his voice sounded close to her ear in a mild groan, and like a thousand times before, she could feel her husband pulsing inside of her as she moaned against his shoulder; and she prayed again that her womb would quicken and embrace the heir to the mighty Taugere bloodline… Hours later he lay awake, watching as she slept. His right arm wrapped around her waist, and hers anchored around his neck while her leg covered his hips. He felt so sorry for her, that she was forced to endure this. That the one thing she wanted more than anything else, something that was supposed to be so easy, was the one thing he wasn't able to give her. His left hand went to her, gently stroking her cheek; and then he remembered the words of the old man on the beach. _The loneliness won't last, sire. Frost and flame will join, and she will bear you a son in time._ He sighed. _Time? We are only given so much, and it can be taken away at any moment... But if there is any chance, any at all..._ He turned and kissed her, stirring her from sleep before moving forward and covering her again. Even in her drowsiness her arms coiled around his shoulders while he kissed her, and he entered her once more.

She woke to the sheen of sunrise, and a loving kiss as her husband rose to start his day.

"I'll meet you in the southern hall. I love you." he whispered, and then stood moving off to claim his clothing before seizing the cane and departing the chamber to cleanse himself. She lingered between the sheets a moment longer, feeling exhausted and sore but content as she attempted to recall how many times she accepted him; each time more insistent, more urgent, more desperate. Her hand went to a cut on her lip where she had bitten herself to sever what could have been a cry, and she reminded herself that her husband would never harm her, and the discomfort she felt was not caused by him, but the swelling in her stomach and she could only imagine the count of lesions down his back. She rose debating on her attire for the day as she pulled her robe over her, and a soft knock sounded at the door, and she allowed entry to three handmaidens who helped her dress and brushed out her hair before starting on the chores of the lord's wing and she passed through the door, finding her sentinel awaiting her.

"Good morning, your grace." he greeted politely, and she smiled closing the door.

"Good morning, ser Falgon." she returned, and noticed him studying her before he rose his hand, indicating her mouth.

"Who did that to you?" he suddenly asked, his deep voice wrought with concern and her hand covered her mouth.

"No one. No one did this to me, I did it to myself." she said quickly, seeing the concern change to confusion in his dark eyes.

"Why?" in a vulnerable moment of anger and frustration she snapped at him.

"Why are you questioning me? Who do you think you are?" regretting it instantly as he returned to how he was.

"Forgive me, your grace. You don't owe me any explanations, of course." he said, and she hated herself.

"No. No, I'm sorry. You're just concerned, you're doing what you're supposed to." she said, but he smiled gently.

"It's al right." he eased, and then turned.

"Shall we start your day, your grace?" and she nodded.

"Yes, of course." and they headed down through the halls to meet the rest of their people. They found Milla overseeing preparations for their morning meal, dressed in green velvet and her hair hanging freely down her back, her hands resting on a well rounded stomach, and Claira smiled reflecting on a single flake of hope that she may be able to join in her happiness soon. She glanced back at her sentinel.

"I will wait for you here, if it please you." he said, and she nodded being able to count the number of times he shared a table in their hall on a single hand and she entered their hall as he watched her move away.

"Good morning, ser Falgon." he turned and looked down into light violet eyes smiling at him.

"Good morning, Aurelne." he returned, indifferent to her presence.

"I hope you slept well." she said, and he thought for a moment.

"I had a fair evening, thank you." she remained next to him.

"You're shadowing our lady today?" she asked, and he glanced back into the hall.

"I am." he confirmed, and for a moment she looked almost disappointed.

"Well, I am in service of lady Milla today. Perhaps I will meet with you again later." she said, and he bowed his head in his normal polite manner as she moved away and he spared her a final glance as she made her way to their ladies. Aurelne was a nice girl, but her persistent interest in him was misplaced. Truth be told, it would have been liberating if he shared the sentiment, but he didn't. There was nothing, just a black void vacant of all emotion, and he had a moment of hope that it may change to someone more suited to her. Then he felt a hand to his shoulder, and he turned back to see Berin who had come from the barracks.

"Good morning, ser." he greeted, and Falgon smiled.

"Good morning, my lord." he returned, and Berin laughed.

"Will you be joining us?" he asked,

"Not this morning. I will wait here until her grace has need of me." he assured, and Berin scoffed.

"Yes, naturally. No wonder the young ones have taken to calling you 'the rock'." he teased, and Falgon laughed.

"The rock, of all things?" Berin looked around.

"They won't let you hear that, of course." he mentioned, but Falgon shrugged.

"Their silly appellations don't bother me." he assured, and Berin smirked.

"Fuck, is there anything that does?" he teased, and Falgon took a moment to thought.

"One or two things..." he mentioned, and Berin was left shaking his head.

"I will never understand you." he said, meeting the dark eyes.

"Perhaps that is best." he said, and Berin moved forward into the hall.

"Well then, I will see you later." he said as he left him there, shadowing the doorway and he made his way to his wife evidently sharing her thoughts and recent experiences with the lady of the hold as she stood laughing. He wrapped a strong arm around her, and gently kissed her cheek before bringing his attention to Claira.

"Good morning, my lady. I trust you had a good evening?" he greeted, and she smiled under a soft blush to her pale cheeks.

"Good morning, lord Berin. It was thank you, and I am quite relieved at a clear sunrise this morning." she said, and spared a glance at the doorway.

"Have you seen my dear lord husband, perchance?" noticing that his was not among the faces in their feast hall.

"He is in consultation with the maester, but I am sure he will join us soon." he reported, and she nodded before looking towards the kitchen, on which their hall stood prepared and waiting.

"Well, it should still be some time before cook Jeody serves." her attention came back to Milla.

"Lady Milla, won't you join me in the garden for a while? I crave some sunlight." she requested, and Milla agreed before they wandered off through the great arched doors to their outside world where every type of blossom you could think of bloomed in all their portrait colours. Amidst the banter of the hall, he heard the telling sound of footsteps accompanied by the thud of wood on the stone floor, and he turned to see Raeghun enter the hall.

"Good morning, my lord. May I assume that you have received good tiding?" he asked, and Raeghun smiled.

"Good morning. The same advise I am given every few days, to keep to my routine and continue my practice. But I am feeling better, save for the occasional sting." he reported, and glanced back at the door.

"I suppose I should take to sparring again." he mentioned, but Berin found himself believing that at this time such forceful effort may be too strenuous to the healing process.

"Perhaps you should give yourself a bit more time." he proposed, and then the blue eyes met his again.

"I've had enough of dawdling around. Meet me in the bailey." he instructed, and then turned to make his way outside. Berin sighed softly, and then followed; indicating for Falgon to accompany them as he passed. Cool moist air met them as they exited the hold, despite the clear sky and warm sun and he watched as Raeghun discarded the cane along with his shirt in preparation for their exercise, and he did the same. They took up positions near the wall, where they usually trained together, and the breeze eased scarred skin. He examined him, the wound the bolt had left was now only a crimson mark over the ribs of his back, but for the first time in his life he felt uncomfortable sparring against his best friend with whom he had trained in this same way daily for fourteen years.

"Are you ready?" he asked as he balanced himself, watching Raeghun ready himself.

"Don't hold back." came the lord's instruction.

"Raeghun-" Berin started, having to acknowledge that he did not want to risk further injury to a still healing body, but Raeghun stared at him, blue eyes burning and bright like always.

"I said, don't hold back." he insisted, and Berin nodded. A moment of pause followed, and then they moved forward. Raeghun's motions were queerly slow and awkward, easily predictable and three times his bare shoulders met the earth following what should have been precise attacks. Berin stood breathing hard,

"That's enough." he said, watching his friend rise.

"No. Not yet." _I will not submit to this... I am the lord of Mount Ardor..._ Raeghun refused, ignoring the throb edging through his chest and thigh, and moved forward, faster than before. Berin drew back sharply, avoiding the strike of a fist while bringing his left hand down on Raeghun's shoulder, forcing him to his knee which under normal circumstances would have been very difficult given the lord's strength.

"I said, that's enough." Berin told him again, feeling the heat to his touch.

"Shut up!" _I will not be weak... I will not yield!_ Raeghun suddenly turned and the dull throb became a series of stabs to his muscles, landing a hard elbow to Berin's chest and shoving him back before his weight forced him down; but using the momentum the sentinel countered and the scarred back again found the earth.

"Enough!" Berin ordered from his position above him, but the blue eyes cut into him like freshly forged swords, hard and sharp and enraged. _Mine is the blood of the Ardent Kings!_

"Fuck you!"he ignored the pain, the jagged sear through his body and brought his left knee up hard, sinking it into Berin's stomach and forcing the air from his lungs before turning, and aiming a destructive blow for his face, the wrath and frustration severing his senses. Suddenly a powerful hand wrapped around his wrist, and his motion stopped as he looked up at the tall figure beside him, every nerve, joint and muscle burning in the pain he forced himself to disregard.

"This ends now. Your frustration is understandable, sire. But exerting yourself will not speed your recovery, it will slow it." Falgon said, and slowly released the lord's wrist as he watched the anguish wash over him and the heat die away. Raeghun raised himself, allowing Berin to sit up, and then his fingers dug into the ground as a defeated call ripped from his agonised lungs, and then he breathed; bringing a forced calmness to himself and looked up at his friend's clear green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Berin..." he said softly, forcing his chest to expand in deep breaths through the stinging; but his friend smiled compassionately and his hand found his shoulder.

"It's al right. Don't push yourself so hard. Your strength will return to you." he assured as he stood, and helped Raeghun to his feet.

"We'll spar again tomorrow, but we'll take it slow. We start with the basics." he promised, and Raeghun nodded hearing his father say that any kind of training was probably better than none at all.

"Very well." he turned to reclaim his shirt, taking a step forward when burning agony tore through his leg up into his back and gravity crushed him, pulling him down to the ground and again he bit back a cry. Concerned hands found him, and through the blazing torture he heard Berin's voice.

"Find the maester, now! And bring water!" he ordered, lifting Raeghun's right arm up and over his shoulder while pushing his way under him, and forced him up.

"Let go of me, Berin. I'm fine." he tried to pull away, but his friend's eyes met his.

"Shut up, Raeghun." he hauled him to a hay bale and set him down, and he noticed the faces around them; both solicitous and mazed.

"Back to your business!" he ordered feeling discomposed, and then eased as he watched them move off and the pain again faded to throbbing.

"You should stop doing this to yourself." Berin said, and Raeghun looked up at him.

"I am the liege of the Corridor, these lands and all of its people are under my protection. I can't protect them if I'm like this. I can't help anyone, if I'm this useless." he said, and Berin sat down next to him. A young page came running down through the doorway with a horn filled with spring water clutched in his hand, bringing it to the lord. He gave it nervously, and then took a step back.

"Is... Is there anything else I can get you, m'lord?" he asked, and Raeghun shook his head waving the boy away, only holding the horn in his hand.

"You are the liege, and nothing will change that. Your line is ancient. But this isn't a debate of title or rights or obligations, but of your health. For once, think of that. Not for me, or the hold or anyone else in this country; but for yourself. For your wife." he said.

"Do you even think she would recognise me, like this?" Berin laughed, like he made some kind of bad joke.

"Claira loves you for your heart. Not for your title, or your features, or your abilities – or lack thereof. And if you ever forget that again, I'll throw you off the bridge myself." he teased, gently shoving his friend, and Raeghun did smile. Berin was right, of course; and realizing it anew made him that much more grateful, and he brought the horn to his mouth. Moments later, maester Adlyn appeared from the doorway rushing over to them to examine the damage. He studied the wounds, ensuring that there were no new tears, then felt along the muscles.

"I am sorry, my lord. It seems you have attempted too much, too fast. Some muscles have been pulled, and newly healed blood vessels torn; but to my relief no severe impairment. I will give you milk of the poppy for the pain, but I strongly recommend that you avoid sparring again for yet another three days at least." he told and Raeghun stared at him, the gall of disappointment etched to his features.

"Three days? Are you being serious?" he asked, and Adlyn's deep brown eyes met his.

"I am afraid so, my lord. Preferably, I would have you pent to absolute rest for that time to further speed the healing. But knowing you, you would in all likelihood refuse that." he said, and Raeghun breathed out. _The torments of mortality..._ The maester looked at Berin.

"Would you be so kind as to escort our lord back into the hold, lord Berin? I will have the aid brought to him in the feast hall, where I assume you will assemble this morning." he said, and then turned to head back into the castle, and Berin stood.

"Well then, the maester has spoken." he said, and glanced at Falgon waiting patiently off to one side. He was grateful for him, had his hand not found Raeghun's wrist, his fist would have met his jaw, and quite possibly several teeth may have made an acquaintance with the ground, and thought of how their roles changed. In the beginning, it was Raeghun that ended their spar, the second it was he who ended that of his friends. Now, their tallest was the one to end theirs. Another guard took the liberty to deliver their tunics and the cane to them, and after pulling the fabric over their shoulders he stood waiting as Raeghun forced himself to his feet. The pain still pulsed through him, but with effort he made the journey to their southern hall where they waited to continue their day. As promised, a small vial of white liquid was delivered to the lord at the high table, and to his best he tried not to strain himself any further, and rather attended to the matters of the hold's court; overseeing the taxation, ending two disputes between farmers and giving his permission for a young couple to enter courtship, all with the court master at his side. After the departure heeding the final matter, Metron looked at him.

"You are doing very well, my lord. I don't know why you keep me around." he mentioned, and Raeghun stood from the throne crowning the grand staircase.

"Because I am still in need of your counsel, Metron. And in the event that there are matters that need attention when I am not fit to pass these judgements, you have the authority to do so in my stead." he explained, and Metron bowed.

"Of course, my lord. I will hold to your guidance whenever so needed." he assured, and Raeghun scanned the hall.

"You knew my father very well; do you believe that my decisions would have carried his approval?" he asked softly, and Metron stepped closer to him.

"I will confess, that you are not as your father was; but sometimes a tender hand has more success than an iron one. And yes, I do believe that he would have been very, very proud. Besides, the same fire burns in you." he said with a smile.

"You may take the rest of the day for yourself, I believe we are done here." he allowed, and Metron thanked him before moving away. Despite the kind words, he didn't feel relieved and decided to ease his mind he might again wander the castle grounds for a time.

Following a brief visit to maester Adlyn himself, Berin headed down to the southern hall to join the evening feast, where Gavin met him on the grand stairway.

"We're heading out to the _Hawks_ for a while, later on. Would you like to join us?" he asked, and he nodded.

"I might consider that, but I need to see to my wife first." he said, and Gavin smiled.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." he said, and he felt strangely annoyed.

"Still, I'll ensure that she is before we leave." Berin insisted, hearing Gavin sigh.

"How you and our lord love your dear wives. A magical notion." he reflected, leaving a sting to Berin's skin. Gavin was indeed a cheerful and involved member of their house, but he didn't believe in the concept of love, and was far more content with the simple giving and receiving of the occasional entertainment; Berin thought perhaps due to the realism that his parents were not as much lovers than they were partners.

"Perhaps you should try finding yourself a wife, Gavin. Then you'll understand." Berin mentioned, and Gavin laughed.

"No, that's not in me. I'd rather leave that kind of enchantment to the two of you." he declined, and an idea came to mind.

"What about that Aurelne girl? She seems pleasant. And I understand you've spent some time together." Gavin looked at him as if he slapped him in the face.

"You haven't been paying much attention, lately. She doesn't want me. You might want to give that same advice to ser Falgon." he mentioned, and Berin shook his head.

"As you wish. We'll meet you later." he agreed, and proceeded on his way meeting the rest of their people where they assembled for the banquet and supped on pork drizzled with apple sauce and lard baked potatoes, steamed broccoli with cheese strips and pumpkin, of course accompanied by mead. After the hall was cleared, and the singers sang their songs the castle lives retreated to their chambers, and he saw that Milla was safely tucked in their bed with a book in her hands, and after assuring that she had everything else she might need he stood at the foot of the bed.

"I'm heading out to the _Hawks_ with Gavin and some others for a while." he informed, and she glanced at him.

"Al right. Don't be back late." she said, and he nodded.

"I won't. I'm tired, anyway." he assured, and came over to kiss her before leaving. Gavin, Edur and Saerus waited for him at the door, and he spared a glance at the arch leading into the barracks.

"Are you ready?" Gavin called, and Berin nodded.

"In a moment. Go on ahead, I'll catch up." he said, and made his way into the guards hall, finding Falgon at his usual place in front of the hearth, in his usual manner.

"We're heading out to the _Hawks_ for a little while. Do you wish to join us?" he asked as he came over, and lay a hand on the backrest of the chair. Falgon lowered the book, looking at the flames.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I shouldn't." he said softly, and Berin's hand went from the chair to his friend's shoulder.

"Come along. It may do us all good to escape the burn of the mountain." he urged, and after a short pause Falgon sighed and stood laying the book on the table.

"Very well, if you insist." he agreed, and glanced at Summit against the wall.

"You may leave it. We're not heading off to battle, and won't be gone long." Berin eased, but the sentinel's hand went around the grip and he placed the sword where it belonged.

"This sword is a part of me, Berin. Where I go, it goes." he said, and Berin scoffed.

"I'm sorry. Routine became habit, and habits are not easily cast off." Falgon said as he turned, prepared to leave.

"As you wish." they left the light of the guard's hall, through the Hall of Fire and across the bailey, passed under the gate and made their way down the road to Garde's Post where they again found a table near the back hearth of _The Greasy Hawks_ ; and a server brought two horns filled with ale for their enjoyment, the other members of their order already well settled in as they conversed with those around them. He glanced at Falgon, his hand clasped around the rim of the horn while he watched the activities of the tavern, and he wondered what he was thinking.

"Are you al right? You've been quiet for a while." the tall sentinel's attention came to him, with the usual soft smile.

"I'm fine. I really am. There's no need for you to concern yourselves about me." he assured, and Berin breathed out, relieved.

"Good. Perhaps, I have been more uneasy than I realized." he confessed, bringing the horn to his mouth. He had tried not to acknowledge it, but the entire atmosphere of Mount Ardor seemed different since their return. There was a darkness that hung over it, and everyone was tense; he expected uneasiness everywhere, but heard his friend chuckle.

"Well, with your little one's time so near, that is quite understandable." he mentioned, and Berin reflected, realizing that it was indeed close. In little more than three moons, he would meet his son or daughter. He leaned forward, placing a hand to his mouth as the reality of that sunk in, and he laughed.

"When she told me, it felt like we would wait forever; but now... now it's so close..." he said softly, and then sat back again.

"I am happy for you, my friend." Falgon congratulated, and then looked up at Gavin who came over to them.

"So glad you could join us, my friends." he said as he smiled and sat down to share their table.

"Thank you for the invitation." Berin said, and Gavin glanced between them.

"So, how is your dear wife? Was everything al right when you left?" he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

"She is well, and yes everything was fine. But I'd prefer not to leave her side for long." Berin said,

"I'm sure someone will come running if something happened." Gavin said, leaving yet another sting to Berin's throat.

"Are you trying to get on my nerves?" he asked suddenly, but Gavin smiled.

"No, not at all. I adore Milla, she's one of the most beautiful ladies of our hold. She was a good match for you, the lord's head of the sentinels, and the lady's court maiden." he said, and then glanced at Falgon.

"Speaking of matches, I've noticed the attention of another lovely young woman of our hold turned towards you quite a bit lately." he mentioned, and Falgon brought the horn to his mouth.

"Oh." he said, and then swallowed of the ale while Gavin stared at him, baffled.

"If you haven't noticed, you're either blind or stupid." he said, and Falgon shrugged as he placed the horn back on the table.

"Whichever fits you." he said, his dark eyes coming up to him.

"She's a nice girl, Falgon. Maybe give her a chance. I've spent some time with her, she might surprise you." he urged, suddenly seeing the dark eyes harden.

"I'm not here to find a woman, Gavin. My loyalty is to her grace, only. Her safety and welfare is my charge, and I will not allow my duty to be divided by anything." he determined, and Gavin sat back.

"Well, fuck me then. You look like a man, but you certainly don't act like a natural one." he said, and Falgon looked away from him.

"Go get yourself something, or someone to do, Gavin." Berin said, and he stood.

"'The rock' indeed. It's not our pleasures that are deprived." he teased as he stepped away, his arm going around a girl in a light ivory dress, and Berin shook his head sighing.

"Don't mind him. He's already had too much ale." he said, and looked back at Falgon, still staring at the flames; but it did seem odd.

"You care about lady Claira that much; that having a normal life is of no value to you?" he asked softly, and then Falgon looked at him.

"I had nothing, Berin. I was nothing. Everything I do now, everything I am, even my name is because of her. Wouldn't you feel the same way?" he countered, and Berin thought on that for a moment before nodding.

"Yes. Yes, I would." he agreed, and then Falgon looked away, his eyes going to the wood flooring.

"What's wrong?" Berin asked, and saw his friend's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

"I will admit, that I'm disquieted about them." he said, and Berin had to agree.

"There has been tension. And I can't say for sure, but I believe that our lord's frustration with his circumstances are affecting our lady as well. You recall this morning?" then Falgon looked at him.

"I do. A little more force from him, and he would have thrown me down." he mentioned, and a new realization and respect for the strength of Mount Ardor's lord struck him as his eyes examined the sentinel opposite from him. _If this man had exertion against him_ _even when wounded_ _, what could he have done to me...?_ then he glanced away.

"The disappointment is mounting, in everyone. We all see it, we can all feel it; and I don't know how to remedy it. Raeghun isn't talking to me like he used to, he's quiet and reserved. Claira is quiet and reserved... Her desperate want of a child, and his anger of the situation is making things difficult." he said softly, and saw Falgon nod.

"Her lip was broken... difficult might not be the word to use." Falgon whispered, and Berin couldn't help the thoughts going through his head.

"Raeghun would never hurt Claira, Falgon. I swear it." he promised quickly, and Falgon smiled.

"I know... But for her to resort to self-harm cannot be good." he said looking up, again scanning the faces of the tavern and emptying the horn.

"Won't you try talking to him?" Berin asked, and the dark eyes came to him.

"Why me? What makes you think he'd listen to me?" he asked, surprised at the request.

"I don't know. I just... I don't know what else to do." he said, and further watched in silence as a tavern girl came over to refill their horns; and watching as she moved away Falgon's hand went around the rim of the horn again.

"I'll try. But I can't do anything more than that." he agreed, leaving Berin feeling grateful. Perhaps he might just listen to someone different. The only person who had the potential to challenge him, although he would never reach for that, and he took hold of the horn. Their second round was over lighter conversation to try and lighten themselves, but even the ale tasted old and bitter; and for a little while they just listened to the rumours floating about in the air of the inn. Some time later Berin looked into the horn, contemplating on the final taste.

"We should get going, it's getting late." Falgon mentioned as he set his horn down on the table, and Berin nodded deciding to force down what was left, and emptied the horn while his friend left a single gold coin on the flat surface before standing and replacing his sword again. Berin glanced at the coin, and then stood to follow.

"A little excessive, don't you think?" he asked, and Falgon looked back.

"They work hard." was his only reply, and Berin decided to leave it at that. He found Gavin and Saerus at a different table near the doorway.

"We're heading back. Don't cause any trouble." he informed, and Gavin laughed well sated on the tavern's ale.

"You know me, Berin. I don't cause the trouble, the trouble causes me." he joked, and Berin could share a smile.

"That's what I'm worried about." he shared, and then departed into the night air; finding Falgon awaiting him on the stone path, looking up at the many torches lighting the massive castle's walls; and he noticed it too. The way it stood out in the night, illuminated by something that might resemble magic. They way it burnt, every life, every memory a living flame on its grounds.

"They'll be al right, won't they?" he couldn't stop the question, and felt half foolish. But Falgon looked at him, smiling.

"I'm sure they will be." he said, and then a sudden disturbance changed him. Something fell, perhaps a crate or a barrel as wood met earth, and muffled voices sounded from somewhere close but concealed. He moved past Berin, towards a narrow passage between two buildings, shielded by traders vessels.

"Get the guards." he said, and left his friend recalling how he was in the woods several weeks ago; and the head of the sentinels could have sworn that his eyes followed a dark shadow settling over the tallest member of their order. Deep, dreadful and tragic. He turned, scanning the town centre and spied two guards entering from one of the pathways, immediately demanding their attendance. Falgon entered the small passage, finding a young girl with a basked knocked over at her feet and several selections of fruit rolling across the dust; and a man holding her to the wall with a slim blade over her chest. Disgust struck the sentinel's gut like a fist, and he moved forward.

"No... Please, let me go..." the girl begged, not raising her voice for fear of what the stranger might do if alarmed.

"Keep quiet now. I'll see that it's over quickly for you." he whispered, the rancid smell of sweat and ale floating from him, and then the world darkened and the man turned as Falgon's hand wrapped around his throat. The blade fell to the ground as a powerful arm hauled him up, and slammed him hard against the wall; he gasped as his feet kicked fruitlessly above reach of the ground, and the girl sank to her knees.

"Go home, girl." the sentinel ordered, and she grabbed the basked and whatever fruit was in reach before running. The shadow intensified as the sharp dark eyes cut into the man dangling against the building.

"I despise people like you. You should be thrown from a cliff by a leash, contemplating in your last moments which will be the first to snap. The rope or your neck." his fingers tightened as the man struggled against his effortless strength.

"Falgon, let him go." a familiar voice returned him, and he looked back to see Berin and two guards standing beside him, and the darkness dissolved. He released his victim, who fell to the ground gagging and gasping.

"Thank your gods, for their lenience." he said, and then turned to leave while Berin watched him move away, again mystified by him; and then looked back at the man on the ground.

"Hold him in the cells until morning, then we will decide what to do." he instructed, and waited as the assailant was taken into their custody. He rose rubbing his throat, and looked at Berin.

"Thank you." he whispered, and Berin jeered.

"I did nothing for you. But I assure you, our lord might show you more mercy than that man." he said, knowing what he could do. He had seen it, and it had haunted him for several nights until he reminded himself that he was a member of their order, of their house; of their family. He watched as the guards took him away to the cells, and then scanned the town centre finding it vacant. He sighed, and then started up the road alone back to their home; and entered deciding to check the guard's hall again where he found Falgon at his place, his eyes set on the flames.

"For such a big man, you disappear rather quickly." he teased coming over, but the sentinel's attention remained fixed on the hearth.

"I'm sorry I abandoned you there, but if I turned back..." he started, and Berin sat down next to him.

"It's al right." he eased, and the dark eyes came to him then.

"Do I owe you an explanation?" he asked, and a short pause followed before Berin turned his attention to the same flames his friend had been watching.

"No, but I wouldn't mind if you shared." he said, and heard Falgon take a deep breath before letting it out slowly; and his eyes went back to the light.

"Things like that, didn't exist for my people. Our lands bordered two countries, and we frequently saw clashes for control over its domain. As it was since the beginning, even the girls were taught how to fight; they would beat you to an inch of your life if you got on their nerves. That was how I met Ayla. My brothers and I went out hunting, and she was gathering berries for her family. Marauders from across the border happened to find her." he started to tell, and a bitter sting darted across Berin's stomach.

"She needed help?" he asked, and for a moment Falgon smiled as a memory came back to him.

"No, not then. But they certainly did. Because of her, and my mother I came to have great respect for women. They often assume roles and responsibilities that were not meant for them, and they do this without any reservation. We must protect them, to our full extent." he said, and the depth of his devotion became a shade clearer while the sorrow remained.

"What happened?" Berin asked softly, perhaps not wanting the answer.

"Years later, all my strength and skill wasn't enough. That is one of the things that angers me most; lesser men's blatant disrespect for something so special, so precious..." he said, and the bitter sting transformed into a nauseating burn through his bowels; not being able to imagine anything as horrifying as having your loved one mistreated in any way.

"I am sorry for what happened, my friend." he said, not being able to think of any way to lessen the hurt of his past.

"We all have our struggles... our shadows..." The deep voice said, soft and emotionless, and the realization struck him. The hate he had for those who would harm his family, manifested into a physical entity; a black mass that conjured over him, something that became so much more prominent when he was angered; and for the first time Berin felt a fear for the man sitting next to him. Fear, for a man he named his friend, whom he called brother...

"Falgon, I-" he started, but was cut short.

"It doesn't matter, any more." he stared at him, not accepting those words.

"Of course it does." he countered, and the dark eyes met his again.

"No, it doesn't. I told you, my past is no longer important. My future is." he said, but Berin shook his head.

"You can't have a future, without a past. Without remembering who you are." he said, seeing Falgon nod.

"I do remember who I am. But I don't care to be that again." he said, glancing away.

"I can't make you understand." he uttered softly, when Berin's hand found his shoulder.

"You don't need to." he said. He did understand, and there was nothing he was more grateful for than having him in their house; wanting to do everything in his power to make it better.

"Go on, your Milla is waiting for you." Falgon said, longing for the solace of the hall and Berin stood.

"Good night, Falgon." he greeted, and his friend looked up.

"Sleep well, my lord." he returned, and Berin left the hall up the grand staircase and into the east wing to their chamber, not being able to cast the thoughts from his head. _We all have our struggles... our shadows..._ He softly entered their room, finding his wife still as he left her earlier. She looked up at him as he closed the door behind him and slowly started discarding his clothing.

"You didn't need to wait up for me." he said, throwing his boots next to the dresser and she smiled.

"I wanted to finish my book." she said, laying it down on the table next to her and carefully standing.

"It's that good? What's it about?" he asked as he removed the sword belt and jerkin from his body.

"A beautiful story, about a northern princess who fell in love with a southern king. And despite the world's differences, they brought people together." she told coming over to him, and her hands rested on his sides while his went around her.

"Unfortunately, those kinds of things mostly only happen in stories." he said, but she smiled.

"The stories have to come from somewhere, some people make their own." she said, and he leaned down to kiss her as his left hand came back and rested on the swell of her stomach, thinking of happier things. A sudden soft nudge made him pull back and snigger, then her hand rested on his.

"Seems he knows his father is home, and he wants a song." she whispered and they laughed. Her hands slid under his tunic to remove it, and Berin suddenly flinched to her touch on his right lowest ribs bringing concern to her clear green eyes.

"Berin?" he smiled and shook his head, not wanting to upset her, but she took hold of the fabric and lifted it to his chest, revealing a dark blemish over his right side. She stared at him, and he took her hands.

"I'm fine, just bruised." he assured and laughed softly again, remembering their session from that morning; the hard impact to his stomach.

"I didn't think he'd be that fast. That'll teach me to underestimate him..." he joked, and then kissed her again as his hands released hers, and her arms went around his neck while his circled her, and she pressed him closer.

"They'll be al right, won't they?" she asked, the concern in her voice so desperate he again couldn't stop the thoughts racing through his mind, but he held her tightly against him.

"I'm sure they will be." he assured, willing it to be an honest truth.

Morning came, and as the rich colours of sunrise changed the horizon Raeghun lay cursing on the soft mattress with his back resting against the headboard, burning as steel crimson pain stabbed at his leg and back. He had tried to stand up, but found that his body would not respond; the agony paralysing the muscles and even breathing was hard. He looked down at his wife, still at his side; grateful for the cool of her skin that eased him throughout the restless night, and gently wiped a strand of hair from her cheek. She softly moaned, his gentle touch waking her from sleep and then she flexed between the sheets to bring her muscles to life and looked up at him, her frost blue eyes still lethargic from a dream.

"I'm sorry for disrupting your night." he breathed softly, but she smiled.

"It's al right. I should get up, though." she said, wiping the lingering sleep from her eyes and turned to rise. Pulling her robe over her skin, she went to the wardrobe and pulled a black dress with silver detailing from her selections, and flat grey slippers before looking at him. The handmaidens won't enter in his presence, so she would have to make due on her own. This was a recitation of many millennia, one showing respect. She took a side laced corset from her drawer as she discarded the robe, and loosened the cords just enough to pull it over her hips and secured it around her body before fitting her soft under-dress, and then looked at her husband who was staring out of the window overlooking the Sunset Sea on their west side.

"I'll ask Metron to attend to the court matters today." she said and pulled the dress over her skin, fastening the back laces as best she could before smoothing down the fabric and pulling the slippers over her feet. She took the brush from the top of the dresser, and pulled the bristles through her thick hair.

"Just give me a moment..." he said, and she came over to him after replacing the brush and bringing the strands back from her brow and fastening them with a jewelled pin, then ran her hand over the sheets still covering his feet, sensing the quiver of the strained muscles through the fabric. He had suffered a difficult and painful night, and even now it had not lessened; otherwise he would have risen for his day before her, as was his norm.

"I think you should stay here today." she urged, and his eyes met hers.

"I can't. I won't get better if I just lie around." he said, the blue of his eyes hard and frustrated.

"You won't get better if you keep straining yourself, either." she countered.

"There's nothing wrong with me, if there are matters to attend to I will do it myself." he said

"Raeghun, you need time to heal. Maester Adlyn told you to rest for a few days, at least." she reminded him, and his face changed to anger.

"He is not at liberty to give me orders, and neither are you!" he dictated, and her hands clenched into fists.

"I'm not giving you orders. But I need you to consider-" she started, feeling flames lick at her heart.

"I will not. I will not consider it. If I stay here I will lose my fucking mind; what kind of man am I if I just idle around?" he asked, and the flames turned to a blaze.

"To all the hells with what they think! You're lucky to still have the use of your leg after what happened, you took a bolt to your chest that was fortunate not to have killed you; and if they don't have any consideration for your state they can all go and kiss a fat horse's ass. Then they're worse than those who attacked you." he sat forward, struggling through the agony.

"I won't just sit here. I won't be weak!" she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"And I'm done arguing with you about it. You are injured, not weak. I'll have maester Adlyn tend to you." she promised, then turned to the door quickly slipping through it and closing it behind her, in the moment before it shut she heard something metal crash against the wall and her husband crying out, a harrowing mixture of pain and frustration. She lay her hand against the wood of the door, debating on whether to return but decided against it. _I can't help you, if you won't let me..._ She moved down the stairway past the doors to the vacant chambers and through the lord's hall, feeling as empty as it was. She passed through the great door, to find the handmaidens in the hallway whom all greeted her politely, but it seemed that her sentinel was late this morning.

"Good morning, everyone. You may start with the chores, but please leave my lord husband to his rest." she instructed, and they acknowledged her before entering. She stood in the hallway, wondering what to do; and then heard heavy footfalls come up the passage before turning and Berin appeared around the curve leading down past the Hollow to the Hall of Fire. He smiled when he saw her, and bowed formally as he reached her.

"Good morning, my lady. I trust you had a good evening?" he greeted, and she glanced away from him.

"Good morning, Berin. I believe your evening would have been better. Is your dear wife up yet?" she said softly,

"I'm afraid not. She's feeling a bit off this morning." and his eyes went to the door.

"How is he?" he asked, and she sighed grateful for the fact that there was no need to don any pretences in front of him; a man that knew her husband so well.

"He tries to hide it, but he's in a lot of pain. I... I should ask the maester to tend to him." she told softly, and Berin nodded.

"He's trying to stay strong." he assured, but she almost felt her heart breaking for him.

"I don't know why he keeps doing this... If I could help him, I would. If I could take this all away from him... I would..." her left hand went to her face, feeling the sting to her eyes and Berin looked at her.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and the stinging turned to a burn to her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands, fighting against the sensation.

"I want to help him... If only I knew how..." she breathed desperately, and then felt arms go around her, warm and comforting in the chaos they were thrown into as his hands softly stroked her back.

"Don't worry, Claira. Everything will be fine, you'll see." he eased softly, and for a moment they remained like this while she scolded herself.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be like this. I should be strong, like he is..." she whispered, and felt the gentle motions as he sniggered.

"I don't mind. And even the strong need a hand sometimes." he said, and then pulled back from her.

"Or a shoulder." he added as he looked at her. She smiled, his kindness bringing ease to her.

"We might not be related, but we're family. We support each other, no matter what the circumstances are." he said, and she took that in.

"Thank you. I should go. You can go see him, if you want." she allowed, and he spared another glance at the door.

"I really shouldn't. None without blood-ties to the Taugere family enters the lord's wing." he mentioned, and she scoffed. _Except for those in its service; or unless specifically instructed to do so._

"I am giving you permission, Berin. You just said we're family; and besides it may ease him somewhat." she said, and he nodded.

"Al right. I'll come by a little bit later on. I was heading up to the maester, some of the pages are going to Garde's Post and I thought I might enquire if he is in need of anything." he said, and she turned towards the maester's tower.

"I'll do it. You can get back to your routine. And then I'll see to the kitchens and the hall." she said, bringing a strange look from him.

"Are you sure?" she could find another small smile.

"Yes. Off you go." she urged, and made her way to the maester's tower where she ascended the spiralling steps to his chamber, and found him at his table reading a scroll.

"Good morning." she greeted, and he looked up at her before smiling and standing.

"Good morning, my lady. What may I do for you?" he asked eagerly, and she approached.

"Maester Adlyn, would you tend to my husband, please? He has quite a degree of discomfort, and perhaps something to help him sleep. He had a difficult night." she asked, and he brought his hands together.

"Of course, my lady." he agreed as his eyes studied her, taking in every characteristic, each seeming foreign to her ordinarily composed features.

"You look tired as well. Shall I give you something?" he asked, and a sheen of pink came to her cheeks.

"I'll be fine, thank you maester." she assured him.

"Very well, my lady. But whenever you are in need of anything, you are most welcome." he invited as he placed a hand to her arm.

"Oh, yes. Some of our members are going to the village. Is there anything you need from the herbalist's?" she asked, and he thought for a moment.

"There are some items that are running low. If my lady would be so kind as to grant me a moment, I will draw up a quick list." he asked, and she nodded.

"Of course." he turned and headed back to his desk, quickly scribbling on a note and bringing it over to her.

"This should suffice." he said as she took the note, and scanned the contents. _Basil, Chamomile, Echinacea, Feverfew, Lavender, Lemon Balm, Marigold,_ _Nightshade and Poppy Seeds_ _._

"I'll have it brought to you at the soonest." she said as she folded the note in her hand.

"Thank you, my lady." he said as he bowed, and then she left down the stairs and through the halls. Her first task was to hand the maester's note to the group waiting at the door to depart for Garde's Post before heading to the kitchens where she arranged with cook Jeody for their morning meal of eggs, crisped bacon strips, sweetened porridge and fruit with tea; also giving instruction that a tray be delivered to the lord's wing for her husband, and then her attention went to the preparation of the hall, seeing that the space was cleaned and the tables were set, and fresh flowers brought from the garden for them while the halls became increasingly livelier as their members emerged from their apartments. She tried to keep herself as busy as she could think of, to keep the depressing thoughts from her mind, but as it was they found a way in. _Perhaps I should just go, take my Brazier and disappear for a while. Get away from everything..._

"Good morning, my lady. My apologies for attending you so late." she heard a voice behind her, and turned to see Gavin looking a bit paler than usual, with a darkness set under his eyes.

"Are you al right?" he laughed.

"Yes, my lady. A bit swivelled, but I'm fine." he assured, and she shook her head.

"Go lie down a little bit longer. You may rejoin my company later." she said, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword, fastened to his waist.

"It is my duty to guard you, my lady. Your lord husband will have me hanged if I discard my obligation." he tried,

"I'm not going anywhere, Gavin. As long as I am within these walls, nothing can happen to me. Now go." she instructed, and despite knowing it was a direct order from the lord and that they meant well, she wished they would stop fussing about her all the time. He stared at her for a moment longer, and then bowed to her before returning to the barracks. After ensuring that all was set for their morning, she sought out their court master to ask him to attend any matters that were in need of resolution, then decided to pay her friend a visit. She went up to the east wing and through its long halls to their chamber, and softly knocked on the door before Milla's soft voice called her inside. She passed through to find her at the foot of their bed while Aurelne helped smooth down the soft purple rose-patterned fabric of a loosely fitting dress, and the other two handmaidens making the bed and gathering discarded clothing from a basket.

"Good morning." She greeted as she closed the door behind her, and Milla smiled.

"Good morning, my lady." she returned, freeing her hair from the dress collar as Aurelne brought a white lace sash around her waist and fastened it behind her back, letting it rest between the curve of her abdomen and chest.

"How are you feeling?" Claira asked as she came over, and Milla turned towards her while Aurelne brought the brush from her dresser.

"Oh, I'm fine. A little tired, that's all. I got to finish my book." she assured waiting as her handmaiden gently pulled the bristles through her hair, and Claira felt relieved at that.

"That's good. I was afraid you might be sick." she mentioned through a smile.

"No, luckily not. It seems that has passed." Milla added gratefully.

"Shall we take to the garden before cook Jeody serves?" Claira asked, and Milla nodded.

"Yes, I would like that." she agreed, and then waved Aurelne away, not having her bother with styling her long strands; then they left the chamber and the maidens to continue their work.

"And you? Is Raeghun doing al right?" Milla asked in the privacy of the hall.

"He had a sleepless night, due to the pain. I hope he'll heed maester Adlyn's advice and stay in bed, at least for today. He's so stubborn." she said, and Milla sniggered.

"Men are like that. But I'm sure things will get better." she said, her hands resting on the round of her stomach.

"I truly hope so. I... I don't want another morning like this one." Claira said softly, and Milla paused.

"Did you quarrel?" concern darkened her bright green eyes.

"A little. I didn't mean to, I just... I want him to get better. I need him to..." Milla's hands went to her arms.

"He will. He is more impatient than anyone else, and he needs to give himself that time. He will realize that soon enough." she said, and they proceeded further down the hall to the gardens. The day proceeded as most others, and the decision was made to send the villager who attacked the girl to The Wall, alternate to taking his life. The ladies spent the afternoon in her common room, where Claira added more flowers to her basket, Alstroemeria, and sweet Alyssum with their delicate petals; but it still felt empty, and she decided even more was needed. Finally after supper, she returned to their chamber, and silently slipped through the door finding her husband asleep, a selection of small vials on the table next to him; and a silver pitcher on the floor against the wall, the metal object she heard crashing against the stone this morning when she left. She breathed softly, and rummaged through her dresser, and pulled a light yellow gown from the drawer before returning to the bath chamber to cleanse herself. She stood in the water, allowing the water to spill over her shoulders as she stood thinking of their home and all in it. _Things will get better... It will..._ After lathering herself, and rinsing it off with the sweet smelling waters she dried herself and dressed before returning to their chamber and laying down on the bed beside Raeghun, covering herself with the sheets and positioning herself against his fervent skin. Because of his natural warmth, it was difficult to tell whether he was feverish or not; but she thanked the gods that her husband never fell ill and closed her eyes, taking in the feel of him, his heat, the strength of him that lay dormant. Then she felt his right arm slide around her waist, his hand finally resting on her stomach and her hand went to his as she smiled blithely, nudging herself slightly closer to him, then felt him move and his mouth branded a kiss to her shoulder before his breath went over her neck.

"I love you." he whispered, and she slightly turned her head.

"I love you. Sleep now." she returned, and his arm tightened around her before she lay her head on the pillows, and they slowly surrendered to sleep.

Aurelne stood rummaging through her dresser, searching for something fitting to wear. Lady Milla mentioned that she finished her book, and she might be in need of a new one. This may be an ideal opportunity to seek out ser Falgon as he was a particularly fond reader, she had often spied him taking his route to and from maester Adlyn's tower, each time with at least several different books. She pulled a gown of powder pink, delicate and flowing just dense enough not to be transparent then pulled it over her figure and fastened the back lace to express her seductive figure as she thought of him. She'd seen him a hundred times, and each time she did it left a tickling up her spine. The way he looked, the way he moved, his deep gentle voice, his earthen smell, his dark captivating eyes... she desired him, she wanted every thing about him, so much so that she envied the lady of the hold that he was so connected to her. She entered the service of Mount Ardor as the court maiden's personal aid at fifteen two years ago, leaving her mother's night inn for something different and connected well with its people; especially the men. She grew up in testosterone flooded company, knew all of their comforts and how to manage them. But in all her years, no man had haunted her mind as much as the tall, powerful Sentinel of Flame. He may believe that his sole intent was to be at her side, but she could give him a different reason, an offer no man would contradict. Her hand went to her chest, imagining his fingers against her, his lips over hers, his bare skin to hers; and a mad moment of his strength inside her, and her own sharp voice against his neck as the tingling spread into her stomach and her mother's words came back to her. _No man refuses what is offered on open hands_. She freed her hair from the strap around her neck holding the dress bodice snugly over her full breasts, then pulled fine leather sandals over her feet before looking over herself a final time to ensure she was appealing and glancing out the small window of her room, glimpsing the colour of sunrise. She left her room heading for the barracks, seeing only a few members already in the halls. She flitted up the steps into the halls where the guards chambers were and men in armour moved up and down exchanging their rounds, some retiring to bed after a long night, and others heading to replace them, to the third level where the sentinels lay themselves down at night. She passed the rooms, some open some closed to the room at the furthest point, and paused in front of the door when she noticed the shadow inside, feeling her heartbeat change. She took a deep breath, and then stepped forward into the arch of the door that led to his chamber which held a wardrobe, a small table and chair beside a worn carpet, a red banner on its right wall and an old faded shield hung on the wall in front of her, a small brazier in the corner and a fur bed under a window, where she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his leather breeches, pale tunic, mail armour and brown doublet; while pulling on his boots, the chest belt waiting on the furs beside him and his cloak hung on the corner of the wardrobe and his great sword leaning against the wall next to it. Judging from his wet hair, he had just come from bathing.

"Good morning, ser." she greeted, trying to stifle the fluttering in her bowels and he looked up at her; his dark eyes clear and gentle.

"Good morning, Aurelne." he returned, and went back to making himself presentable.

"Lady Milla asked that I enquire about a book from you." she said as she entered the room and he stood, taking the chest belt and bringing it around his chest and over his right shoulder to fasten it.

"Shall I help you with that?" she asked, and he chuckled as his hands effortlessly locked the belt to his body.

"No, thank you. Was there something in particular she wanted?" he asked as he turned towards her, and for a moment she drowned in his solid and striking stare.

"She... she didn't say..." she mumbled, and he moved past her to the little table which held three books. He picked one up, the cover fine details of red and gold " _A King's Dawn_ ".

"I won't know if she has read this one before, but she might enjoy it." he said as he turned, and held out the book to her. It was still in very good condition, seeming almost new and she slowly took it, trying to hide the quiver of her fingers.

"Thank you." she said, and he bowed his head before turning. She watched him as he went to the wardrobe to retrieve his cloak, and she replaced the book on the table before moving forward, bringing her hands up and running her fingernails tantalizingly down the backs of his powerful arms with an expectant smile, but then the grin faded. Normally her touch would bring a man's skin to life, rising it in reflex; but now there was nothing. Not even a slight shiver to her touch.

"Is there something else you needed?" he asked, taking the cloak from the corner of the wardrobe and turning as he brought it around his shoulders.

"I didn't come for the book." she said softly, looking up at his indifferent face.

"Then why did you?" he asked, glancing away and taking the grip of his sword, bringing it to its place on his back, and she stepped closer to him bringing her hands to his chest.

"Don't you know?" she asked, bringing herself closer to him; then he took her hands and leaned slightly forward and her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. _Kiss me..._

"I have duties to attend to." he said softly, and brought her hands away from him; the disappointment cutting into her like arrow heads.

"Falgon." she tried, but he stepped back and released her.

"If you'll please pardon me." again he bowed his head, then turned and left the room, his heavy footfalls moving further and further down the hallway while she stood, thinking she might have been a bit too subtle for such a reserved man. _Soon, I have time. But I will have you.._ He moved through the hold to the lord's wing where he took his place beside the door to await his queen, three girls stood on the other side, and he could hear them whispering, one giggled as the others blushed and he smiled, reflecting on their girlishness. _The silliness of youth..._ A while later the door opened, and the lord stepped out, dressed in black breeches, grey boots and a beige shirt, supporting himself on the walking aid. The girls acknowledged him, and then moved respectfully past him into the wing to start their duties, and he turned to Falgon.

"Good morning, sire. I am relieved to see that you have risen." he greeted as he bowed to him formally.

"Good morning, ser. My alleviation is small, but there is improvement." he mentioned, the disappointment not so subtle in his voice, but Falgon eased him.

"Forward is forward, sire. Backwards is a concern." he said, and Raeghun smiled.

"Yes. And I must keep moving." he agreed, his voice easier than before.

"Of course. But may I advise that you move slowly for the time being. Your mind is strong and wilful, but your body does not act as fast as your thoughts." he said, making Raeghun scoff.

"You would have me dally about the castle for the rest of my days?" he asked, but Falgon's eyes remained with his.

"No, sire. But I promise that patience will be rewarding. Do what you must, but grant yourself the time to mend. Everything will return to the way it was, I assure you." he urged, and Raeghun nodded looking down.

"You're a very diligent man yourself, aren't you?" he sounded almost envious, and Falgon shrugged.

"It is something taught by time." he mentioned, and Raeghun breathed a sigh of acceptance.

"Al right. I'll try." he agreed again, and then slowly started down the hallway in a strained walk.

"My wife should come down soon, we will meet you in the southern hall." he said, and Falgon acknowledged that; hoping that some of his words would be remembered at least. Some time later she emerged, dressed in turquoise silk with gold hemlines and a white petal centre piece; her hair braided and draped over her right shoulder.

"Good morning, your grace. You look endearing today." he complimented, noting she seemed more at ease, and she slightly blushed as she smiled and closed the door.

"Good morning, ser. Thank you, for your courtesy." she said as she turned, but again she sounded weary, and the sleeplessness showed in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Would you consider resting a little while longer, your grace?" he proposed, but she folded her hands in front of her.

"I'll be fine. Shall we start our day?" she asked, and he stepped aside to allow her to pass.

"As you wish." And so the day passed, and seeped into night, and more days as time passed like it did and finally three new sentinels were accepted into their order. Wymon, Renko and Hilfert; young, energetic and auspicious, they conformed well to their new roles. To everyone's relief, the lord of the hold at the very least attempted to remain calm, and slowly took up more activities. But the lameness remained...

She stood watching the blue of the ocean through the window of their chamber, the light of a late sunrise lighting their room as a tear trailed down her face. A fortnight had passed since she met with their maester, and accepted his advice. Her hands pressed against her abdomen, hating everything. She hated the pain in her stomach, the cause of a new bloom. She hated the girdle secured around her waist; holding her effects in place. She hated the dark red dress that hugged her body, hated a body that refused to change no matter how many times it was filled with the future of their name. She hated the faces in their hall, the stares and the voices that were quickly strangled when she entered a room. _It's taking longer than expected..._ She hated the kitchens, and whatever they used that may affect her ability. _Perhaps she is suffering complications..._ She hated her sisters, who could have their wishes so easily. _Does he even share her bed?_ She hated Maester Adlyn, and his insufferable advices. _Do you suppose she may be barren?_ She hated her best friend, whose child will be the noble name born within these walls. _The fault could not be his._ She hated her husband, who denied her this one wish... And then she hated herself more than anything, more than anyone. _You do realize, that if you are unable to bear him any sons, you're of no use to him. Your great house, will end with you._ She tried to smother her sobs, and wrapped her arms around herself, again cursing fate as the agony tore at her. It wasn't the physical pain that bothered her as much, but the frigid excruciation that seeped into her being; the deep lonely emptiness... There was no point in praying any more, the new ones didn't listen; and if the old could not see her, then they could not hear her. _Why? Why am I being left behind?_ She heard the door open behind her, and the telling thud of the cane enter along with footsteps.

"There you are. Cook Jeody has served, everyone is waiting on you." Raeghun's voice met her, and she held her breath for a moment to drown her emotions.

"I'm sorry... I don't feel like facing people today." she said softly, and heard him come closer.

"Are you feeling sick?" he asked, running his hand down her arm.

"No. I just won't be good company." she said, and heard him sigh, his breath warm on her shoulder.

"Try coming down anyway." he urged, and then turned to go back the way he came.

"My lord…" he paused, and looked back at her. It had been a long time since she addressed him formally; and the sensation that what would follow was not of good nature pulled at him.

"I am sorry, that I am so worthless." she said softly, not turning to face him.

"You're not worthless." he said simply, and her eyes returned to the blue horizon, wishing for its freedom.

"Would it not be easier, to throw myself from the Sun Tower? You will be free to marry again, to a good wife who may give you sons and daughters." she proposed, bringing the sting of severe cold to his face. _Why? Why this, too?_

"You're being ridiculous, Claira." he reproved, and then she turned; her eyes reddened by tears.

"Am I? Everyone here hates me." she said, her lips pulling in a resentful grimace, and he took a step towards her. But rather than feel the compassion he wished for, it enraged him.

"That's not true." he countered, and saw yet another tear trailing down her flustered cheeks.

"I can see them staring at me, I can hear them whispering..." she mentioned, bringing the heat from him.

"Those whispers are in your head." he said, and she looked at him.

"Sometimes I wish they were. It would be easier, if I believed that I were insane." she turned back to the window, the situation not bettering as he'd wanted for it; the frustration of both of their situations battling each other like the swirls of frost and flame they were, each overpowering the other; but rather than provoking the cyclone of their unstable emotions he decided that it might be better to retreat and leave the matter to ease itself over time. Or at the very least, just for now.

"I will hear no more of this. You are seeing, and hearing things that don't exist. Spend the day here, if you will; but it is a discussion that I will not continue." he said, then turned and left their chamber again; and she stood watching the blue outside, thinking it may have been against her better judgement to blurt out her feelings on her state to him with the situation being what it is; and if he couldn't understand, then he wouldn't. She sat down on the chest next to the window, still watching the waters, and thinking of how miserable she felt. Nothing seemed to make sense any more, nothing would brighten the darkness she felt around her, nothing would lighten her burden. Even the thought of happiness seemed far away, some distant star in the chaos of a dark and clouded sky. She was happy for Milla, of course. But hearing her speak of her little one, hearing her laugh whenever she felt his movements; seeing her grow, seeing her glow, like a little sun moving through their halls left a sting to her heart. A bitter sting of envy that she hated. Her friend received this wonderful gift within the first week of her union, so effortlessly; while she was left deprived these many years later and still longing. She lay her head on her arm, resting on the frame of the window staring at the stone as the thoughts came and went like the hours that dragged the sun higher into the sky, and at some point she closed her eyes trying to imagine what a different life might look like, but the images were faded, like trying to look at something with the sun in her eyes. There was nothing in that future. Not even a smiling face... A soft knock at the door brought her back to their chamber, and she took in the surroundings. The wide bed under black and red silks, soft gold curtains hanging from the canopy posts. The hearth in the opposite wall next to the balcony that overlooked the east of their country with the small table and chairs in front of it, on a faded carpet. The many dressers and wardrobes and chests, the once ferocious lion's head above the door that separated her from whomever sought entry, and then the soft knock sounded again and she turned her face away so her eyes would meet the blue of the outside again. _Please, just leave me..._ Then she heard the door slowly open and close before soft footsteps came towards her, and warm caring hands lay on her back.

"Claira, are you al right?" she took a deep breath, and then looked up to see Milla standing beside her, her clear eyes wrought with concern. She quickly looked away to shield her eyes, and brought a hand over her cheek, still feeling the sensation of tears on her skin.

"I'm fine. Just a little uncomfortable." she assured as she sat up.

"Shall I fetch the maester for you?" she asked, and Claira shook her head.

"No, leave him. I'm sure he has things to do." she said, and Milla moved to stand in front of her.

"May I ask you to join me in the common room, my lady? I would be grateful for your company, or your presence at least." she asked, and Claira looked up at her again, and for some reason she couldn't rid herself of the feeling of loneliness, even one that was not her own.

"Very well." she stood up from the chest, and they slowly made their way down the stairs and through the hall.

"You haven't eaten anything yet, have you?" Milla asked as they passed in front of the hearth.

"That's al right. I'm not hungry." the thought of food left an odd twist in her stomach, and then Milla smiled as she glanced at her.

"You might be, if you saw what was served this noon." _Noon... Have I been here all that time?_ But even realizing it had been that long didn't prompt her appetite.

"Really? I might enquire with Jeody some other time." she decided, and then they passed through the door.

"There was quite a bit of meat left over from last night and he tried something new, so there might not be 'some other time'. He called it 'stuffed crusts'." Milla mentioned, and they found Falgon waiting outside as per his usual standard, and Claira looked up at him.

"Have you been here all morning?" she asked, rather surprised at his presence and his eyes met hers.

"Yes, your grace." he confirmed, and a moment of silence followed. She had dismissed her handmaidens, and those that took care of the wing earlier this morning; perhaps he did notice her desire for solitude.

"Why?" he turned, and bowed formally.

"It is my place, as instructed. But if you desire my absence, of course I will leave." he said, and she looked away. Chained to his loyalty, he remained long after they had gone. Waiting in the hallway like a silent shadow until he might be needed.

"I didn't mean it like that..." she said softly, but he smiled.

"It's al right." he eased, and Milla called for the attention of a passing scullion. Claira could hear her whispering to her, and then smiled as the girl flitted off down the hallway before Milla returned to her side.

"Shall we proceed to your common room, my lady? Some tea will be brought to us there." she recommended, and Claira nodded. They made their way up into the sun tower, and settled in the comfortable chairs in front of the hearth, taking up their embroidery and continuing their work. Claira added more flowers to her basket, daisies and pansies... but nothing she added seemed to make her basket seem fuller; and she found herself trying to bring up more flowers that she remembered. _Maybe some honeysuckle, or a snapdragon or two..._ A serving girl entered with a tray holding a pot of tea and a plate of fresh crispels, and another plate holding what would be cook Jeody's new 'stuffed crust'. It was so simple, yet seemed so delightful as the girl brought the tray to Claira first. The 'stuffed crust' was a heel of bread, hollowed out and filled with what seemed to be softly cooked meat strips in a glistening sauce. The inside edges were lined with green leaves and diced up pieces of tomato, and two thin slices of white cheese rested on the meat. Claira looked at Milla.

"Thank you, Milla. This looks delicious, but you really didn't need to send someone for me." she said, and Milla laughed softly.

"If you like the look of it, you'll like the taste even more." she promised, and Claira took the plate while laying her embroidery hoop on the armrest. Then she brought the crust slowly to her mouth and took a small bite, reflecting on the taste. It was indeed pleasing, but the weight struggled its way down to her stomach and ended up being rather spurned; then the serving girl returned to her with a cup of tea which she took after placing the crust on the table next to her. She took a small sip, but was met with the same disdain to its taste. _Nothing has been going right the past few days..._ There has been immeasurable tension in their home for a while now, and it clung to everyone. She placed the cup down next to the crust, and retook her hoop to continue her work.

"Is the taste not to your liking?" Milla asked softly, and Claira looked up at her with a soft smile.

"It's wonderful. But I'll finish it later." she said, and resumed her stitching while the day passed, mostly in silence, but despite her earlier reservations she was grateful for the comfort of company, the consolation of life near her. A little past dusk, Aurelne entered the common room to announce that the evening banquet will be served soon, and they stood to depart the common room. As they left, Milla glanced at the plate and cup still standing on the table beside Claira's chair, they hadn't been touched... The crust and the tea still identical to how she left them this afternoon, and it left her worried that her friend had all but lost her appetite, and the question rose that for some reason she was depriving her body of required nourishing. She glanced at the sentinel at his post on the other side of the door, and then he followed as they walked down the hallways and Milla couldn't help staring at the lady in front of her. She'd always been slim, a frail almost fragile little thing; and she'd felt protective of her since they were very small, and she remembered the day they met vaguely. She and her family visited Pale Haven for lord Willmon's eight and twentieth name day, many other high-born families came as well. It was a grand affair, and everyone was joyous. The Grey Tom met them in the great hall along with his wife, and a new-born son in her arms, welcoming them happily, she could still remember him smiling, his silvery-blue eyes glinting like stars; and then she noticed the tiny little girl behind him. She remembered looking up at her own father, both green eyes clear and happy as he nodded in approval. Then she approached the girl with a happy smile. " _Hello, I'm Milla. What is your name?_ " she greeted, and the girl looked at her, blue eyes clear and striking as the rime. " _Claira..._ " her voice was soft like chimes, and a rose blush found her pale cheeks. " _Do you want to play?_ " she smiled then, and nodded. Then they took hands, and it seems they never really let go these many years later, and she recalled how things changed. They grew up, they changed, their roles changed, and their entire worlds changed. She paused as Claira stopped in front of the door leading to the lord's wing.

"Are you not joining us, my lady?" Milla asked, and Claira looked at her.

"Not tonight. I'm tired, and long for some time in the bath to ease the ache in me. I will join you again tomorrow." she said, reaching for the door.

"Shall I have a serving girl bring a portion up to you?" the soft groan of the heavy door sounded through the vacant space.

"No, I'm afraid I'll just waste it." Milla couldn't ignore the feeling of anxiety rising in her core.

"Claira, you need to eat something. You haven't taken more than two bites of anything in..." _How long? Two days? Three?_ Claira's eyes met her as she started to move into their sanctuary.

"I'll be fine, Milla. I'll have an apple before going to bed." _'An apple, is not food!'_ she wanted to yell at her, and a completely absurd thought to tie her to a chair and force one of Jeody's mutton pies into her flickered in her thoughts; but she forced the notion away along with the scream as she bit into the side of her cheek, watching her friend prepare to close the door.

"Enjoy your evening. Good night." she greeted them both, and they returned her wishes for a peaceful evening before the door silently shut, and for a moment Milla only stared, lost in thought with her hand resting on her stomach in response to a soft series of surges. _I know, I'm worried about her, too..._

"Shall I accompany you to the feast hall, my lady?" she looked up at Falgon's dark eyes, and nodded.

"That would be nice, thank you ser." they left down the hall, the flickering of the torches throwing light and shadow over the stone walls, and the heavy footfalls next to her echoing through the space as they walked; but the feeling of depression deepened. She looked up at Falgon, wishing she could absorb his calmness, but he too was still and she couldn't think of anything to say. They passed through the Hall of Fire, hearing the voices and the sound of a flute from the southern hall as they neared, then he stopped at the doorway and bowed to her.

"I trust you may find your husband awaiting you, my lady." he said, and she turned to him.

"You aren't joining us, either?" she asked, and he smiled.

"No, my lady. I might take this opportunity to return the maester's books to him, and find some new ones." he said, and she sighed.

"Al right. Good night, Falgon." she greeted.

"Sleep well, my lady." he turned and left towards the barracks, and she entered the feast hall to take her place beside Berin at the high table, and Raeghun's attention came to her from his conversation with Austinus.

"Good evening, lady Milla. Have you seen my wife?" he enquired,

"I'm afraid she will not be joining us tonight, my lord. She has mentioned that she is feeling somewhat drained." she reported, and he simply nodded and returned his attention to his previous conversation. The evening continued in their hall, where they supped on herb stuffed goat roast, carrots, mushrooms, buttered potatoes, spiced bell peppers, some cheese and milk before each returning to their chambers for the remainder of the evening. Milla and Berin went to their chamber, and after a warm bath she lay on the bed with a book open in front of her while waiting for him. But the words were simply dark blotches on the parchment, and she found herself incapable of discerning the one phrase from the next. Berin lay himself down on the bed beside her, and ran his hand over her leg.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and she slowly nodded.

"I'm al right..." but the tone of her voice would not agree as she battled the sting to her eyes. Then his hand went to her stomach, gently tracing the round curve.

"He's been quiet today." he mentioned with a smile, and the sting became a burn as she threw the book down on the floor and buried her face in her hands with a sob, and he stared at her utterly confused.

"This is so unfair!" she cried and he sat up.

"Milla?" the tears left warm trails down her face, and his hand rubbed her back softly.

"It should have been different. This should have been hers, long ago. Berin, it's been almost four years; she wants this so much... they've been trying, so hard... I... I can't..." she sobbed, and his arms went around her as he comforted her.

"Oh, my Milla. Don't cry, it will be al right." she leaned against him, burying her face against his shoulder.

"Claira will have the chance to play that part, if it cannot be for her own then for ours if it is needed." she looked up at him, he seemed so positive.

"Our child will grow up here, he will know Raeghun and Claira as family." he said with a gentle smile, she she lay herself against him again, feeling calmer than before.

"But he won't be a Taugere..." she whispered, and felt the soft motions of laughter from his chest.

"That doesn't matter. Raeghun's father once told us, as young boys; that family is not restricted to names, or even blood. He said that ' _the strongest chains, are those forged in the fires of battle_ '." he mentioned, and her eyes went to the flame of a candle on the dresser. _F_ _orged in the fires of battle_?

"We aren't fighting in a war..." she reminded him, and he leaned back onto the bed with her still in his arms.

"That's what we said. And you know what he told us?" her eyes came to his again.

"He told us, that battle doesn't necessarily mean swords and bloodshed. Each person battles, each day. Against anxiety, loneliness, illness, frustration, it is not the battlefield that you see that has the power to destroy you, it's one inside that is hidden, the one no one knows about and most people don't dare to reveal to others. It is those that stand at your side throughout those battles, that are family." her arm went around his waist as she softly whispered his name, realizing that he understood so well what she felt, and she moved herself closer to him. And a sudden deep desire to have known the great lord Rychard Taugere gently enveloped her.

"What was he like?" she asked, and he shared with her his memories.

Raeghun made his way strenuously up to the lord's wing, thinking of the less than empty day. He had taken to sparring again a few days ago, and to his frustration kept it slow and to his best, not emphatic. The pain came and went, but the weakness lingered. He wanted a sense of normality again, wanted to move the way he used to, wanted to accomplish things the way he used to, wanted the freedom of his own strength again; everything else was a burden, and more kept coming up. He moved up the steps to their chamber, and finally discarded his aid next to the door against a small dresser, a green apple left on its surface with a single bite taken from it. He looked over to the bed, regarding the figure between the sheets; and wished he could do more, then he moved forward slowly discarding his clothing and joining her on the mattress carefully as not to wake her as he lay down at her side, relishing the cool of her skin. He lay watching her, the strands of black and white flowing along each other in soft waves down the length of her back, and gently ran his fingers over the soft hair, the tips still wet from her bath. He wanted to kiss her, but decided against it and leave her to her rest rather than ignite a fire and further deprive her of her slumber, something she was in desperate need of, and then he cursed himself. _I don't know, how to make it better..._ He closed his eyes, and slowly drifted away into a dream while some hours she woke with her husband beside her, his back towards her. The fire in the hearth and torches had died down to small flames, and she looked to the window to see the deep dark of night. It may have been close to midnight, she lay her head down and closed her eyes but sleep would not find her as her mind ran rampant with thoughts and she finally decided to better find something that might tire her out again. She stood and rummaged through the wardrobe, pulling a dark dress over herself after fitting a new girdle and then silently slipped out of the chamber and moved down the stairs through the hall and wondering if she might find maester Adlyn still awake. The hallway was vacant, and she softly closed the door behind her before moving to his tower and heading up the little steps. She entered the arch, and scanned the chamber, which too was empty, the maester in all likelihood having retired for the night. She sighed, and headed back down, then decided to try and continue her embroidery for a little while and headed up the steps to her common room where she found her hoop still on the armrest of her chair where she left it. She stared at the work, all the different shapes and colours all meshed together on the brown weaves of a basket; but it still felt empty... _It's too dark to work on this now, I'll either prick myself or make a mess of it..._ She replaced the hoop and headed down the hallways, towards the Hall of Fire, the interior of the castle vacant as all the guards were either asleep or outside on their rounds. She stood in front of the great hearth, its light almost reaching the enormous doorway that led outside. The arch leading to the southern hall was dark, as was the smaller door leading into the kitchen, the only other light emitting from the guard's hall in the barracks. _There's no way anyone would let me leave on a ride, now..._ she headed down the grand staircase, and paused at its base as her eyes met another door to her left, a still burning torch visible through the arch; a door used mainly for darker occasions. _I haven't been down there in a long time..._ she turned, and moved towards it, her soft footsteps emitting through the immense empty hall; and she followed the torches down into the earth that was under the great hold. Twenty steps down she moved through a long hallway, passing another dark arch leading east to the vaults where those awaiting the lord's judgement was held, and further she went to another stairway spiralling down further into the earth another sixty steps down. This was a lonely, cold place; but she didn't feel uncomfortable here. Not tonight. Not like she used to. Claira entered the chamber, dark shadows dancing on the walls where a torch lit the space here and there. She wandered aimlessly for a time, and then found herself standing at the foot of a wide arch where a stone sarcophagus stood, and a marble chest waited alongside it; a familiar name carved along the edge.

"My sweet, gentle girl..." the sting of sorrow went through her chest as she sat down on the lid, running her fingers along the curve.

"I miss you, so much. I long for just once, that your clear eyes would meet mine, that your soft touch would caress my skin... Even you, were better than me. How I wish you could see, how strong your sons have become. Sash is the alpha, and Blitz is our best hunter. Axe is old, but he still keeps watch over our home." she told as she stroked the chest beneath her, a tear trailing down her cheek, and she thought back to that day.

"They're so brave, just like you were..." It was a clear day, and they went out riding, perhaps around a month or two after Mae left for the Reach. On their way back, a bear happened upon their company. The great black beast came at her, startling her horse; and as it reared up she fell to the ground, shadowed by the creature. She didn't remember much, only that her usually timid flock-hound stood in front of her growling at the bear, challenging it. She had never seen her Oda as fierce as on that day. Shadows circled her, and in the moment the bear came forward Oda did the same, planting a deep bite to its leg. Another tear trailed down her face, she remembered screaming as strong hands hauled her up onto a black horse, and watching as the enraged bear struck her beloved dog, and white daggers pierced her neck and blood blackened white fur.

"It must have been hard, leaving this world for the next..." The sentinels killed the bear, but it was too late to save Oda, who died later that evening from her wounds.

"But we have something left of you, at least..." then her eyes went up to the stone of the sarcophagus, and her hand ran along its edge.

"I made a promise... and... and I can't keep it... You should hate me. You should have accepted another. You should have accepted lord Coder's proposal... I wish that things weren't like this. There are so many things I wish I could change... I... I'm not good enough for your son... He should hate me, like everyone else... I don't... I don't know what to do... I can't... I can't do anything." she lay her head on the stone of the sarcophagus, and closed her eyes feeling the warm wet of tears trail down her face.

"It's me... This is all me... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I betrayed you... I betrayed your house, your name, your line, even your memory. This is all my fault... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry..." The soft sobs became haunting wails as she finally cried, unrestricted and unrestrained as her voice echoed through the long empty caverns for what could have been hours, and everything she held inside was released into the sanctuary of the Ardent Tombs; where no living faces would judge her and the only eyes that watched her were those of the statues, the faces of long past Ardent Kings, she cried until she finally dreamed. Dreamed of clear skies, far off clouds and the rush of water. She was sitting on golden sand, watching the sapphire blue of the waters rise and fall over the horizon. A warm sun hung in the distance, and some feet away Raeghun stood, holding the hand of a boy with black hair, watching gulls fly overhead as lady Madryde Taugere pointed at the white shapes in the sky.

"You're upset, child?" she heard the familiar voice of lord Rychard Taugere next to her, but she remained watching the figures on the beach.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" she asked softly.

"It may be a dream now, but some dreams show you the future." he said, and then she glanced at him seeing him smile, the clear blue eyes bright and loving; but she couldn't stop new tears from forming.

"I wish this was real. I wish you were still with us. I need your guidance, I don't know where else to turn..." she smothered a sob as her eyes went down, watching the gold glow off the sand; and felt his strong hand wrap around her cold fingers.

"I am with you. Always. Speak if you must, or whisper. I will always listen." he assured, and she told him everything. She told him of Mae's departure from their home; about the Wanderer's Tourney, about the questions she had to face from others of stature, the acceptance of a new member to their hold and the attack in the woods when the new face saved her; the Horn Festival and all its new additions, and the danger they faced there; the beautiful marriage celebration held in their hall when the head of their sentinels took their court maiden as his wife, her husband's twenty first year, about _The Lord's Giving Moon_ and the confusion she endured then, to a condition that was not hers to bear. Her brother's wedding and the situations she tried to her best to avoid and the consequences. His son's persistence to save the lives of his countrymen when they found a farm burning in the night, and his further aid to preserve their livelihood. The news that her best friend was with child and how she shared the feelings of such a happy event, and how beautiful Mae looked at her wedding. About the attack that claimed the lives of two of their guardians, and the forced retirement of one of their most trusted who had been a part of their order for two generations, and their conflicts since then. But through it all, her longing remained... Her loneliness remained, a stain so dark that nothing would wash it out; and she felt the stale burn of envy through her. She covered her face with her hands, again trying to withhold the sobs; but his arm went around her.

"It's al right, Claira. Cry. You are safe here." and she did. She cried until everything hurt, until the tears refused to form any longer and a relieving ache pounded against her head; and then he held her closer to him.

"But I want you to listen to me now. I did not accept you, simply because your father offered you. I did not choose you, because we had a lack of suitors. I wished for you, because there is no one in this or any other world that would have been better suited to my son. The lady of Frost, and the lord of Flame. Your union was not to ensure that our line will endure, our intent was never the simple acquisition of an heir. He needs you, because of who you are. My son is strong, the fire in him burns with a fury that is rare even in our family; even brighter than mine it is pure, but unbridled. He needs you, to ease the burn in him; and you are the only one who is able to do that for him. I know that it is hard for you, and that the emptiness seems unbearable; but I need you to believe that you were brought together for reasons greater than what you understand now; and you will become strong like the Taugere you are. We love you, all of you. Never forget that, my daughter. I am very, very proud of you. Of you, and my son. Our country has not seen days like these under his reign in a long, long time." she looked up at him, he was shining; burning like the sun with the wrath of fire around him; and eyes white like the sheen of snow.

"Sleep now, and do not be anxious for your future. All will be as it must be." she leaned against him, and closed her eyes breathing in the air, the world slowly darkening as the sun disappeared over the edge of the world and twilight took her, while the acrid scent of earth enveloped her, and the hard stone became soft clouds.

Milla stood in the southern hall dressed in warm marmalade orange velvet, overseeing preparations for their morning meal. It was a cold morning, the sky overcast with high white clouds, and as she watched the scullions and serving girls move up and down the tables cleaning and setting, and wondered if this day would be better than the last. A breeze filtered through the large doors opening to the garden, bringing the sweet smell of flowers with it, and a soft nudge to the side of her stomach. _I like that smell, too._ She smiled, wondering if she might ask some of their handmaidens to deliver a vase with blossoms to her room, and to Claira's to try and make her feel better hoping some colours and sweet smells might help. Then hurried footsteps along with the thud of wood on stone drew her attention, and she turned to his voice.

"Milla." Raeghun seemed distraught, the blue eyes burning with trouble.

"My lord?" she stared at him as he looked around the hall, scanning the faces.

"Have you seen my wife?" he asked softly, veiling the quiver in his voice.

"I haven't." The last time she did, was when she entered the lord's wing the previous evening, and his anxiety spread to her. She glanced away, seeing Berin approach from his duties in the barracks, and then he stopped next to Raeghun looking at him as he still examined the faces moving up and down the hall; his expression also transforming to that of concern.

"What's wrong?" and then Raeghun's face came to his before a short silence as he thought.

"I... Claira's gone." he said softly, and the dread deepened around them.

"With maester Adlyn, perhaps?" Berin suggested, but Raeghun shook his head.

"He hasn't seen her either." he had gone to see him immediately after stepping out of the wing, enquiring on her whereabouts.

"Someone would have seen if she came to the kitchens." Milla mentioned, and then Gavin and Saerus entered the southern hall, quickly approaching them.

"Your wife is not in her common room, my lord. Or on the tower's crown." Gavin reported, and then looked over at the sentinel at his side.

"We've searched the gardens and baileys as well, her horse is still in the stable." Saerus reported, and more and more thoughts came and went. _Not on the crown, not in her common room, not with the maester, not in the Hollow; not in the kitchens or the gardens or out riding._ _Obviously not in the barracks, or in any of the halls... Where could she be?_

"The vaults?" Berin suggested, it was the only place that has not been searched as yet, but Milla placed a hand to his arm.

"I highly doubt that, she's never liked dark lonely places. I don't think she'd go to a place like that." Raeghun started heading back to the Hall of Fire, with the others following him.

"Fuck..." he looked around the hall, and then returned his attention to the sentinels with him.

"Assemble every guard not on duty, find her. Bring her back to me." he ordered and they rushed off, a moment of pause followed as they still wondered and his mind raced through the hold and the area surrounding it, not immediately noticing Berin's stare over his shoulder, and then he pointed.

"Raeghun." he brought his attention to him, and then Raeghun turned to see the tall, earthen clad figure standing in front of the grand staircase and the lady in black held in his arms and her hands folded on her lap; sudden relief washed over him like a random summer shower and he moved forward towards him.

"What happened?" he asked, examining her.

"She is unharmed." Falgon said softly as he glanced at her, laying against his shoulder.

"Where was she?" Raeghun asked, and Falgon's eyes came to him, soft and compassionate.

"In the Tombs, sire." confusion tore at him, and he looked at her sleeping in the arms of her protector.

"In the Tombs? What was she doing there?" he asked, and saw Falgon's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

"Seeking counsel." he revealed, and the unexpected stinging to his skin spread throughout his body as the realization struck him. His attention was so focused on his improvement, he didn't notice her deep strain. She had tried to talk to him, to seek out his comfort and he disregarded it hoping it would pass. He was so entangled with his own struggle, that he ignored hers, and he cursed himself for it. _I'm such a fool..._ He rose his arms.

"Give her to me." Raeghun instructed, and Falgon spared the lady in his arms a final glance.

"With your permission, sire. I may take her as far as the doorway to the lord's wing for you, as you are still healing from your own injuries." he suggested, but Raeghun's eyes met his again as he shook his head.

"No. No, she is my wife. Give her to me." he insisted, and Falgon nodded before slowly moving to release her into her husband's care.

"Gently." Falgon whispered as Raeghun's arms slid by his to take hold of her, and after being certain that his grip was secure his hand went up to her hair, and gently tilted her head from his shoulder to lay against that of her husband, and Raeghun heard her softly whimper against the motion; then the sentinel moved away and his arms accepted her weight. He flinched at a sudden stab to his back and thigh, but it faded to a throb as he held her close to his chest. _My Claira... I'm so sorry..._ He turned to Berin and Milla at his side.

"You may continue your business. I will return..." he said, and then turned and started forward through the pain as he walked up the steps, past the great hearth and up the eastern stairway before proceeding up the incline towards the lord's wing. The throbbing increased to a sting that was painful, but it was bearable. As he rounded the curve, bringing the doorway to the lord's wing into view a handmaiden was on her way down with an empty pitcher held in her hand, who quickly turned around and rushed back to open the door when she noticed him. He passed through the door, and headed through the hall and up the stairway to their chamber, where he softly lay her down on their bed and knelt at her side, the stinging again fading to a pulsing throb. _Please forgive me, I have wronged you... But, I don't know what to do. I don't know how..._ He ran his hand over her form, hugged by the black silk. _I'm so sorry..._ He remained there for a while, just watching as she slept, amazed that for once she didn't wake so easily as normal. _But I will try. I promise I'll try..._ Then he stood and left the chamber again, softly closing the door behind him and leaving her to wake on her own much later to a blue sky and white clouds through the open window overlooking the Sunset Sea. She sat up rubbing her eyes, and wondered if everything that happened was simply a dream, or how she got back into their chamber. She looked around, taking in the surroundings, and then a soft knock sounded at the door. She thought for a moment to lie down, and pretend to sleep again, but then sighed and smoothed down the fabric of the dress.

"Enter." she invited, and a familiar face emerged from the doorway. Milla slipped inside and closed the door again behind her before approaching and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Claira, are you al right?" she asked, gently taking a strand of hair and fixing it over Claira's shoulder.

"I'm fine." she assured, looking down and heard Milla breathe out, sounding relieved.

"You really scared us. What were you doing in the Tombs?" she asked, moving slightly closer.

"I'm sorry. I... I just needed to get away from people. From the staring eyes. The whispers..." she said softly, and again looked out of the window over the blue, and then Milla's hand gently took hold of her cold fingers.

"What happened?" she asked, and a short pause followed before Claira looked back at Milla's clear green eyes.

"I spoke, to my father. I told him everything, what we endured the past year. Everything that happened. I think I fell asleep there. I had a dream, that we were sitting on the beach. We were all there, lord Rychard, lady Madryde, me and Raeghun... and a boy I didn't know. I couldn't see the face, just the black hair. It could have been your son, or Jon Snow for all I know; lord Eddard Stark did mention that he might reconsider in a few years. He... he told me to trust in my family, my name... and... and that my marriage to Raeghun..." she started to tell, and tried to drown out a sob when her best friend suddenly started crying.

"Forgive me, Claira..." she said through her hands, pressed to her face; and Claira's hand went to her arm concerned by her change of state.

"Milla." then she looked at her, the clear green set in anguished red.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I've stolen this from you... This should have been yours... Claira, I'm so sorry I took this from you..." she cried, and Claira's heart broke for her; new waves of tears forcing their way into her eyes and she moved closer to her friend.

"Milla, don't cry. Please don't cry... You'll upset your baby..." she pleaded as her right hand went to her back, and her left rested on the swell of her stomach, feeling a soft kick in the moment before Milla's hand rested on hers, gently pressing it against her.

"Our baby. This will be his home... He will grow up in your house..." she said, and Claira stared at her. _Our..._ Then the stinging, burning tears flooded down her cheeks again as her arms went around her friend, and she felt hers wrap around her waist.

"Don't you ever feel that way. Don't ever think you stole anything from me, you didn't. Everything is as it must be." Claira said, trying to force the words into her. They held each other, as they both cried together in the safety of the lord's chamber.

Raeghun stood in front of the great hearth, watching the dance of the flames and feeling the sensation through his back and leg, the throb had died down to a slight tingle. How it sparkled in the stone arch. Fire salts were rare, but it kept flames burning for six years with only a single hand full, and it felt like this was the only light left in the entirety of his hold, and he didn't know how to bring it out again. He couldn't think of any way to give out this warm and comforting light to the rest of his home, to the rest of his family... to his wife. He heard heavy footfalls approach down the eastern stairway, and then looked up from the flames, at the glowing stone at the back of the hearth.

"Is everything al right, sire?" the deep, gentle voice sounded from next to him and he took a deep breath, before again looking down.

"Yes. But I'm afraid my wife is feeling, out of place." he mentioned, forcing a soft smile.

"I see." Falgon said, turning his gaze to the sparkling flames.

"I may have been unkind to her... I don't... I don't know what to do." the lord said softly, his mind refusing to collaborate to the situation.

"Women are complex beings, they experience life much deeper than we do." the man next to him said, seeming to bring up his own experience with the fairer race. He was thankful for him, the way he spoke brought a calmness with every word that came from him.

"I wish there was something I could do for her, but her longing is for something that we have no control over. Lately, it has left a void between us..." he said, wishing for answers to the nagging questions that plagued him.

"If it is not unmannerly of me to ask, sire. Why did you marry her?" the sentinel asked, and he brought up that day in his mind.

"Because she was promised to me, and I to her." he recalled the tree, the torches, the many faces and the lord with the beautiful lady in green beside him.

"Do you regret it?" he was tense, but that faded to wonder when she was revealed to him.

"Not for an instant." he had shared the happiest days of his life with her at his side.

"Do you want children?" It was an exciting thought, that their house would grow.

"Of course." but it had been so long, and hope had all but completely faded as he noticed the figure nodding beside him.

"Would you hate her, or leave her bed for another's if she could not give you any?" that was something he couldn't imagine, he could not see himself at the side of anyone but her.

"Never." There was no one else, no one in the extent of this world that he would be capable of feeling any affection for.

"Do you love her?" Raeghun smiled, feeling the warmth in his chest.

"With my entire heart." It didn't matter what happened, as long as they were together. This was their home, and they would watch over it side-by-side. With their people, and their family however it was added to their house. He saw the stern face turn to him, the dark eyes as always soft and understanding.

"Forgive me, sire. But then I don't understand the problem?" Raeghun looked up at him, the smile genuine and bright.

"There is no problem. Thank you, my friend." he said, placing a grateful hand to his shoulder and Falgon bowed his head. Then the lord turned, and made his way back to the lord's wing, passing Milla on his way and he paused.

"Milla, is my wife awake? I need to speak with her." he asked, and she nodded as she brushed her fingers over a still flushed cheek.

"She is. She assured that she will join us this evening for supper." she informed, and he looked up the hallway.

"Thank you." they parted ways, and he entered the lord's hall finding two handmaidens still busy with their chores.

"You may return to your duties tomorrow. Take the rest of the day for yourselves." he instructed, and they left after thanking him. He took another deep breath, and headed up the stairway to their chamber where he again found her standing in front of the window, watching the blue of the ocean meet the horizon. He discarded the cane next to the dresser and went to her, laying his hands on her shoulders, and softly kissed her neck before she turned to him and he registered the red of her eyes.

"I'm sorry." she looked down, and he took her hands leading her to the bed where he sat down and pulled her forward onto his knees.

"Claira, my sweet wife. Listen to me; hear what I say." his arms circled her waist where she sat on his legs.

"I don't care, if you give me twenty sons or none at all. You are mine, and if the gods deem it so, then you are all I need. My house can end with me, it doesn't make the slightest difference to me." he told her, and her eyes came to his.

"That's not fair, Raeghun." she again tried to smother her emotions, but he tilted his head slightly as he smiled softly.

"Fair to who? To 'them'? They can all go and fuck themselves sideways or six ways, whichever fits them. To me? I just told you, I don't care." his hand went to her cheek.

"What's not fair Claira, is to expect something of you, that you have no control over. I would give up everything, just to see you smile at me again." her hands covered her face, and she cried again as his hand went into her hair and his arm tightened around her, and he held her tightly against him allowing her to release what was left of the sorrow, and he rocked soothingly with his wife in his arms.

"Oh, my dear wife. My dear, sweet, precious wife." he whispered against her, his warmth enveloping her completely, bringing comfort and love to her again.

Raeghun glanced over the stone railings lining the outside gardens as they walked, his wife's hands wrapped around his left arm, and the cane held in his right. Some days had passed, and it finally seemed that things were starting to get better. He didn't feel as enraged any more, and she had smiled for him again. She also returned to lighter colours of garments, having dressed this morning in light green. The pain still came and went, but it has been a while since he felt the burning sear through him, and he could appreciate slowly applying less pressure to the aid at his side. Sparring went well, although it was slow. Then he paused, staring over the horizon of blue on blue, enveloped by the sweet scents of the many blossoms around them.

"My love?" then he looked down at her, there was no concern in her eyes, not as much as it was curiosity.

"This is a beautiful day. Bright, calm and clear." he mentioned with a smile, and then turned towards her bringing his hand to her cheek.

"Just like you." she blushed, and pressed her hand over his as he leaned forward and kissed her, breathing her into him; her fragrance much stronger than that of the colourful flowers around them. Then he drew back, and they resumed their walk down the garden trail, listening to the rush of the ocean far below, and the song of birds in the trees.

"Raeghun, why don't I see any weirwood trees here?" she asked, and he glanced down at her.

"I don't know. I don't think they grow here." he had never seen the white trees with their crimson leaves in the Corridor, although they were rather wide spread further to the north.

"Never?" he shook his head as his eyes returned to the path in front of them.

"Not that I know of." he felt her fingers softly tighten around his elbow.

"Trying to grow one, would probably be pointless then..." she sounded disappointed, almost sad and then he paused again and turned towards her.

"You want your gods to see you." he realized, and she looked down timidly. He thought for a while, bringing up the white tree he saw; the blood red leaves that seemed to glow in the torch light, the face looking at him and a shimmering under the branches to its left.

"The tree at Pale Haven has a pond next to it, doesn't it?" she looked up at him again, slightly puzzled by his question.

"It does. Why?" he smiled, and put his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her closer.

"Well, I might not be able to give you a tree. But, I have an idea." he said as they continued down the path, returning to the southern hall to break their fast with their family, and enjoyed their company. After which they tended to matters of the hall, and then while Raeghun and Berin visited the village the ladies made their way to Claira's common room. They took their places on the soft chairs, and Milla resumed her work happily; but Claira found herself staring at the flower basket in her hoop with the needle held in her hand. Dozens of flowers and leaves in shades from deep blue to sun yellow surrounded the roses she started with, in a clustered bouquet; but she was done with it. It was time for something new. She took the fabric from the hoop and walked to the hearth, standing there holding the cloth in her hands and fumbling the patterns between her fingers.

"My lady?" she looked at Milla behind her, her hands still and her eyes veiled with confusion and concern; but Claira smiled.

"It's fine. I just..." she paused again, and looked at the flowers. All the many days she spent trying to fill an emptiness the felt rather than saw; then Milla stood and came to her looking down at the picture in her hands.

"Your flower basket..." then their eyes met.

"This basket became every pain, every frustration, every loneliness, every hardship that we faced over the past few months. This represents all the strain and darkness that lay over our house, and..." she paused, glancing at it a final time.

"I have finally finished it." she said, and then threw the fabric into the flames. Milla's hand went to her mouth in a moment of surprise, but Claira just watched as the threads burned, the blossoms shrivelling away and vanishing in the fire. Then she felt her friend's arms go around her, and her fingers softly curled around her arm.

"I'm... I'm proud of you, Claira." she whispered, and she gently squeezed her arm.

"Thank you, I think." she laughed, and then turned.

"It is time for something new." she went back to the basket and pulled a clean cloth from its contents while Milla carefully settled back in her seat, and retook her hoop.

"Do you have any ideas?" she asked as she pushed her needle through the fabric in her hoop, and Claira looked back.

"I might." she recalled a beast of blue flame, snatching a creature that wished to do her harm long ago. She returned to her chair and settled in, placing the cloth in the hoop and fastening the edges; then slowly started work on the vision from the dream where it looked down at her. Wide sparkling wings, a long flowing tail, hard grey talons, a beak in onyx black and glinting eyes of frozen blue and burning red. Slowly the light from outside dimmed, and Claira barely finished the outside linings of the wings and the tail when a serving girl came to announce that supper would be served soon; they departed the common room leaving their work to wait for them until the following day and made their way down the halls to the southern feast hall to join their family. Cook Jeody served flamed haddock with spinach, baby potatoes and carrots followed by preserve tartlets. The atmosphere was jovial while a bard and jester filled their hall with their talents for fair song and far off tales, a welcome transition from the weeks before. After finishing their supper, and leaving the hall to be cleared, the Taugere's and Trentins made their way into the Hall of Fire on their way to their wings to find peace for the remainder of the evening where a guard from the gate approached them.

"Pardon me, milord. The stone mason has begged an audience with you." he informed, and Raeghun glanced at Berin.

"Why at this time?" Berin asked, sounding more amused than concerned and then Raeghun gave him a small smile.

"Well, best I heard what the trouble is. Would you join me?" he asked, and Berin nodded before Raeghuns' attention came to Falgon, who had watched them from the doorway to the feast hall.

"Ser Falgon, would you and Gavin be so kind as to accompany our ladies to their apartments?" he asked, and Falgon acknowledged him.

"Of course, sire." they attended the ladies up the steps of the grand staircase to the third level, where Gavin escorted Milla to their room while Falgon stayed at Claira's side up to the lord's wing where she bid him a fond evening before closing the door and he returned to the barracks, resuming his place in front of the hearth, again taking up a book in his hands titled _Shattered Glass_. A historical portrayal of a broken family, and their journey to mend themselves and eventually each other; their final legacy a cascade of colours in the morning light. Hours had passed, many guards moving through the hall, departing to relieve those on rounds and others returning to rest for the night as deep night settled over Mount Ardor and the halls became silent and peaceful. He enjoyed the quiet, and found harmony in the solitude of night, but before too long his euphoria would be broken by the figure dressed in pale purple and burgundy hair hanging past her shoulders, appearing in the arch that led up the stairway into the rest of the barracks.

"I've been waiting for you." she said softly, and his eyes came momentarily away from the book in his hands.

"My apologies, you would have waited a long time." he excused, and she started moving forward towards him.

"I've never seen you with anyone. Never being intimate with any of the women, never heard of you visiting one of the night inns. Don't you get… lonely?" she pointed out, and he turned a page, not giving her his full attention.

"My duties take up a lot of my time." he justified, her shadow growing in the light cast by the fire of the hearth.

"You have some time to yourself now." she again said softly, standing at his side and running her fingers over the backrest of the chair.

"So I do." he breathed, and then felt the soft brush of fabric as she slipped her right leg across his thighs, followed by gentle pressure to his legs as her weight rested on him and the fingers of her left hand wrapping around his neck. His eyes came up from the book and he stared at her in surprise as her other hand took the book from him, and lay it on the table before bringing her hand back to his face. _Don't..._ She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his yearningly, in a lingering kiss. For a fleeting moment, he tried to return it but couldn't as the touch left a writhing in his chest, like taking hold of his heart and pressing; it was difficult to breathe as a dizzying sting overwhelmed him, bordering on revolt. He placed his hand to her chest, inches below her throat and forced her away from him.

"You shouldn't be here. You'll get into trouble." he murmured, but she stared at him, her light violet eyes meeting his desperately. _Why am I not good enough for you?_ She leaned forward again, running her hands down his chest.

"I want you, Falgon. More than I've wanted anyone…" she whispered against his ear as her hands slid further down over his stomach, but as her fingers touched the threads of the leather breeches he took hold of her wrists, and brought her hands away from him.

"Aurelne, you're a beautiful woman. But I can't." he said, and she again stared at him.

"Sentinels are allowed to choose a woman, Falgon. Not just the high-born." she told, and he sighed.

"I know, but that's not the reason." she sat back on his knees.

"Then why?" she asked, the disappointment evident in the pitch of her voice, _No man has ever refused me_.

"Because I belong to another." he simply said, releasing his grip on her wrists; and she looked down bringing her hands together in front of her.

"You were married? It still hurts?" she determined, and he looked away from her.

"That too, is not the reason." he said softly, and she was utterly confused.

"Who then?" there was a drawn out silence, but when his eyes wouldn't return to hers she suddenly realized who he was thinking of. Of course it was her, the beautiful lady with hair like black marble and rime blue eyes.

"You can't be serious!" she suddenly said, the confusion melting into shock; and then his eyes did return to hers.

"I belong to her. My very existence is hers." he said, but it ate at her like a ravenous animal.

"She is the lord's wife!" she reminded him, like she needed to; but he nodded.

"True, she is. And it doesn't change my accord." he would not relent, but neither was she willing to simply accept it.

"She'll never be yours." she told him, but his reaction was a soft knowing smile.

"I can accept that." and he truly did. His world was complete as long as he could see her smile, could hear her laugh. It didn't matter for whom it was.

"You should forget about her." she advised, again leaning forward and he chuckled.

"You ask that of me?" she was the only one, the only entity that was a reality more concrete than the woman sitting on him at this moment.

"There is no other that could give you what I can't." she told him, but he shook his head.

"I can't give you anything, Aurelne. Best you forget about me." he said, and her hands again went to his face, softly against his skin.

"You can give me you." she whispered, and he took her hands again, gently bringing them away from him. Her persistent attempts were starting to grow tiresome, and his hope for non-belligerent partings were becoming fewer.

"I have one purpose, only one. To protect her. It is the only reason I'm still breathing. All the rest can go to whichever hell they deem fit for themselves." he said, but yet another time she leaned forward to bring herself closer to him.

"Falgon..." What choices were left to him? What would make her abandon this folly? His hands tightened on her wrists, his eyes becoming hard and the light of the hall slightly dimming around them.

"If I want to bed someone, I'll bed a queen. Not a chamber maid." he suddenly told her, and let go of her wrists. The emotions in her eyes were nothing new to him, swirls of disappointment, pain, hate and anger, and then a sudden frigid sting spread across the left side of his face, hard enough to force his stare away from her as the palm of her hand struck him, the sound of the impact sounding through the hall. But he breathed in, and abruptly started laughing as he brought his eyes back to hers with a grin.

"That's better. Now go, before someone comes looking for you." he said, and she stood from him to leave. But as she reached the arch she stopped and looked back at him.

"I hope you love her. I hope you love her so much, that each time you look at her your heart breaks; knowing you will not have her." she cursed him, and his head turned slightly towards her.

"What heart?" after a moment she vanished, and he was left listening to her soft cries fading away; and he finally breathed again, bringing his eyes to the flames of the hearth, not entirely noticing the change around him. _I would rather lose her heart with a painful truth, than to break it with falseness..._ He had refused many, it was easy for him. One of the first was a second wife to his father, and the memory came back to him in vague moments. Her initial interest in their family was for him, but when he did not return the fondness his father claimed her hand in union. It was one late night, he had just come back from scouting with his brothers. She was waiting in his room, and took the liberty of closing the door behind him as he removed the sword and cloak from his shoulders. She too, was not a stranger to displaying her interest in someone particular, and then he refused her; and this angered her. _'_ _No man has ever refused me.'_ she told him that night, her wrists held in his strong hands as he smiled at her. _'_ _I just did.'_ then he released her, stepping back as she stared at him. _'_ _I'll tell your father-'_ he assumed this was meant as a threat, but laughed at her. _'_ _Tell him. And make sure he believes you.'_ he encouraged, and since that evening they did not share an optimistic kinship, despite his love for his baby sisters that she brought into the world.

Several more weeks followed, weeks of peace and improvement within their walls while Raeghun paid more frequent visits to Garde's Post, except for the morning Aurelne requested permission to return to her family in Barrow Town with the explanation that she lived a happy life here, but longed for her home. They were sad to see her go, she'd been a fine addition to their household aids; but did not question her decision. It was granted, and she departed the burning mountain on the back of a merchant cart. This was a bright, warm day that Claira and her court maiden shared in her common room. Milla was great with child, and the imminent birth was drawing near, a very happy occasion as more and more people were talking of it. Everyone wondered what the new little lord or lady would look like, and predictions of his father's candour and her mother's grace was often heard in the halls. Claira glanced at Milla, with a wide textile of sparkling black silk in her hands, and smiled curiously.

"What are you working on?" she asked, and added another stitch to the work in her hands, the form of the creature nearing completion.

"Oh, just a blanket. And you?" she blushed as she glanced up, her hands still working.

"Something I once saw in a dream. I might use it as a bodice piece for one of my dresses." she told, displaying the vision in her hands and Milla smiled warmly.

"It's beautiful, but why a blue phoenix?" she asked, slightly confused and Claira stared at the creature, as close as she could remember it.

"That's how I saw it. Clear and bright, burning like the sun." her memory went back to the dream, to the moment her hand went up to touch the flaming feathers of the great phoenix that stood on crystal white snow. The eyes staring at her, both burning and wondrous in their beauty. Then she looked back at Milla as she rested the hoop on her knees.

"May I see yours?" she asked cheerfully, but Milla looked down shyly. Almost fearfully.

"You may, but I don't... want you sad." she said softly, lowering her hands.

"About what, my dear friend?" Claira asked, adding another stitch to her work as she pulled the thread through the fabric.

"About our circumstances... about yours..." Milla said, bringing her eyes up to hers; but saw her friend smiling as her shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath; then after a moment of silence she lay the hoop down on her knees again and looked at her. There was no more remorse left in her beautiful smile. No longer a forced courtesy, not a hidden pain and anger. This was her, the friend she knew. The happy girl she met for the first time thirteen years ago.

"I've accepted it, Milla. It doesn't bother me any more. You can show me." she assured, truly interested in the work clutched in the hands of the young mother opposite from her, then Milla nodded and spread the textile in front of her to display it, and Claira stared at it in amazement. A bright and burning phoenix in all the rich colours of flame was intricately adorned over the centre of the shining black silk, fierce and powerful.

"Our sigil? Shouldn't it be yours?" Claira asked, astonished at her choice; but then Milla smiled back at her warmly, happy and aglow.

"My child will grow up here. We will honour your house, still." she said, and Claira felt the soft heat of a blush to her skin.

"Thank you, Milla. That means a great deal to us." she said, and looked out the window over the fields, the gentle dark of twilight hanging in the distance.

"Any notions on why the stone masons have been calling on us so frequently?" she wondered, and Milla seemed to put some thought into that.

"I have not heard of any complaints, save that they were in need of expanding the quarry. Naturally, your lord husband would need to approve so they are likely negotiating a suitable reach." she mentioned as Claira's stare remained on the slowly fading light outside while one by one, the torches surrounding the hold were lit.

"Negotiations shouldn't take this long." she thought, and then looked back at Milla.

"I'm sure they're just being finicky. The masons want the best stone for their work." she said, finally having Claira brush off the notion and they continued their work until a handmaiden came to collect them for the evening banquet where they shared chickpea soup, followed by butter glazed hare roasted with onions and turnips with fresh spinach, and finally some blackberries with cider; all listening to flute song before retiring to bed. Days later, finally nearing her thirty-eighth week, Milla retreated to the confines of the east wing and its comforts to lay in, and Claira shared the comfort of their chamber at least once a day for a couple of hours; and near to a fortnight later, some days earlier than expected Mount Ardor was restless as painful screams echoed throughout the halls. Early this morning, the discomfort started and slowly increased to back ache, to cramps and finally contractions. Many lingered on the third level, while the maester and several nurses were in attendance along with Berin. Claira stood in front of the great doorway, wringing her hands together. Even at this distance, the harrowing wails left her aching and she wished she could take the pain away. Then she felt a comforting hand around her shoulders, and looked up at clear blue eyes.

"She'll be al right." Raeghun whispered as he pressed her gently to him; and she prayed that he would be right. So many times, she heard tales of young mothers claimed by death, bringing their children into this life as she stared down the dark hallway and the night dragged on. Cook Jeody delayed his retirement, having his serving girls supply those in waiting with cups of warm cider; and it was well past midnight when Claira realized that the disruption had suddenly stopped some time ago. She listened intently, but there was silence save for the soft voices around her and the crackle of the great hearth and then the first faint sounds of footsteps coming down the hall growing louder until maester Adlyn emerged and Claira approached him.

"Maester, how are they?" she couldn't hide the dread lacing her tone, but he smiled at her comfortingly as her husband came up beside her.

"The baby is strong and thriving, however..." he paused a small moment, and Claira felt her heart dissolve as she unconsciously brought her hands to her chest.

"Milla?" but he remained smiling.

"She's fine. She has suffered a difficult birth, and is worn-out and faint at the moment. But, with enough rest and care she will be completely recovered before long." he assured, and relief washed over each in the hall.

"Thank you, maester. We are blessed to have you in our home." Raeghun said, again wrapping his arm around Claira's waist as she smiled and laughed, the happiness too moving to suppress. Then he bid them a fair remainder of the evening before returning to the safety of his tower, and another set of footsteps came down the hall, immediately seizing the lady's attention. Moments later Berin emerged with a small bundle wrapped in white linen in his arms, smiling happily at them.

"My lord, my lady. May I present the newest member of your house to you?" he asked as he came closer, the quiver of excitement still evident in his voice, and Claira stared at the tiny child; softly whimpering in his arms.

"May we have the name of our new member?" Raeghun asked, bringing his hand to the soft cloth enveloping the baby; and Berin laughed over the glint of tears in his eyes.

"Bella. Bella Trentin, my lord." Claira couldn't bring her eyes away from her, and slowly raised her hands.

"May I hold her, please?" she asked, and Berin turned towards her.

"Of course." he surrendered his daughter to her, and she held her tightly against her. She was the most beautiful she'd ever seen, the feel of the tiny soft body warming her entirely; and an absolute love for her rooted, and Claira couldn't stop new tears of her own from trailing down her cheeks. She hadn't felt this happy in months as she continued to stare at the child while their other members slowly started to gather around them to meet the new lady. The heiress of the Trentin lineage was born with black hair and clear green eyes, and an early conciousness and curiosity of her surroundings. On maester Adlyn's instruction, Milla was pent to repose for some weeks while nurses tended to her needs, and Claira was blissful to see to the care of tiny lady Bella whenever she could, fully believing that even though she may never have her own children she could love another's just as much, and once a day familiar faces were allowed to enter to present their fair wishes. A nurse from Citrine Arch joined their household aid very recently; receiving consent from Raeghun she sent a message to her family requesting that Mandeline who was her watcher as a girl join her company at Mount Ardor, who apart from the lady of the hold was the only woman she would entrust the care of her daughter to. She was a slim woman of thirty two with short brown hair and grey eyes, positive and helpful as she taught Milla the proper way to feed and care for her daughter, and all other small shards of wisdom. One fair morning, Claira sat with Bella in her arms on a chair in Milla's chamber while her handmaidens helped her wash and changed the bed sheets. She found it easier to move, but was still encouraged to rest; which she found rather bothersome.

"I wish I could go outside. The walls seem to be closing in on me." Milla complained, but Claira smiled happily as she rocked with Bella.

"Soon, my friend. Enjoy this time, it might not happen again for a while." she said, and Milla sighed as she was returned to their bed.

"I know. I just find it so restricting, it's like I've been jailed." she said as the sheets were carefully pulled over her and smoothed down.

"I'd like to think there are some people who would pay a price to spend a night in our vaults." Claira teased, and Milla laughed with her.

"Oh yes, it's quite a step from the black cells or the sky cells I've heard of." Milla mentioned as Claira glanced down at the child who started to stir.

"Indeed. My husband insists, it doesn't matter how lowly the criminals are, they're still human. And their needs will be tended to as required." she stood as the child started to fidget and cry, bringing her over to Milla.

"I think she's hungry." Milla raised her hands to take her, and as Claira released her she felt stinging, and brought her hand to her chest. It's been happening more and more lately. She watched as her friend opened the left side of her chest, and brought the little one closer to drink when another sting went through her. But as she quieted down, the sting faded to a tingle.

"Would you excuse me for a little while? I need to see the maester." then Milla looked up at her.

"Of course. Is something wrong?" Claira thought, she didn't feel ill; there were no changes, it was just the odd sensations.

"No. I just need to ask his advice. I will return here later." she assured, and then left the east wing for maester Adlyn's tower, finding her trusted sentinel awaiting her at the great door. She looked up at him as he turned to her.

"How is our lady, and her little one?" he enquired, and she smiled.

"They're both doing well. This is not the lord's wing, you may visit her with the others." she reminded him, and he glanced at the doorway.

"I shouldn't intrude." he declined politely, and she sniggered shaking her head. That's just how he was, and no force on earth would change him. He accompanied her to the maester's tower.

"I will wait for you here, if it please you?" he said, taking his place next to the arch leading up into the tower.

"Yes, that's fine. I won't be long." she assured, and ascended the steps to maester Adlyn's chamber where she found him holding a bottle in his hand, swirling it slightly to mix the ingredients.

"Maester Adlyn." she called for his attention, and he turned as he replaced the bottle on a shelf.

"Good day, my lady. What may I do for you?" he asked, bringing his hands together as he approached her. She glanced down, wondering what to say.

"I need your help." she murmured, and he guided her to the chairs in front of his little hearth.

"Anything, of course." they sat down, and she debated on how to start.

"You are aware that I've been tending to Bella for a little while now." she told, and he nodded through a warm smile.

"I have heard. A wonderful experience for you, I'm sure." he said, and she felt a warmth to her cheeks.

"It is. But I have found my chest becoming painful, quite recently." she revealed, and he thought on that, seeming curious.

"May I ask you to describe this pain, my lady?" he leaned forward to listen.

"Stinging, to my breast... It seems worse when the little one is crying." she told, and again his mind rummaged through the possibilities before his teeth bared through his thick grey beard in a wide smile, but she stared at him.

"Is there something wrong with me?" his deep brown eyes met hers, shining with some untold emotion.

"No, my lady. Not at all. It is quite common, I've seen it a few times; but generally with women who have had their own children before. I dare to say that this is something very positive." he explained, and she glanced down for an instant.

"I don't understand." he sat back on the chair, his hands resting on his knee.

"Women are wonderful beings, my lady. They connect so deeply with those around them, and even more so to the ones closest to them. Your body is responding to the child's needs, naturally as you wish to care for her..." he suddenly paused, and then stood heading to the shelf.

"It should fade soon, but I may give you something for relief, should it become unbearable." he took a tiny green vial as Claira stood to follow him, and then turned back to her holding out the little bottle.

"A single drop with your morning tea, each day." he instructed, and she closed her hand around the glass.

"Thank you, maester." he slightly bowed.

"It is my great pleasure to assist you, lady Claira. Is there anything else?" he asked as he walked with her to the doorway leading back down to the rest of the hold.

"No, that was all thank you." she said passing through the door where he stopped.

"Very well. Until your next visit then." he greeted as she slowly went down the steps, and he headed back to his shelf. He had to stop himself, every evidence suggested that she had abandoned her hope too soon; but he would rather not rekindle it to have her suffer another length of time with the postponement. She responded, if anything it supported the probability that she will bear; and he smiled to himself as he scanned the contents of his shelves and she returned to the east wing to resume her part. With Bella fed, Claira once again sat with her in her arms on the chair in the corner next to the window, but evidently she wasn't feeling at all sleepy as she played with strands of the lady's hair in her hands. Claira loved it, the wonder in her little eyes and they way she gurgled when she tickled her, and her little mouth pulling in some fashion that might resemble a smile. Some time past noon, Mandeline was given the rest of the afternoon to herself; and Claira looked up to see Milla asleep, then stood with Bella.

"Let's go get mama some flowers." she suggested softly, and silently made her way out the door and down the hallway; again meeting her sentinel at the doorway from where he accompanied them to the outside garden. They wandered amidst the sweet blossoms for a little while, choosing a handful of sweet flowers to take back to the room. It was a quiet day, most of their household visiting the village. They chose two sunflowers, five blood red roses and three blue lilies from the garden before starting their way back into the hold when a page came from the doorway with a quill and a parchment.

"My apologies for bothering you, lady Claira. A shipment of components from Myr has arrived for maester Adlyn from White Harbour; and lord Raeghun is not here to sign acceptance for it. May I kindly ask you?" he presented the quill and parchment to her, and she looked around.

"Very well." then her eyes met Falgon's behind her. _I couldn't ask him..._ But as if he saw the thought passing through her eyes he raised his hands.

"You may, your grace." she smiled.

"Thank you, it will just be a moment." she said as he gently took the child from her, and she lay the flowers on the bench next to her, before taking the quill and parchment from the boy in front of her.

"Turn around." she instructed, and he turned his back to her where she lay the parchment and wrote her names at the bottom and handed the items back to the boy as he turned back.

"Thank you, milady." he rolled the parchment neatly and returned the way he came, then Claira turned back to the sentinel behind her. He was smiling happily as Bella held his finger in her hands, bubbling excitedly and Claira giggled.

"She likes you. You certainly have a way with little ones." he looked at her, still smiling.

"I used to watch over my sisters, many times. It's nothing new to me." he mentioned, and she felt warm realizing yet another part of the man next to her. She took the flowers next to her, and he held the baby for Claira to reclaim her, but as she slipped into her arm she started to cry, and even after laying the flowers down on the bench again nothing Claira did would calm her. _What have I done? What am I doing?_ Her mind ran with her, but then Falgon raised his hands again.

"May I, your grace?" he asked, and she slowly returned the child to him which he took and gently lay her against his shoulder, supporting what little weight she had with his left hand, and the fingers of his right gently tapping on her back like you would play a flute while he subtly swayed, softly humming an unfamiliar tune as the mewling ceased, and she was again left wondering who he was...

Milla woke to an empty room, and gingerly sat up as sleep left her and wondered where the others were. _They might be in the kitchens, it's not that far..._ She stood from the bed, feeling the sensation of prickles to her legs but felt strong enough to walk, then started moving forward. It went slow, and she used the surrounding objects for support, then heard a soft knock at the door.

"Enter." she allowed, hoping it would be Claira and Bella; but when the door opened burning blue eyes met hers.

"You're not supposed to be up." Raeghun said coming forward.

"I feel strong enough to walk." she took another small step forward.

"Milla, get back into bed." he said, and she looked up at him.

"But-" she started, and he gave her a teasing smile.

"No but's. Your butt, your bed, now." he took her from the floor and returned her the five steps back to their bed and set her down.

"I want to see my daughter." she insisted.

"I will have her brought to you, I need to speak with my wife." he assured, and then looked back as Berin entered, and he returned to the door.

"Stay with your wife, please. And if she moves sit on her, or something until Bella is safely with her." he instructed, and Berin laughed.

"She would sooner rip my spine out." he joked, seeing her blush from the bed trying to drown her own laughter.

"You make me sound so cruel." she sounded behind them, and Raeghun turned.

"Given half a chance, Maegor the Cruel would seem a lamb against you." he teased, and she returned his smile.

"Then hurry, before I make you my first victim." Raeghun rose his hands in defence.

"Yes, my lady. At once, my lady." In their safety, they could share moments like these. Then he turned back to Berin.

"Then I have a final favour to ask. Please escort my wife to the lord's garden for me. I'll be waiting there." he asked, and Berin shared an impish smile.

"Of course." Raeghun left the chamber, and Berin went back to the bed to sit down beside his wife.

"It's good that you are feeling better." he said as he lay his hand on her knee.

"I do feel better, but the pain lingers." his arm went around her and he held her against him.

"Don't strain yourself. It won't last." he said, and she looked away from him.

"It breaks my heart that I can't spend as much time with Bella as I want to. But I am grateful for Claira, who has been helping so much." she said smiling.

"She loves doing it. If not for her and Mandeline, we'd be severely lost." he said, glancing at the doorway.

"I owe her so much. I hope to return that favour." she said softly as shadows flickered in the hallway, and footsteps approached and Berin stood as Claira entered with Bella sleeping in her arms.

"I'm sorry for disappearing, we went looking for flowers." Claira apologised as she came towards her, the sweet smelling flowers held in her right hand before she slipped them into a vase waiting on the dresser.

"That's al right. Thank you, they're lovely." Claira came to the bed, and released the sleeping child into her mother's care.

"Bella chose most of them." she smiled, and then stepped back glancing at Berin.

"I should leave you, then. Enjoy your evening." she started heading towards the door, while Berin walked with her.

"Actually, your husband has requested that I accompany you to the lord's wing. There is a matter that require your attendance." he said, and she looked at him in surprise.

"Falgon normally escorts me to the doorway." she mentioned, looking at the shadow cast by the waiging figure around the corner from the door.

"I would prefer he stay here for a few moments; before my wife has the urge to go hunting." he teased again, glancing over his shoulder. They departed the east wing, leaving the sentinel to guard the doorway as they made their way up the incline to the lord's wing, and every thought went through her mind of what was in need of her attention. He entered with her, and for the first time she noticed that the doors leading to the private garden were closed and she looked back at Berin.

"Why are the garden doors closed?" she asked, as it was a normal occurrence that these doors always stood open; allowing entry to clear air and sweet scents.

"I don't know, my lady. Shall we find out?" he asked, and she looked back at the doors, anxiety and curiosity fusing in a whirl down her back as he moved forward and placed his hands on the iron handles of the wood doors and pulled to reveal the lush outside then stepped outside turning to his right. Then he looked at her, smiling.

"It's al right. He's here." she cautiously moved forward, emerging into the light sweet of their private garden, and then she felt like her heart stopped as she turned. With the walking aid next to him, Raeghun sat on the edge of a wide black marble basin, supporting another smaller white marble basin, which in its centre held a tall white pillar, crowned by a red marble shelter, intricately chiselled to resemble red leaves. Staring at her from the heart of the white column was a face she knew, the face of lord Rychard Taugere. Her hands covered her mouth as tears burned at her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Raeghun... This is... This is beautiful... I can't... There are no words..." she breathed, the beautiful fountain the pride of their garden. Then he smiled, stood and walked towards her, leaving the cane behind; and the sting became actual tears. There was no strain, no difficulty, not even a slight limp to the way he moved.

"You're... You're walking..." she cried, bringing her hands to his chest as he reached her. She had been so busy with Milla and Bella, the rest of the world passed her by without so much as a notion. He laughed, bringing his arms around her.

"I couldn't give you the same as what is at Pale Haven, but I hoped this would do." he held her tightly against him.

"I became strong again, because of you. Everything I am, is because of you." he said, placing his lips against her cheek; and her arms wound around his neck.

"I love you. I love you so much." she breathed against him, her arms growing tighter around him.

"And I love you. I don't need anything else, just you. I would live under a tree, as long as I had you." he said, and then pulled back from her.

"Speaking of which." he glanced at the fountain, and then brought his eyes back to hers, gently taking her face between his hands.

"Today, four years ago I was standing under a white tree with crimson leaves and a face watching over me; among friends and family and people I didn't even know. Down a torch-lit path came a man, with a young lady at his side. I was scared to death; because I didn't know the lady at all, or what she'd think of me. But she accepted me, and when her father took the veil from her she was the most beautiful woman in the known and unknown world, the most beautiful being in all creation with hair of midnight and starlight, skin like delicate porcelain and eyes like clear sapphires." he stared at her, the same wonder in his eyes that sparked that day, and so many times since then.

"That lady took me as her husband, and she became my wife... Today, four years ago I became yours, and you became mine. And that is enough for me to live a happy life, until we are both aged. Until the end of my days..." they stood, holding each other in the garden until her emotions calmed.

 _Until the end of my days..._


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13 – BRIGHT FIRE

Bella Trentin grew rapidly, and soon her presentation followed in the sept of Garde's Post. A short time later, her progressively bubbly laughter and happy shrieks could be heard throughout the halls of the burning mountain while a proposal had been made to hold a tourney in the fields close to Garde's Post to celebrate the occasion of the lady of Mount Ardor's ten and eighth name day, which was declined to several members' disappointment; but it came and went with a grand feast and unsparing fondness. This was a bright, warm day that she descended the incline on the arm of her husband to greet the head of their sentinels and his wife with their daughter nestled in a soft blanket held in her arms on the third level of the great castle, having just come from their chambers; and nurse Mandeline at Milla's side, and Claira raised her arms to take the baby.

"There's my little one." she smiled as Milla released her into her friend's care, and Raeghun regarded her. How she brightened when she held the child, and he laughed. He hadn't held the girl yet for fear of harming her, but now that she was stronger, and less fragile it was a thought that drew him and he extended his hand to her.

"May I?" and Berin smiled.

"Of course." Claira held her out to him, and he softly took her, holding her against his chest; feeling the same warmth go through him as the bright little eyes took him in. There was an instant that Bella only stared at him, wondering who the stranger was that held her in his powerful arms, and then smiled and laughed happily reaching her hands to his face.

"Such a beauty you will be." he predicted, and then glanced at Berin.

"Before long, we will have to intensify our guards my friend. Suitors will come from all the reaches to battle for your daughter's hand." he teased, to soft laughter and a slight blush around him, and then he looked back at Bella.

"And you, little lady, will refuse them all, won't you?" he smiled, and she gurgled excitedly as if in agreement to another instance of laughter as he released her back to his wife's hands; and they moved down the grand staircase to assume their day. Berin attended his rounds in the barracks before heading to the bailey for their daily sparring while Milla and Claira tended to the preparation of the feast hall. After breaking their fast on fresh fruit, grains with thick sweetened cream, sausages and pressed fruit extracts they left the southern hall to resume the remainder of their duties, and enjoy what was left of the day. While Raeghun sat in counsel with Berin and his sentinels in the Hollow, the long drawn out howl of a horn washed over the fields followed by the tolling of the sentry tower bells, to which Berin stood to view the disturbance through the window.

"My lord, Baratheon banners." Raeghun stood and joined him at the window, taking in the bright yellow in the breeze with the royal black stag approaching swiftly. _It's too close to the Wanderer's Tourney. Why would they come here?_

"This is most surprising." Berin muttered beside him.

"Robert won't abandon his tournaments for a slight visit. Something is wrong." Raeghun responded, he could feel it in the twist down his back, and then returned his attention to those behind him.

"We will continue this after I have received our guest." he announced, and they stood before bowing formally and left the chamber as Raeghun headed for the bailey with Berin at his side to receive the royal traveller. They emerged into the light of late noon as the party rode through the gate, surrounding a tall and lean, broad shouldered man with profound blue eyes and black hair banding his head. He scanned his surroundings, taking in the faces of those who emerged from the castle and its sides to meet them, and then his eyes fell on Raeghun descending the stairs towards him, like the gaze of an eagle spying its prey before he dismounted and walked forward.

"My lord Stannis, what a pleasure. But so close to the annual Wanderer's tourney?" Raeghun met him extending his hand; but the lord Baratheon did not return the gesture.

"I'm afraid it may not be, lord Raeghun. The tourney has been put over." he said, the tone of his voice deep and factual; and Raeghun's hand lowered.

"I come on behest of my brother, king Robert." _Of course you do..._ Of course, that was lord Stannis Baratheon. Straight to the point.

"The Ironborn has risen against the crown in rebellion, with Balon Greyjoy proclaiming himself king of the Iron Islands. The Lannister fleet at Lannisport has been near to completely destroyed in a surprise attack, and now they are pillaging small villages along the coastline as they're heading to invade the kingdoms, this is an act of treason. I come to lay before you a request: Will the phoenix rise with the stag once again in battle?" It struck him like a wave, all the different emotions that told him to go and to stay, both fervour and unease tearing away at him; but the blue eyes stared at him expectantly, awaiting his answer. Raeghun took a deep breath, and then looked back at the many faces of those standing on the steps; initially to welcome a guest, now drawn in fright and worry. Then he met the deep brown eyes some feet behind him of the man clad in light grey.

"Maester Adlyn." he took a step forward.

"My lord?" he anticipated his instructions.

"Let our strongest Ravens fly." he quickly turned and returned to his tower to carry out his mission while others muttered and murmured and whispered their concerns among themselves while Raeghun's attention went to Berin.

"Ensure that our equipment is adequate, in numbers and quality." Berin nodded, and then followed as the lord guided Stannis into the Hall of Fire to tend to the request in the armoury.

"You must have had a hard journey, to come see us personally." Raeghun mentioned, finding it out of place that they did not simply send a raven; but perhaps it was thought that he would turn down the call.

"The road has been tiresome, but Robert insisted. And I would appreciate a warm meal and a soft bed for a night. But then I must return to my station with first light, our fleet is anchored off the Shield Islands while preparations are being made." he agreed, and paused to look at Raeghun again.

"Have you any notions on how to proceed?" he asked, as to no surprise. A strict military mind, always calculating; always planning. And Raeghun put a moment's thought into his own.

"Lord Foch is our coast overseer and steward of the Corridor's fleet, he has a count of forty ships at our westernmost port in Boatwright, galleys and flagships. I will have instruction given that one third remains along the west shore to protect the country, the rest will make for the south to meet yours. In the interim I will need one week to assemble my men and have all prepared before riding to join the rest of the inland forces." he said while Stannis stared at him. It was difficult to make out if this proposal met him as positive, or negative.

"One week?" he asked again, and Raeghun glanced away from him. _My men would ride through the night, if they had to..._

"Perhaps less, if we are favoured." he added, and then the man next to him nodded; accepting the choices.

"Very well." his attention went to a lady dressed in iris purple with a black embroidered grey centre piece approaching; and she greeted him with a curtsy.

"Good day, lord Stannis." he nodded.

"Lady Claira." he regarded her slowly, his eyes piercing and hard; it made her feel uncomfortable, something that her husband could sense.

"My sweet, please have a chamber prepared for lord Stannis." he asked, and she eased stepping closer to him and wrapping her hands around his elbow.

"Of course, my love. We will have the Fern apartment ready within the hour." she confirmed, and Raeghun looked back at Stannis.

"Your company is welcome to my barracks." he invited, and Stannis glanced towards the great door, something bordering on satisfaction drawing his thin pale lips.

"My thanks." Claira's thoughts went to their choice for this evening's banquet, and wondered if anything was in need of alteration.

"Is there anything specific you would like our kitchens to serve for supper, my lord?" she asked, and his eyes came back to her.

"I'm not fastidious over food, I'll eat whatever is given. But I would prefer to sup in my quarters, and have an early evening. We ride at dawn, tomorrow." he said, and she nodded.

"Of course." then he looked at Raeghun again.

"If you'll pardon me, I'll see that my men have their instructions clearly." he said, then turned and left towards the door, while Claira and Raeghun watched him.

"He doesn't like me, does he?" she murmured softly, and Raeghun chuckled.

"Stannis doesn't much like anyone. He tolerates others because they're alive. But his quittance comes from his sense of loyalty and duty; he would sever his right thumb if his king commanded it of him. And he has a scaled mind for justice." Then he looked down at her.

"He might not be blithesome, but he is a good man." he said with a smile before calling the attention of a squire, sturdy and helpful; assigning him as guide and aid to lord Stannis whenever he is in need of something from their hold. Slowly, night settled over the castle and as proposed the visiting lord was not seen again; retreating to the solitude of the Fern apartment in the east wing as soon as it was available. A tray with a serving was sent to the guest's chamber whilst the members of the hold feasted on roast lamb with spiced potato, sweet carrots, field peas and cauliflower along with ale and sweet wine before taking their leave for their chambers. Milla walked down the long hallway to their chamber with Mandeline at her side, and Bella in her arms already asleep while her nurse talked away happily of the enjoyment she found here; especially taken by their cook's talent. Then the darkwood door of the Fern apartment opened as they passed it, and the stern face of lord Stannis Baratheon appeared.

"You there, girl." he drew their attention, and Milla stopped looking at him.

"Is there anything you need, lord Stannis." his dark blue eyes glanced down the long hallway, and then came back at her.

"It seems my aid has run off. Bring a pitcher of spring water." he instructed sending a flow of acid down Milla's back, he was indeed a hard and dark man. But she turned to Mandeline at her side.

"Mandeline, will you be so kind as to bring our guest's request to our kitchens?" she asked, and Mandeline returned a smile.

"Of course, my lady." she agreed, bringing ease to the young mother.

"Thank you. Have cook Jeody give you something of your choice, for your trouble." she granted, and Mandeline returned to the kitchen and Milla brought her attention back to him.

"My apologies, I did not realize you were a lady of the hold." he muttered softly, the glint of shyness in his striking eyes.

"It's al right. I don't believe we have officially met, I am lady Milla Trentin, court maiden to lady Claira." she introduced herself, to a curt nod when deep voices sounded from further down the hallway where Berin and Falgon approached.

"Ser Austinus will have command of the barracks and its routines, while the remaining sentinels will fall under your orders. But reflecting on our misadventure a few moons ago, you should not have any difficulties." she heard Berin say to the man next to him, who acknowledged his instruction.

"I will do what I can." he returned modestly, and Milla had to stifle a laugh. _Will do what you can? I have been starting to believe, that there is nothing that you cannot do, ser..._ Berin's arm went around her waist the moment he reached her side, and he regarded the guest who'd been watching them.

"Good evening, lord Stannis. I hope you find your accommodation suitable." he greeted.

"It is satisfactory." he returned, passing a quick glance between Berin and Milla while Berin looked back at Falgon.

"Well then, fair evening to you." he said, and Falgon bowed his head to them.

"And to you, my lord and lady." he greeted them as Berin's attention came back to Stannis.

"Was there anything you needed, my lord?" he asked, noting that he had not retreated back into the chamber as yet.

"Just the water." he said, and Berin nodded.

"It will be delivered to you momentarily, my lord." Milla assured, feeling her child slightly stir in her arms and glanced down while her arms gently soothed her.

"Very well. Good night, lord Stannis." Berin greeted,

"And to you." he returned, and then the sentinel guided his wife further down the hallway, taking his daughter in his arms to hold her against his chest. Falgon watched them for a moment, growing smaller down the hallway and then brought his attention to the lord waiting in the doorway before bowing to him formally.

"Sleep well, lord Baratheon." he greeted, then turned and started back the way he came.

"I trust we will meet on the battle field." Stannis mentioned, and then he stopped and turned.

"I will be where I am ordered to be." he said, and the guest smirked calculating his talents.

"I've seen you in the tournament, close to a year ago. Someone of your skill, may be invaluable." he said, and Falgon smiled.

"As I've said. If I am ordered to battle, of course I will meet my foes bladed. If I am ordered to remain here, I will guard this hold and those within to my full extent." Stannis took a single step into the hallway, scanning the passage.

"Yet, I find it strange to see a mercenary among the trusted guards of a lord." he said.

"Like the pages of a book, that part has ended and I will not return to it. But I will confess, that I have been most fortunate." he saw the face lightening, the almost appeased glint of gratification in the dark eyes.

"Our kingdoms need more men of your standard..." he muttered softly, and then a serving girl came rushing down the hallway with a large pitcher filled with clear water, and presented it to Stannis,

"The water you asked for, m'lord." she said, and he motioned for her to replace the empty pitcher on the small table before the hearth. She exchanged the items, and left again quickly before he returned into the room.

"Sleep well, lord Baratheon." Falgon greeted a final time, and left down the corridor to retake his place and leave the rest of the hold to their sleep. With sunrise the well rested Baratheon company rode through the gate of Mount Ardor, and by late noon the first of the vassal banners – a great brown woolly mammoth with long curved tusks on a silver shield appeared over the green horizon, and lord Gerard Foch arrived with his two sons and one thousand, one hundred and twenty men. Mid morning the following day, the rams-head of lord Ernaldus Rames and his sons came with one thousand seven hundred men, and later that afternoon the violet and thorns banners of lord Florentius Violet with one thousand three hundred men blew in the breeze of the burning mountain, and the encampment around the sunstone keep grew with the count of two thousand eight hundred and seventy men from the domain of Mount Ardor itself, bringing their total numbers to six thousand nine hundred and ninety strong. The nobility was housed within the hold, spending much time in the Hollow planning their movements while the soldiers waited patiently in the fields to depart, and with all ready by the fifth day it was time to leave. It was decided with the current condition, the annual Horn Festival would be deferred as well. Raeghun sat in the Hollow, staring at the maps that were brought there for their planning and listening to the throws of suggestions from those around him. All had given their thoughts, and it was an ongoing debate on whether to thin out their power and leak into the enemy; or to "fist-up-and-hammer-down" as lord Foch's eldest son Garrett so spiritedly called it. Then he looked up at a sentinel guarding the doorway.

"Derric, have my wife summoned to me." This was his last choice, and the sentinel left the hollow while some of the younger lords stared at Raeghun.

"Begging your pardon, my lord. But to ask advice on war from a woman-" the youngest in the room started, to be silenced by the burn of their liege.

"She is my wife. I may ask her advice on anything, from battle to flower bouquets." he told, followed by the thundering bellow of lord Foch, and another few sniggers around him.

"You forget whom is father to our lady of the hold, boy. Lord Willmon Tormont of Pale Haven, the Grey Tom. You have heard of his capabilities, I'm sure." he reminded, and the young one blushed ruby red before looking away. Moments later she entered with Derric following.

"You asked for me, my lord?" he nodded.

"I did." He glanced around the room.

"If there are any who have objection to this, take your leave." but no one moved, and then his attention went back to her.

"I want your advice. What must we do?" he asked, stunning her for a moment.

"My lord..." she started, but he smiled.

"Your father is a strategist, your brothers are strategists, you are a strategist. I want your advice." he said calmly, and she breathed placing a moment's thought to it and remembering long days in her father's library.

"My advice, as best I may give it, is to conserve your strength for as long as you find it possible to do so. The best offence, is a good defence, this much is true. Protect yourself, and wither your enemy before striking down on them with full force." she told, answered with agreement from most; and Raeghun looked down at the map in front of him.

"Lord Foch." the elder gentleman's attention went to him instantly.

"You and your sons will ride for Boatwright to launch our fleet. One third will remain along the west coast of the Corridor to shield our borders and our people, the rest will sail south to intercept any marauding Ironborn vessels and join the royal fleet which sails from the Shield Islands. The rest of the mass will ride south with myself to join the inland armies." he ordered as he stood.

"We leave with first light on the morn." he gave his final order, and the others stood to leave on their last preparations, then Raeghun approached Claira, still standing where she was and his eyes met hers.

"Thank you, for your advice. I will adhere to it as best I can, but I know there are some that may find it a bit restrictive." he said, and her arms went around his neck feeling her heart ache under bitter thoughts. But she had to trust his men, she had to trust his sentinels, she had to trust him. Then she felt his arms circle her, and he held her tightly.

"I know you're scared, this has come on us very suddenly and our home is in line with their area of attack. But you will be protected, your sentinels will keep you safe." he tried to soothe her, but her arms constricted around him.

"I know they will. I'm not afraid..." she lied. No, not a complete lie. She was scared, but not for herself or their home. The fear that this could be the last night they have together was real to her, and it was terrifying. Centuries of war had come and gone, so many lost their lives and their families to them. Countless left widowed too early. But she endured.

That evening, Claira stood under the cover of her fountain watching the water sparkle in the light of a full moon that glinted through the openings of the chiselled canopy. _Keep my family safe; my blood and my name and all those who serve under us and stand under our protection. Guide us and greet us with a new sunrise_. She dropped a single rose petal of blood red into the water as offering, and then looked up at the face staring back at her, and could find a sense of peace. Strong, warm hands ran down her arms from her shoulders, and tender lips branded a kiss on her neck.

"At least now, I know where to find you when you vanish." Raeghun teased in a whisper, and she smiled bringing her hand up to his face. The handmaidens had been dismissed, and the door to the lord's wing shut for the night. She turned, and again placed her arms around his powerful bare shoulders while he held her, clothed only in breeches.

"I don't want you to go..." she breathed against him, and his arms tightened pressing her firmly to him.

"I know. I don't want to go, I have to." he justified, and she fought against the agony. There was no way to bring him closer to her.

"I know..." But it didn't change it. It didn't change that she wished he would stay, wished that there was some way to make him stay.

"You haven't summoned the total power of the Corridor, either." she mentioned, and felt the soft motions of his shoulders rising and falling.

"The Ironborn are relentless people, but not a formidable military unit. I don't think our entire force is needed. I must still provide protection for our own people as well, distractions like these are ideal opportunities for raids and pillages from all manner of other sources." she looked up at him, at the bright blue of his eyes, seeing no fear, and she could find it in her to smile. He was his father's son, spirit of the great phoenix. Powerful, gallant and unintimidated by what he faced. She pulled back, her arms constricting and bringing his lips to hers in a deep, lingering kiss that she wished would never end as his right hand came up into her hair and held her firmly against him. Her hands slid down his chest and stomach, her fingers sliding under the fabric of his breeches before his lips broke from hers in a chuckle.

"Right here?" he whispered, and she smiled whimsically, sliding the flange over his hips.

"This is our sanctuary. I may have you anywhere." she said simply, and he captured her mouth passionately as his hands released her from the dress that shielded her and they settled on the soft grass, amidst sweet smells, calm air and a clear sky above them. Claira savoured her husband, absorbing everything about him, everything he was. The taste of his lips to hers, the touch of his fingers against her skin, the smell of his body covering her, the shine of black hair between her fingers and the blue eyes merging with her, the soft utterances of his voice against her throat, the gentle motions of his muscles moving in rhythm as her knees brought him closer. His strength, his energy, his courage; and the burn of his flames released into her core as she cried against his shoulder in rapture, and they eased under the cool breeze, deeply breathing in the calmness it brought. Holding his still shuddering mass against her, her eyes opened to see the face that watched over them, and then her gaze went up to the full moon above them surrounded by bright stars, just like his warmth that enveloped her entirely. Then he drew back, supporting himself on his elbows and ran his fingers down her cheek as he stared at her.

"I love you..." he whispered, still breathless. She smiled, placing her hands to his face.

"I love you." he kissed her again, slowly and gently as his hand softly traced down the curve of her body and her desire for him ignited again; pulling him closer before he withdrew from her.

"We should head inside. The men have an early start tomorrow." he suggested, and she sighed laying her head down on the grass and cursing time for not slowing for her.

"Al right...'' he stood, and then helped her to her feet before they both headed to the bath chamber to cleanse and retired to the softness of their bed, and they surrendered to sleep in the safety of each other's arms; but two hours later she woke with a start, recalling the last thing from her dream being her own horrifying hollow scream of despair. She forced several deep breaths into her chest, still feeling the sting of tears to her eyes as she stared at her husband, his back facing her as he'd turned over at some point. _Please... Please..._ She stood and pulled her robe over her shoulders before pulling light slippers over her feet and silently made her way out of the lord's wing. As expected, the halls were vacant, and she could flit silently down to the barracks. Entering the Hall of Fire, she saw the light emitting from the arch leading to the guard's hall. _Please..._ She moved forward down the flights of stairs, towards the light and paused for a moment, forcing yet another deep breath into her lungs before stepping forward into the hall and a sense of relief found her.

"Falgon... I hoped I would find you." he lay the book down, then stood and turned to bow to her.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he asked, and she walked to him.

"I need you to do something for me." he stared at her, his dark eyes attentive even underneath the shadows cast over his striking face.

"Anything, your grace. If it is within my power." he agreed, and she scoffed slightly.

"You're a man, Falgon. One of my strongest. Of course it is within your power." she pointed out to him, and he glanced away for a moment in modesty before his eyes returned to hers.

"I'm listening." he was waiting for his instruction, courteous as ever. She breathed in again, bringing her emotions under the control she had and leaned against one of the long tables.

"You are familiar with my plight?" he nodded, but said nothing. Many could find comfort in others, but the thought of having nothing, of having no one was as frightening as it was overwhelming.

"Raeghun is all I have. All that is truly mine. I want to give him everything... but I can't. You can understand the dire situation I find myself in. I suppose that Reaghun will realize it, but I don't care any more..." she started, and he listened intently as she spoke.

Berin entered the Hall of Fire from the outer bailey, ensuring that their final preparations had been made. The wagons stood ready, and the soldiers had their instructions, while the stable master had been ordered to have the horses saddled and waiting by sunrise. It was a long day, and even more awaited them; he felt tired but was not able to find any amount of peaceful sleep for the past two nights, but hoped that he might find it this night. His attention was caught by a figure suddenly storming from the barracks with her hands pressed over her face as she rushed up the stairs, back to the confines of the lord's wing while another tall mass darkened the doorway to the barracks watching her. He paused for a moment, feeling confused as it was strange that the lady of the hold would visit the guard's hall so close to midnight. He approached Falgon, still standing in the arch.

"What just happened?" he asked, and the sentinel looked down at him.

"Nothing, Berin." he breathed, sounding as thwarted as she had appeared a few moments past.

"That doesn't seem like nothing." he specified, but saw an easing smile to his friend's face.

"I'll tell you later. It's not important right now. You ride to war tomorrow." he reminded, and it struck into Berin's chest like the cut of an axe.

"It doesn't feel real..." he whispered, and looked away at the great hearth burning in the distance.

"Falgon, what is war like?" he asked, sounding different even to himself. He had never asked before,

"War is a terrible thing. In most instances, the losses are far greater than the gains." he told, leaving a bitterness surrounding them, but then when he felt his confidence start to leave him, the deep voice met him again.

"So, fight not for riches, or glory. Not for power or authority. Not for the king or his kingdom. Take up your sword to protect those precious to you, draw your blade to defend your family. That is when you are truly strong." Falgon said, bringing the bitter sting to a fierce blaze and he smiled looking up at his friend.

"Was it your mother that told you that?" Berin asked, renewed in his spirit.

"My father, when he presented me with our family's great sword." he recalled, and then turned to head back into the hall.

"Go, find your rest. Dawn will not wait." he urged, and Berin nodded.

"Good night." he greeted, and left to their chamber. He bathed, taking in the fresh scent of mint from the waters before returning to their room where Milla was already asleep, and Bella lay in her large rounded crib under white drapery surrounded by her fleecy blankets and a flat silk pillow, awake but not disturbed as she was jiggling a rag doll fashioned of soft cotton fabric, with strands of brown woollen hair and adorned with a jade green dress and faded yellow sash, made by the baker's wife in Garde's Post, who was a gifted woman when it came to dolls. Berin smiled and went to her, the bright eyes meeting his instantly.

"Can't sleep either, eh?" she reached for him, and he picked her up, holding her securely against his chest as he walked to their bed and lay down, resting his back against the headboard. He spoke softly, telling her stories of old heroes for a while, until she started to softly whimper waking his wife from her sleep and she flexed, bringing her hand to her face drowsily.

"She slept longer than usual..." she mentioned softly, and Berin glanced down as he soothed his daughter.

"She wasn't asleep, she was listening to a story." he smiled, and Milla sat up.

"I'll tend to her." she breathed, and Berin handed Bella gently to her.

"You may feed her, I'll do the rest." he eased, watching as Milla prepared herself opening the right side of her breast and bringing the little one close to nurse and she settled down. Milla lay her head against the wall behind their bed, feeling the tender motions to her skin. It was a pleasant feeling, warm and comforting. Then her eyes went to Berin next to her, still watching in loving enchantment.

"You should sleep, Berin." she urged, and he nodded.

"I will. Right after I see to it that she is asleep." he promised, and a short time of silence followed as they just took in one another's presence, the calm peace and love of their company. Finally quenched from her mother's milk, Bella turned her head away with a slight whimper, and Berin held his hands for her.

"Give her to me." and Milla released her into his care. He stood and walked about the room for a while, holding her to his shoulder and gently tapping her back to alleviate the discomfort from her stomach which came in a stuttered reflex, but he laughed before heading to a small table in the corner to discard the linen cloth around her hips and replacing it with a clean one. He came back to bed, and lay down with her against his shoulder, his fingers softly stroking her tiny back and humming the mother's hymn. Milla smiled, laying a hand on his thigh.

"You're good at this." she whispered, and he returned her gaze.

"I try to be. I want to be better." he said, again facing the opposite wall and her fingers pressed down on his skin.

"My Berin, you are the best for us. And that is enough." she said, and he again brought his eyes to hers in a shy laugh.

"Thanks." he muttered, and continued to hum the tune until all that came from Bella were easy cadent breaths before standing again and laying her down in her crib and covering her with a light blanket, and returning to bed.

"Is everything al right?" Milla asked softly as he lay down, facing the wood cap of their chamber.

"Yes, she's asleep." then he heard her chuckle softly.

"That's good. But I meant you." he breathed in deeply, and then looked at her.

"I'm fine. I feel better now than I did a while ago." he said, and she rose slightly, supported on her left arm.

"Did something happen?" she sounded anxious, but he managed to laugh.

"Nothing in particular. Just a few words of wisdom, from a good friend." he said, feeling her fingertips run down the length of his stomach.

"Which were?" he thought back to the deep voice, surrounding him in the light emitting from the guard's hall.

"Fight not for riches, or glory. Not for power or authority. Not for the king or his kingdom. Take up your sword to protect those precious to you, draw your blade to defend your family. That is when you are truly strong..." he quoted him, again feeling stronger and she smiled.

"Falgon said that, didn't he?" she assumed, and his arm went around her.

"He did." she lay down against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"That sounds like something he would say..." she whispered as her arm coiled around his waist.

"Berin, do you think Raeghun is scared?" she suddenly asked, and a short pause followed as he thought.

"No. Raeghun doesn't get scared. He recognises the need for caution, but he's never afraid." he looked down, taking in the glint of her soft hair.

"Even from very young, with any kind of confrontation, he stands his ground. But I think when he killed the lion, it drove all fear from him. He thinks about his people a lot, and I believe that his courage will drive our men forward." he said, and then she looked up so their eyes would meet.

"You'll watch over each other. You'll bring each other home?" then he smiled.

"Of course." he leaned forward and kissed her, then turned to cover her body with his.

Claira wandered about the chamber, wishing that time would stop. She spent a period of time on the balcony, just watching their eastern fields, the many small lights that dotted the countryside and listening to the rush of Blazewater Bay far below them. Then she returned inside, standing in front of their hearth while she finished a goblet filled with sweet rose wine; and finally feeling slightly happier and a little light-headed she returned to their bed, laying down beside Raeghun and for a time just watched him sleeping where he lay on his back, his face still turned away from her. Then her hand came up to him, and her fingertips softly traced the contours of his powerful chest and defined muscles, slowly moving down to his thighs to feel him and a momentarily mad thought came to her. _Would he be angry with me...?_ She raised herself and mounted him, carefully sliding herself over him and felt his strength reach deep inside of her as she moaned. She moved slowly above him with her hands resting on his chest, taking in the sensation of him and closed her eyes wanting that it would linger. Then warm hands took hold of her arms and pulled her down into a deep kiss as strong fingers glided into her hair.

"If this is a dream... You're in trouble when I wake up." he whispered as his eyes opened, marvellous in their clear and burning blue, but she smiled.

"It's not a dream, but I won't mind being in a little bit of trouble with you." she replied, and again closed her lips to his while running her fingers along his arms to his hands where her fingers locked with his, and raised them above his head where she held them against the pillows for a moment as she moved before he escaped her grip and brought his hands to her back, feeling her motions slowly increase until they both uttered in delight and she melted onto him before retaking her place at his side where his strong arms held her. But the tremor would not cease completely.

"What's wrong?" she pressed her cheek to the warmth of his chest.

"I am afraid..." his arm tightened around her.

"Don't worry. Three of our ships will watch over the bay, sixty of our guard will remain to hold the castle and the nearby village; and Falgon stays behind with Gavin and Wymon, he will protect you. They will keep you and Milla safe." he eased, but she looked up at him.

"I am afraid you won't come back..." she told, but he smiled holding her against him.

"My Claira, I will always come back to you. Always. It doesn't matter how far I need to run, or climb or swim; and it doesn't matter how long it takes me." he lay his head against her brow.

"I will _always_ come back to you." he promised, and she held him desperately, like he was the one thing that kept her on this world and if she let him go, she would drift away into nothingness, warm tear drops merging with the dew off his skin. But she found peace then, and succumbed to sleep for another three hours, at some point having turned her back to him and he held her closely to the form of his body, swallowed and protected by his heat. She stirred to the touch of his lips to her neck, and the rousing of his fingers slowly gliding up her hip and side, over her shoulder and down the length of her spine, then she turned her face towards his whispering his name before he moved forward pressing her to the bed and bringing his knees between hers, his mouth burning across her shoulder and down her back as his hands took hold of her hips and drew her up, positioning her legs to his. Then he moved forward again, reaching under her to pull her paunchy pillow under her before he rose above her. She gasped sharply as her hands stained into the bedding, his warmth flooding her again and summoning a series of pleasant whimpers and soft cries from her chest with each motion that brought him closer, and as she softly wailed feeling her muscles spasm he finally filled her with his bloodline yet again with a contented groan before easing and laying down on her, covering her with his heat and burying his face in her neck while his hand found hers and their fingers locked, breathing hard.

"I love you. Nothing I do or say, will ever be enough to show you how much..." he breathed against her, and she felt a crack in her heart. But she relished this, and her fingers tightened in his while they spent this time like this, calming as the last of early morning disappeared. In the peace before sleep claimed her again, she felt him move and his mouth branded a kiss on her shoulder.

"I should get up." she looked towards the balcony door, registering a still black sky with bright stars.

"I wish you wouldn't. It's still dark." she turned facing him.

"I know. But the earlier we start-" her hands went to his face.

"Please stay with me. Just a little bit longer... Please..." he regarded her and then sighed, laying down on her again, his cheek resting on her breast.

"Just a little bit." he agreed as his hands slid under her shoulders, and her arms went around his neck, the fingers of her right hand stroking his hair that glinted like black gold. But too soon, the haze of purple that brought the dawn was visible on the horizon and she had to release him. He took brown breeches, black boots, a white tunic, the deep orange quilted doublet and his black cloak with the gold and ruby pin while along with her side-laced corset and under dress she chose a free fitting gown of ruby velvet with silver flower detailing embroidered to the neckline and elbows above wide elegant sleeves, and a waistband of pearl and garnet to hug her hips; and flat brown slippers. She accompanied him to the bath chamber where they bathed, and she even helped him dress before attending to her own appearance and he returned the favour. She brushed out her hair, allowing it to hang freely down her back, and then hung the beautiful phoenix pendant her husband had given her for her name day around her neck. She wanted every moment with him, up until the instant they left through the gate of the burning mountain... and again wished that time would at least slow if it could not stop. They made their way through the lord's hall where he stopped in front of the hearth, looking up at the sword on the shelf, taking in the long blade for a moment. Then he took it from its display and brought it down, holding it in his hands before sheathing the glimmering sword and looking at her, then holding it out to her.

"Would you do me the honour, my lady?" She slowly took it, for the first time being able to study the hilt clearly she saw that the pommel moulded from gold was the royal crest, the head with two tiny glinting black opal eyes, neck and breast of a phoenix with the wings spread out wide above the hold that was soft banded black leather, and the tail feathers curved out from underneath in elegant bends of gold plait to create the cross guard. She held it close to her for a moment, as if it were a child and then followed Raeghun out into the hallway, where two girls rushed up the corridor to meet them.

"I'm so sorry we're late, m'lord and lady." one breathed as they reached them.

"It's al right. Start on your chores, then." Raeghun instructed, and they swiftly entered the wing to proceed with its duties. They headed down the incline, and emerged into the Hall of Fire to meet the lords Foch, Rames and Violet in their colours, with Berin dressed in dark grey breeches, black boots, a faded tunic under a deep red jerkin and his cloak to his shoulders with the sentinels on the third level, along with Milla and Mandeline, holding Bella in her arms. Other members of the hold could be seen rushing up and down on final alterations. Lord Rames was the first to notice them, bringing everyone's attention to Raeghun and Claira and they were greeted formally.

"Cook Jeody will be serving tomato soup along with bread and cheese for the men shortly, my lord." Milla advised, and Raeghun nodded.

"Good. Has everything else been prepared?" he asked, looking at Berin.

"Yes. If all fares well, we might be able to leave earlier than planned." he said, and Raeghun moved forward, the rest following towards the feast hall.

"That is good to hear." he said, but Claira remained where she was regarding them. How majestic they all looked. Then with a start she noticed a great figure beside her, and she turned to the smiling face of lord Gerard Foch.

"Good morning, my lady. I hope that your favour, follows us all." he said, and then formally bowed to her again as he took her hand and brought her fingertips to his mouth.

"I will pray for the safe return of all our people, lord Foch." she promised, then he gently squeezed her fingers before leaving to join the rest of the men in the hall; then Milla came to stand beside her, dressed in a gown of moss green with low shoulders and gold embroidering, and wide gauzy green sleeves; and her hair braided over her left shoulder.

"How are you feeling? Another restless night?" she asked, trying to comfort her.

"I'm al right. I might calm down a bit when things settle here." she said softly, watching the many soldiers and guards pass them. No one attempted to retrieve Quill from her. Then she heard maester Adlyn's voice coming down the incline, next to a young boy already clad in leather armour, a steel short sword at his side, carrying a large wood crate.

"Everything you may need on the road is in there. But try to take care with it, there are items that may shatter if suffering a hard knock." he advised, and the boy nodded.

"I will store it with the bedding furs, it should be safe with that." he decided, and the maester nodded as the boy made his way further down the steps to the outside, while maester Adlyn took a place beside Claira.

"It seems that the men are in high spirits." he reported, and she turned towards him.

"Maester, I'm a little bit confused..." she started, and he instantly knew as he regarded the sword in her hands.

"Oh, yes. No one has told you. It is tradition for the lady of the hold to imbue the lord's sword, before leaving for battle." he explained, and she stared at him suddenly feeling strange.

"Imbue the sword?" he smiled, motioning for them to head further down the stairways.

"Yes. Whatever energy is passed, will be absorbed by the blade and taken to war as favour. Quite like a good-luck charm. Many have sworn that this is the reason for either victory, or defeat in battle." he clarified as they walked, but she stopped suddenly realizing the importance of such a simple action. How much it would mean to the men. And if there was anything she could do for them, anything at all she wanted to do it, and wanted to do it well; so she gripped the sword tighter in her hands and against her breast, willing her desire for them all to come home safely to seep into the steel, and continued down the stairs. In front of the great hearth stood the tallest of their sentinels, again watching the flames.

"Good morning, ser." Maester Adlyn greeted him, and he turned bowing to them.

"Good morning, maester. Lady Milla." then his eyes met hers.

"Your grace." she was still vexed with him, although she knew it couldn't be helped.

"Shouldn't you join the rest of the company?" Milla asked, and he glanced away.

"I will be here, until the men leave. Or I am otherwise needed." he assured, and Milla nodded. They proceeded further down the hall, but again Claira stopped.

"Go on. I will meet you in a moment." she said, and watched them make their way towards the hall before turning back to Falgon, still watching her.

"I'm sorry." he said softly, and all the irritation she felt dissolved.

"It's al right. It won't happen, whether I want it or not." she said, and then glanced at the arch to the southern hall, where the men were starting to break their fast and great cauldrons filled with a bright red liquid were hauled outside along with baskets of cheese and bread.

"It does give me a sense of relief, though." she said finding it in her to smile, and looked back at him, returning the same gentle gesture.

"Then I am at ease." he said,

"I assume you will find me later." he nodded, and she turned to join the rest of their people where she took her place next to Raeghun, and watched the hall. A serving was brought to her as well, but it was left untouched with the pardon that she was not hungry, but might finish it later; and with the hue of orange on the horizon the men left the hold for their horses. The sentinels, the soldiers and the lords mounted while Raeghun and Berin spared a moment longer with their families on the stairs leading into Mount Ardor. Berin brushed the soft hair of his daughter's brow, smiling warmly.

"Keep momma company for me." he told, and she reached for him, taking hold of his finger with a force frightful for someone yet so small. But he laughed, and leaned down kissing her cheek as she softly started to mewl, and Mandeline offered to soothe her. Raeghun stood in front of Claira, and then held his hand to retrieve his sword. She glanced at the hilt for a moment, thinking of a last moment to leave her will with it, and softly placed her lips to the cross guard in a sweet kiss before handing the blade to her husband; who smiled brightly.

"I'm sure he enjoyed that." she blushed, and he gave the sword to a squire to fasten it to the saddle of his waiting horse. Berin's hand went to Milla's cheek, and he placed his mouth to her brow tenderly, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"I will return to you." he promised her once again, and she forced a smile under her breath.

"You always do..." but this time, the words felt harder to say. Strained, if yet hopeful and her arms went around his shoulders.

"You have to be strong for me." Raeghun whispered against Claira's cheek where he held her face between his palms.

"I'll try." she breathed as her fingers strained into the fabric covering his chest, and then he kissed her, truly and deeply for all to see, lingering in the last moments they would share.

"I love you." she again said, her hands resting against his chest.

"I love you." his lips moved against her brow, and then he was gone. His fingers slipping away from her skin, and she watched in silent torment as he walked away with Berin following, then mounted his great black warhorse, the hilt of Quill ready for his hand in front of his left knee. Their eyes met a final time, and then he turned his horse around and started to lead their warriors to the gate; but her heart broke. Piece by piece along with each link of chain that willed her to remain where she was with each heavy step his horse took, and she felt soft hands on her shoulders. But as he neared the gate, she slipped from the grasp and ran forward, calling his name. He stopped and looked back to see her come towards him, then spared a fleeting glance at Berin beside him.

"Take the lead." he instructed, and Berin continued to lead their men through the gate as Raeghun dismounted and faced his wife evenly, her weight colliding with him with force enough to drive him a single step back as her arms went round his waist; and his circled her.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." she breathed miserably against him, but he comforted her.

"It's al right." he held her tightly, and looked up at the tall figure waiting on the steps; someone with a bit more strength than Milla and he came forward.

"I must go, now." he whispered.

"I know. I know... I just..." she held him tighter, and then strong hands gently rested on her shoulders as Raeghun looked up.

"Watch over her for me." Falgon nodded.

"I will." he promised, and Raeghun pulled back from her and mounted again, riding through the gate to join the front of their forces as she watched his form grow smaller, and then she turned as her sentinel guided her back to the hold, and she decided to further watch the departure of their force from the crown of the sun tower. Reaching the steps she turned back, but he was no longer in sight and she turned to Milla.

"Will you come with me?" she asked, and Milla nodded turning to Mandeline to retrieve Bella.

"You may take the rest of the day to yourself, I will call you if needed." she allowed, and they made their way back into the hold with their sentinels following, through the Hall of Fire and up the many steps that led to the crown of the Sun Tower, and they watched a river of black flow across the land to the south, a smaller group breaking off to the west towards their port at Boatwright. _Please... Please keep them safe..._ She glanced at Milla at her side.

"Milla, you remember what we used to do as children, when we felt scared or alone?" she asked.

"Of course I do. But there are no trees here." she reminded, and Claira turned.

"No, there may not be. But there is something just as well." she mentioned, taking Milla's hand and leading her down to the lord's wing where they entered the private garden and Milla stared at the beautiful fountain, the wonder of it leaving her paralysed for an instant.

"This is amazing..." she stared at the face, so powerful, so wise, almost celestial... familiar although nameless.

"Raeghun had it made for me." Claira said with a soft smile, coming back with two brightly coloured flowers held in her hands, holding one for her friend.

"And the face?" Milla couldn't bring her eyes away from it, and Claira looked at it.

"His father's." Milla took the flower, and they knelt in front of the wide basin while together they prayed, begging the favour of their gods to cast their protection and to bring their loved ones safely home.

Raeghun watched as the soldiers marched on, all with spears and swords and shields and ringing armour, each in stride with the man next to him with the banners of Taugere, Rames and Violet above them. And then, far on the horizon on the highest hill, the glint of his home in the sun. _Keep them safe for me..._

"Your wife is connected to you, lord Taugere." he turned again to meet the face of lord Rames's youngest son Boghardt; also the adolescent of their noble company. The same face that blushed ruby red the day past. He was a pleasant youngster, but a bit chesty.

"Since our wedding day, I have not been absent from her side for more than a week on counsel. With the current situation, I believe you may find a bit of understanding for her reaction." he mentioned, and Boghardt glanced down.

"My apologies, my lord. I meant no disrespect." he pardoned himself quickly, and Raeghun managed to grin confidently.

"See that you keep it that way." he said, and spurred his horse to an easy canter to assume his place at the front of the column, while the boy was left watching him. He had always admired the lords of flame, but because he was the youngest he wasn't always met with the same respect as his peers. If there was one thing he wished for, it was the approval of the Taugere family as much as his own father's. But on occasion, he had heard the whispers of the north witch; and he found himself wondering if it was true. Raeghun was an excellent example of strength and bravery, but when he was in her presence he changed completely from what he was told of the line of the Ardent Kings.

"I would advise that you keep your tongue to yourself when it concerns lady Claira. Lest you want it displayed with a banner somewhere." Berin said as he passed the young lord, and he scoffed.

"Will you take it from me?" he asked, and Berin smiled.

"I could. But I won't take as much pleasure in it. The last person who disrespected our lady didn't get off that easily." he mentioned, and Boghardt looked away from him.

"It wasn't my intention to disrespect them. I just find the lord's change in her presence... odd." he muttered, and Berin knew to which tale his mind went. He had heard them before as well.

"There is no change. He loves his wife, and is proud to have her; so he's not afraid to show it. She is no magical being, she has no control over others. Despite her extraordinary appearance, her influence comes from her heart; and it has been nothing but a blessing to our country. You may share that, with your gossiping friends." he said, and his horse moved forward to follow his friend to the front of their forces while the youngster thought on the words he'd been left with, and his horse cantered comfortably on to the next hill where Raeghun again stopped to watch over his men.

"We're making good time, and the wagons are keeping pace. I believe we may expect to reach Seagard before noon on the 9th day." Berin reported as Raeghun watched the marching masses.

"That is good. I hope for this to be over soon." Raeghun sighed as he looked up to the sky, taking in the high clouds and clear blue before his eyes came to his friend.

"So, let us meet it." he shared with a grin, and they moved forward to the front of the mass to lead their people to the inevitable onslaught as days of progress from sunrise to twilight came and went between camps; and as predicted the high walls and towers of the port city named Seagard came into view over the horizon by morning on the 9th day and their arrival was met with a considerable degree of gratitude from lord Jason Mallister who was overseeing their masons and carpenters preparing the walls for any attacks, and many soldiers hovering about. The kindly overseer of the city approached them as Raeghun and Berin dismounted from their steeds, followed by their company, and he extended a hand to Raeghun. He was a tall, lean man with brown hair. But despite their current standing, his fierce blue-grey eyes found them with friendliness; and his gaunt, chiselled face welcomed them smiling under high cheekbones.

"Lord Raeghun Taugere, thank you." he said as they met, and Jason's attention went to those behind Raeghun.

"To you, and your men." he added, and Raeghun nodded.

"Thank you, for your welcome my lord; although it might have been preferred to be under different circumstances." he said, and looked towards the working people.

"Have there been any attacks here?" he asked, and Jason looked back following his attention.

"Not directly, no. But we have heard from some of the lesser folk of grey ships sailing in and out along the coastline." he informed, and Raeghun thought for a moment.

"The villagers haven't made for the city, yet?" Jason breathed slowly.

"Many don't want to abandon their homes. I've sent the men I can spare to defend the settlements, but it's been a stretch." he confessed, and then Raeghun turned calling one of his vassals forward.

"I'll leave a quarter of my men at Seagard under command of lord Rames as your support, and position the rest to protect the coastal villages. We'll move forward in waves as our foes are pushed back." he decided, bringing another smile from the lord in front of him.

"Your aid in our defence will not be forgotten, lord Raeghun." he promised, and Raeghun nodded with a smile before returning his attention to lord Ernaldus Rames beside him.

"You and your sons will remain here with your men, and assist in Seagard's defence in any way you are able to; while the rest of our company lines the shore. We hold the coast, and then advance when the opportunity rises. When needed, I will call upon you." he instructed, and Ernaldus agreed before turning back to Jason.

"With lord Mallister's permission, our men will take their rest here before riding again at first light." he suggested, and Jason turned.

"Of course. But I'm afraid with our current efforts, I don't have much to offer." he said as he started to lead them inside, but received a kind thanks.

"Anything will be appreciated, albeit a soft bed for a night. Thank you, my lord." and then Raeghun turned, his brightly burning blue eyes meeting those of the man to his left.

"When the battle is won, perhaps we may share happier times, lord Jason." he gestured, and Jason chuckled hopefully.

"I hope so, lord Raeghun. I truly hope so." he agreed as they retreated inside, leaving the men to tend to the care of the horses and supplies; finding what comfort they could and an easier night before the planned departure. Some time after sunset, Raeghun sat in the chamber he had been offered, small but comfortable with a fur bed and two chairs on a carpet alongside a small table on which his serving of the evening meal awaited his attention. Stuffed quail with spinach and pumpkin; and although it looked inviting he didn't feel like eating. A knot in his stomach made it difficult to take in anything of substance. A knock on the door made him look up from the blade in his hands, pausing his activity of oiling the steel.

"Enter." he invited, and the door opened slightly revealing two hands holding horns, each filled with dark ale followed by the face of his friend as he stepped through and closed the door behind him.

"Compliments of lord Mallister." he gestured, raising one of the horns slightly and placing it on the table as he sat down on the chair opposite from Raeghun.

"Even in times like these, he is a fine host." Raeghun praised as he took the horn and brought it to his mouth. Berin glanced at the full plate left on the table.

"You really should eat something." he urged as Raeghun replaced the horn on the table and continued working the sword with a soft cloth.

"I will." he promised as his hand glided easily over the steel and Berin watched him as he worked, and then grinned.

"Careful, you may wipe your wife's favour from our campaign." he teased, but Raeghun smiled back.

"That is impossible, my friend. My Claira's influence is much too strong." he corrected him, and then Berin reached out his hand.

"May I?" Raeghun held the hilt out to him, taking another mouthful of ale and Berin's hand wrapped around the grip, bringing the sword to him and then held it with both hands, rising the blade in front of him and stared at it in awe.

"This sword is amazing..." he muttered as he examined it in a state of wonder. How the soft leather conformed to the shape of his hand for a strong hold; and how the blade glittered in the light of the candle on the table, like it was covered in a thin layer of frost. He brought his hand up to the edge, feeling its sharpness; and it was cold to the touch. Colder than what was normal. The reflection smiled at him... almost as if the sword was alive.

"Well, in any case. If you shine this edge any further, you can always just blind our enemies." he further joked, and they shared a laugh.

"The arm of my house..." Raeghun breathed with pride, and then glanced away.

"However, I would very much like to know what ever happened to Blackwing's cloak." he mentioned, and Berin looked at him.

"Baderon Taugere?" he asked, and Raeghun nodded bringing the horn closer again.

"That's the one." he confirmed, and Berin lowered the sword.

"If it existed, it was likely lost if it wasn't buried with him." he assumed, handing the sword back to Raeghun.

"The Ardent Tombs were searched many times, no one has ever found it." Raeghun told as he took the sword, and Berin sat back taking his horn again.

"You truly believe it?" he asked, and Raeghun sighed.

"I do. It might not have been literal phoenix feathers, but it must have seemed grand in any instance." he said, staring at the blade. At the frost blue eyes that stared back.

"How do you suppose our people are holding up back home?" he asked, and Berin looked up at the cap of the chamber, having to look away from his friend. His mental state was the way it always had been; tall, proud, brave, strong, all the greatness of his line's nobility... but for the longing in his clear blue eyes.

"I'm sure they're just fine. They're in the safest place they could be." he assured, and then Raeghun looked at him.

"Oh, I don't have any doubts about that." he smiled, and drank again. Berin looked at the horn in his hand, the dark foam ringed liquid. He missed Milla, and Bella; but could imagine that the current situation might have been a little more challenging for Claira. Their lord and lady up until this had no reason for a lengthy separation from one another, and most matters that required personal attendance in the Corridor never required more than a few days at most, and typically not of unsafe nature. And further to that, she was all he had.

"We'll be back soon, I'm sure of it." Berin encouraged, bringing the horn to his mouth again as he watched Raeghun sheathe the great sword.

"I will hope for that. But for now, our focus must be on the uprising. Our goal will be to hold the coast from their advance, and close in as they retreat back to their shitty little island. Without being able to steal from others, they won't have the resources to uphold their progression. That is our priority." he said, and then emptied the horn. Berin stood as he placed his down on the surface of the table.

"The men have their orders. Everything will be ready with dawn." he said, and then turned.

"Good. Sleep well, Berin." Raeghun lay the sword against the wall, and Berin again glanced at the plate.

"And you, Raeghun. Eat something." he urged a final time, meeting his friend's smile.

"I will." he again promised, and Berin left his room for his own. Raeghun managed to finish half the portion he'd been brought, and then lay down on the soft bed and relinquished himself to sleep, where he dreamed of his wife sweetly whispering soothing comforts to him until he woke before dawn, and proceeded to prepare himself for the journey ahead. They met in the serving hall to break their fast on boiled eggs, bread, cheese, sweet grain and goat's milk along with fresh grape press before departing for the waiting steeds outside where Raeghun mounted his black warhorse, with Berin at his side and his men waiting. He looked down to see lord Jason Mallister, whom had come to see them off.

"Good fortune to you, lord Raeghun. You and your men." he extended a hand, and Raeghun took it in a friendly gesture.

"And to you, lord Jason." then he moved forward, signalling for his warriors to follow; and they set off under a crimson sunrise with the lord of Seagard watching as they left. _What an_ _austere_ _man..._

Within days of their departure, the war galleys started to make their way over the calm waters of the Sunset Sea. Lord Foch's great battle ship _The Honey Horn_ under command of his eldest Garrett drifted in Blazewater Bay; a sizeable barge of two hundred men. For some weeks, Claira would stand watching the torchlight flicker off the deck from the window of the lord's chamber before going to bed, convincing herself that as long as the ship lay dormant in the bay below everyone would be fine. That their men would be safe. That her husband would come home. But the nights were long, and empty and cold in a lonely bed; and many times she would wake and not be able to find sleep again no matter how she called upon it. She found herself feeling tired and irritable during the days, that were not much shorter despite filling it with whatever she could. But some comfort she found in Milla and Bella, at one time she thought of having them stay with her in the lord's wing until their husbands returned, but let the notion go not wanting to disturb the comfort of their already fixed routine; leaving her circle bereft of familiarity. Today was overcast with high clouds, and the air was cool; but the atmosphere was calm and warm in the lady's common room filled with the soothing song of a pilgrim on his way home. Falgon sat comfortably on the stone floor with his back resting against the wall, one leg tucked in and the other in front of him as his fingers skilfully caressed the strings of a mahogany wood lute brought from the carpenters workshop in Garde's Post on Claira's request, his voice in song even sweeter than the most reputable bard who came to court. Since a fortnight ago, this became part of their daily activities. They would start their day like any other, and after sharing their morning meal in a much less occupied southern hall they would retreat to the safety of the lord's wing to pray under the weirwood fountain for blessings before attending to matters of the hold; and then spent the remainder of the days in the nearby fields on short rides with the sentinels in attendance, or passing their time in Claira's common room with embroidery, quilting, crochet or knitting while Falgon played for them; and she never grew tired of the song. It was hopeful and reassuring, much like a promise or a different form of prayer. Claira sat with Bella in her arms rocking gently in her chair while Mandeline visited the village with some other members of the hold, she had fallen asleep easily under the soft sounds emitting from the lute. Milla worked on a woollen shawl, moving subtly to the tune of the strings, and he found a way to lengthen the melody to extend over most of the late afternoon, for which Claira found herself dearly grateful that her sentinel did not fatigue of it as she watched him; how his hands glided over the lute strings with ease. The strongest of their order aside from her best friend's husband, who was capable of so much more. He looked up as the song ended, seeing her stare at him.

"Is something wrong, your grace?" he asked, and she shook her head smiling.

"No, not at all. Don't you get tired, or sore sitting like that?" she asked, having offered him one of her homely chairs, or at least a pillow. But he smiled back at her.

"No, your grace. I find it quite comfortable." he promised, and then Milla looked up as well.

"This song is lovely, you are truly talented. You've been with us for over a year, and I never knew you could play like that." she complimented.

"Thank you. I'm afraid I may have altered a few things, though." he mentioned, laying the instrument down, and moving to stand up.

"It doesn't matter. It's enveloping, all the same." Claira mentioned, and then looked down at Bella sleeping against her breast.

"Enough to send some off to sleep, it seems." she laughed, and then looked up as Mandeline entered the room with a small bouquet of flowers and a shy smile.

"Did you enjoy your visit to the village?" Milla asked, and the nurse blushed.

"Yes, thank you my lady. It was lovely." she said, glancing at the flowers.

"Gifts from an admirer?" Claira noticed the flowers in her hand, and her hand came up gently brushing the petals.

"Gavin gave them to me. He's been very kind." she blushed, and Claira and Milla glanced at one another, sharing the same thought. Then Mandeline came forward, holding her hands out.

"I'll take Bella for now if you wish, my lady. You must be tired." she offered, and Claira released her.

"Thank you. I should see that everything is in order with Jeody for tonight." she decided, giving the child to her nurse's care, who cradled her lovingly for a moment before departing to lay her down in her crib.

"I'll come with you." Milla offered, laying her knitting down on the armrest of her chair and standing. Claira rose to her feet, but as she stepped forward to make her way to the kitchen a sudden sense of dizziness took her, and she swayed; her hands going out to anything that was in reach to steady herself, finally finding a strong arm. The sudden dizziness faded, and she looked up at her sentinel beside her.

"Are you al right, your grace?" he asked as she found her footing once more.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. I believe I stood too quickly." she brushed it off, and he carefully moved back allowing her some breath, and her composure returned to her. They made their way down to the kitchens with the intent to approve Jeody's selection for the evening; although they would never refuse anything that went under his hands, before spending the remainder of the late afternoon in the garden watching the ships in the bay under a concealed sunset. As the garden torches were lit, a serving girl came to announce that supper will be served shortly, and they retreated back into the safety of the southern hall where they were served lamb, with sweet carrots, creamed cabbage and fava beans, alongside mead and a helping of brandy cake before lingering a few moments longer, sharing one another's company and comforts; and only then the hall was cleared and they returned to their chambers to take their rest for the evening. Claira dismissed the handmaidens and shut the door to the lord's wing for the night, and then lingered in the bath for as long as she could, allowing the water to spill across her massaging her body while she thought of him. Imagining his arms around her, and his warm lips to her skin. _I miss you... so much..._ She fought against a tear, and then brought the warm water to her face to ease the sting. Then she cleansed herself and left the bath chamber in a light yellow gown to the lord's chamber where she went to the window to watch the galley in the bay, still where it was the day before. Small dots of yellow glowed on the surface of the water, revealing the ship's presence and she managed to smile, deciding there was no change yet. There was only two reasons that they would leave the bay; when they were called upon for aid or when the uprising was at an end, and Claira prayed for the latter. She stood there for a while, and then proceeded to lay herself down on the wide bed, stroking the pillow where his head should be and closed her eyes. _Soon, my love..._ She spent hours just thinking of him, where he was and what he was doing, and mercifully sleep took her then. It was early morning that she stood on the rocky shore of the west, villagers idling about with nets and baskets; and then the sound of drums and a war horn tore through her; and the peasants made for safety. On the hill behind them, a wall of men waited with swords in hand, and Raeghun moved in front of them on his black steed, the brightness of flames around him which glowed so much brighter as he took Quill in his hand and raised it high above his head. She looked back to see black and grey ships appear out of a dark mist; and more and more soldiers stepped ashore, hooves and feet bounding forward to meet in a horrendous clash. Just as the bright sun wanted to peak its way through the dark mist and foggy clouds; blood shattered the lands around them as blades went through one another, filling the world with painful screams and frightening battle cries. They were fighting to save the ones they love... She woke with a start, breathing hard and then lay down again cursing the torments that pestered her. She looked at the sky through the window, it couldn't have been more than a few hours that she lay down. She closed her eyes again, but as she expected sleep would not come; so instead of lying in bed hoping for sleep and cursing it for not coming to her, she stood and pulled her robe over her shoulders to make her way to maester Adlyn's tower, which she found vacant. Then, on a whim she floated in silence down to the guard's hall where she found Falgon at his post.

"Falgon?" he stood and faced her with a bow.

"How will I serve, your grace." he asked as she came to him.

"I am sorry for bothering you." he smiled.

"You could never bother me." she blushed under a slight smile.

"Never?" his eyes were soft and understanding.

"Ever. In a million aeons." he assured,

"May I make a request?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Anything, your grace." she glanced at the arch.

"I'm finding it difficult to sleep, yet again. Will you play something for me?" he smiled gently.

"Of course." he followed her to her common room, where he assumed his place against the wall as she sat down in her chair.

"If it please you, your grace. May I try something different?" he asked, and she agreed. His fingers gently stroked the strings of the lute, emitting a soft and soothing melody; and she was taken by the gentleness of it. He did not sing this time, only caressed the instrument to bring forth yet another beautiful song; comforting more like a dream than a song and she closed her eyes as she found herself swept away in it until sleep all but took hold of her. A soft hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up at him.

"My pardon, your grace. But your bed may be a more fitting place to sleep." he suggested, and she moved forward rubbing her eyes.

"That was beautiful..." she complimented.

"' _The Whispers of Ellune'._ It was an old favourite." he told, and a thought came to her.

"What is your name?" she asked, and he stared at her in confusion.

"My name is Falgon, your grace." he reminded as if she had forgotten, but she shook her head.

"No, I meant your real name." she corrected, and he stood towering over her.

"Is it important?" he asked, still seeming puzzled as she stared at him.

"I would think so." she said, and he took a step back; the expression changing to one of rue as a short pause followed.

"If I told you, would you call me by that instead?" he asked softly.

"Would it not be preferable to be called by your birth name?" she countered, and then saw his lips rise in a small smile.

"I quite like the name you have given me." he said, and she had to laugh.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she decided, and he shrugged.

"If I can help it, I would rather not return to my past." he said, and she felt the sudden sting of sorrow in her chest.

"What happened?" she regretted asking the moment the words left her lips, but he remained smiling.

"I had a wonderful life... and then it ended." he said, and her hands came to her chest unconsciously as she tried to drown the feeling.

"I'm sorry, Falgon." she whispered, and he turned slightly.

"It's al right. That time has passed." he eased, and she slowly stood to return to the lord's wing with him at her side, although she did not relish the notion of having to go back to the vast emptiness.

"I may not be able to bring him back, but I could suggest something that may ease you slightly." Falgon suddenly said, and she looked at him. Reserved as he was, he noticed many things; and she was hopeful for his advice.

"That would be nice." she turned towards him, allowing him her full attention.

"Take the thickest quilt you have, fold it three times by length. Wrap it with his tunic, and place it next to you." he told, and she took that in. She had never thought of doing that.

"Interesting." she thought of it, something so simple.

"My mother used to do that, while my father was away." he said, and she smiled already feeling calmer.

"Was your father away often?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. Border threats would require the attention of the warriors quite frequently." he told, and she glanced away from him.

"I envy her..." she reflected on the strength of a woman she did not know, and heard him laugh softly.

"She was the typical mother-hen type, always wanting her brood close. Up until our tenth years, she would have us sleep in her room when my father was absent. She would have said that it was to ensure our safety, but I think the presence of life so close comforted her. It was only after my youngest brother turned ten and one that she resorted to the quilt." he mentioned, and she nodded.

"Your mother was a strong woman." he smiled, bringing back the memories.

"She was. She raised three boys, mostly by herself while my father was away. She taught us respect, compassion and values. While my father taught us to be strong and courageous, these things bring their own kind of strength." he recalled, and again she admired him wishing she could have had the chance to meet them. Then she turned, wanting to reach the softness of her bed before the drowsiness left her.

"I should go inside, try to find some sleep. Thank you, Falgon." he bowed to her.

"Sleep well, your grace." he greeted as she entered the lord's wing and made her way back up to the lord's chamber where she took the thick quilt from the foot of their bed and folded it three times. She went to the dresser and pulled a white tunic from the drawer, then proceeded to wrap it around the quilt and position it on the bed, where her husband would have been and then lay down on the mattress. It wasn't as warm as he was, but she could recognise his smell - unique like raw honey next to her, and a slight feeling of his presence met her, and her arm went around the quilt, imagining that she held him; and she found sleep once again bringing up the beautiful medley in her mind, and for the tiniest fraction of an instant, she wished that her sentinel could play the song for her here, where she lay sleeping. It was easier for a few days, and she could find some peace before waking a short while later to a knock on their door, feeling disappointed that for now morning had come too soon, and still it left her worn and annoyed during the days. She raised herself and wiped the lingering slumber from her eyes. The quilt helped, but she still wished she could have someone with her.

"Enter." she allowed, and the door opened for three handmaidens to enter and start on their chores of helping her dress and tending to the wing. She waited as patiently as her ravelled willpower would allow while they chose a wide dress of cornflower blue with maya blue lining the neck, elbows and wide sleeves, along with flat grey slippers. A silver chain with a blue azurite pendant hung from her neck, and her hair was braided and draped over her left shoulder. She left the lord's wing to find her newest sentinel awaiting her at the door. Strong, lean and muscled with light grey eyes, pronounced cheekbones above a square jaw and wavy grey hair long enough to touch his neck; despite being only a few years older than Raeghun and Berin. It was told that the colour of his hair was caused by an accident in his youth, an accident that he rarely spoke of as it claimed the life of his sister.

"Good morning, my lady." he greeted her warmly as she closed the door.

"Good morning, Wymon." she returned.

"You look lovely this morning. But I imagine it an impossibility for a day that you do not seem fair. I hope you had a peaceful evening." he further added, and she nodded; his politeness becoming overbearing.

"My evening was fair, thank you. Shall we meet with the rest of the hold?" she suggested, wanting more people around her and they made their way down to the southern hall where they found Milla tending to the southern hall while Claira confirmed their morning meal with Jeody. After breaking their fast, they again prayed under the fountain like they did every day and then tended to the matters of the hold that they could and returned to the common room where they busied themselves further with needlework and knitting as Mandeline sat with Bella on her knees, playing with her. Milla examined her friend, the darkness shadowing her eyes.

"Claira, have you asked maester Adlyn for some sleeping drops?" she asked, and the clear blue came to her.

"I have, once or twice. But I don't want to become dependant on it." she said, pulling a deep blue thread through the fabric in her hands.

"It must seem so solitary, now. In the lord's wing." Milla breathed, bringing her eyes down to the work in her hands.

"It is. There's nothing but my own breath, sometimes it's so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat... I've wanted to ask if you and Bella would join me, but I don't want to interrupt your lives." she said with little thought, but then saw Milla smile.

"We'd be happy to, if you still want it. It's not a big change." she offered, and Claira felt her heart skip a beat.

"You really don't mind?" Milla glanced at Bella, starting to fidget in Mandeline's arms.

"Of course not." she agreed happily, and then Mandeline stood coming over to Milla in the instant that Bella started to whimper before the imminent cries.

"She's become a bit feverish quite suddenly, my lady." she informed as Milla took her.

"Have maester Adlyn see her, the sooner the better." Claira urged, and Milla nodded in accord before standing and heading through the door to maester Adlyn's tower with Mandeline following while Claira remained in her common room, adding another few stitches to her work. After a while she looked up, again realizing how empty the space around her felt; then she stood and walked to the window to stare out over the ocean. The ships still lingered where they were, and she told herself that it was a good sign. _Again, no change..._ But then, the Greyjoy vessels would in all likelihood not dare approach their shoreline on raids at the sight of the great war galley and her flagships in the bay; there was nothing to do but wait, however long it took. Raeghun's name day had come and went again a while ago, and Berin's followed just a while after; they would both be two and twenty now. Even in their absence, and with the few people remaining at their hold they celebrated it in their feast hall with a roast, and infinite wishes for their safe return. Her eyes went to the horizon where the sky met the sea in shades of blue, and closed her eyes feeling a warmth spread from her stomach into her chest and imagined Raeghun's arms around her. These memories were the closest thing to her now, and she submerged herself in each moment of it until it faded slowly. Footsteps came her way, and then a hard presence took shape next to her.

"Is everything al right, my lady?" Wymon asked, and she breathed in; taking in the scent of leather that came off him.

"Yes." she said softly, and his eyes followed hers to the ships waiting in the bay.

"The galleys haven't moved." he noted as she stared through the window.

"I'd like to think that is good. That it means they're still safe..." she said, the tone of her low voice revealing her emotions; and he wanted to comfort her. To have her know that even in this vastness, she wasn't alone. Especially in light of her husband's absence, that if there was ever a time that she needed anything; a shoulder, an arm, a hand... anything.

"Don't worry, they'll be al right." he assured softly, laying his hand on the curve of her hip and then pulled her closer to him; it churned through her like tentacles writhing in her muscles, sending the burn of acid across her skin.

"Summon Falgon to me." she said suddenly, and he stared at her mildly surprised, thinking that perhaps she was not aware that he was asked to oversee the younger guards' training today.

"My lady-" he started, feeling her tense under his touch.

"Summon Falgon to me!" she said again, harder than before; not a request. And he moved slowly back.

"Yes, my lady." he turned and headed for the door, wondering. Reaching the arch he looked back, and saw her stare at him; eyes frigid and hard.

"And if you ever touch me again, I will have him take your hand." she warned, leaving him stunned cold. She turned back to the window, and he left without another word down the long halls and stairways to the outer bailey feeling affronted where he found Falgon watching the youngsters at training, issuing his advices. He watched him for a moment, the tall figure towering above all else in their hall, his status clearly outweighing everyone else, both physically and otherwise. _So, she prefers you..._ He approached, his hand clasped around the grip of the sword at his side.

"Falgon. The lady wants you." he announced, and Falgon turned to face him.

"Wants me?" he seemed curious.

"Yes." Came Wymon's curt answer, and Falgon scoffed.

"Odd way of putting it, don't you think?" he mentioned, and Wymon looked away from him. From the dark eyes.

"See it any way you want..." he replied, and Falgon moved forward to pass him.

"Then I assume that you will continue the training of the guards. Ser Austinus should return shortly from Hornsney." he said, and Wymon sighed.

"She enjoys you. You're good with your hands." he mentioned, and Falgon turned back.

"Really?" Wymon faced him, casting a quick glance to the height of the sun tower.

"I've heard you play the lute. It's astounding that the same hands that wield a sword with such fierceness, can play a musical instrument so softly." he said, and Falgon nodded.

"My mother believed that I needed something besides the harshness of warfare. Men who know only that, tend to be unstable." he told, and Wymon took a single step forward.

"I will not hide that I have been envious of you. I've worked hard for five years before being accepted into the order, while you were favoured." he said, but Falgon's eyes remained on him the same way as before. No disdain, no pride.

"The circumstances that brought me here were different from yours, but that shouldn't matter. My only concern is her welfare, as should be yours." he said, and Wymon shrugged.

"Go and take care of that, then. Before she has you take my head as well." in that instant Falgon's eyes grew darker.

"What did you do?" he asked, coming forward and sudden fear swept across him.

"Nothing. I wanted to comfort her, to have her know she's not alone in all of this." he muttered.

"She does know that, but knowing does not change your position. And if she is in need of someone's sympathies, she will find it with her family." he told, then turned and headed into the hold to receive his bidding. He found her in her common room, still in front of the window.

"You summoned me, your grace?" he asked as he moved forward.

"I did. Do you mind?" she replied, not turning to face him.

"Not at all. But you seem to have a harshness to you today." he mentioned as he took his place next to her, hearing her flout slightly.

"I recognise his abilities, and his place in our hall. But... he hasn't earned my trust yet, like you did." she said softly, and he sighed.

"He meant nothing, I'm sure. He is your sentinel, he was simply trying to comfort you." he eased, and then her eyes came to his.

"I don't need his comfort. I need yours, it's calming. Your presence isn't... overwhelming." she said, and he glanced out the window.

"Very well." he wondered at her change, she wasn't ordinarily as vexed with her people; and then heard her take a deep breath before looking down.

"I'm sorry... I haven't been feeling like myself lately." she confessed, wanting her state to end. It was miserable, and everyone felt it. Again, simple things would leave her infuriated, or close to tears; if only the longing would end everything would return to normal.

"I don't mind. But you might want to speak to Wymon again." Falgon mentioned.

"I'll apologise to him later." After another moment spent in silence, they left the common room for the kitchens seeing that all was in order for their evening, and during the course of the day, the castle hands moved Bella's crib along with three small crates holding several items of Milla's clothing and other effects to the second room of the lord's wing, which was subject of rich honey yellow silks over a wide bed, a chair alongside a small table, two dressers and a wardrobe next to a small hearth, and a clear mirror against the wall. A window opened over the Sunset Sea where the last golden glow of daylight spilled through. After having maester Adlyn tend to Bella, giving mouth drops for the fever, those in the hold supped on beef stew with fresh bread and apple press before retiring to bed. Falgon accompanied Claira and Milla through the Hall of Fire up the grand staircase on their way to the lord's wing; but then Claira stopped and looked back, seeing Wymon and Gavin heading to the guard's hall. _I should try to make things right..._

"Go on ahead, I'll just be a moment." she urged as she glanced at Milla with Bella in her arms and Falgon at her side.

"We'll wait for you." Milla suggested as Claira started to move away from them.

"It's al right." she headed down the steps towards the glow of the guard's hall.

"Wymon." he turned, and bowed his head as she approached him.

"What can I do for you, my lady?" she stood in front of him, wondering but still feeling the churn to her skin.

"I wish to apologise, for this afternoon. I won't give you reasons to justify it, but I hope you will accept my pardon." she said, and he grinned.

"Thank you. Although I cannot tell you that I understand, I do hope that I will not meet your scorn again." he said gratefully, and she could find it in her to smile with him.

"I trust the same. Good night, Wymon." she turned to leave.

"Sleep well, fair lady." he returned, and then his eyes followed her as she made her way up the stairway where Milla and Falgon had decided to wait before entering the incline to the lord's wing, and then met with those of the tall sentinel watching him intently, like a shadow cat watching its prey before he followed them up further into the flickering of the torches, and bidding them a fair evening at the door of the lord's wing. They spent some time in the lord's hall in front of the fire, just sharing their thoughts and wishes before Claira entered the bath chamber to cleanse, returning in a soft nightgown of powder blue and thereafter watching over Bella while Milla did the same, returning in pale green, and they made their way up the steps to the chambers where Claira issued her friend a fond night, and then retreated to her own. Again, she stood for a time watching the light blink off the bay, silently praying for her husband's return, then went to bed where she took the quilt from its place and folded it three times by length, then pulled a tunic from the dresser and wrapped it around the upper part and positioned it on the bed next to where she lay her down for the night. Time passed, but eventually she drifted off to sleep with his bitter-sweet scent around her until deep night when she woke again to a child's crying. She stood, rushing to the second chamber where she found Milla walking around the bed with Bella against her, frantically trying to soothe her.

"Milla?" she stepped forward as Milla turned, revealing tear stricken and reddened eyes.

"I'm sorry, Claira... I can't seem to calm her..." she said through strained breaths, and Claira raised her arms.

"Give her to me." she said, and Milla released Bella into Claira's hands where she held the little body to her skin, feeling it burn against her.

"Where are the drops that the maester gave?" she asked, and Milla pointed to a small bottle on the table next to the crib. Claira went to the table and took the bottle before sitting down on the bed, opening the lid and dipping her small finger into the liquid; then brought it to Bella's mouth and gently rubbed the fluid onto her tongue and pallet before replacing it and holding her to her shoulder where her cool skin could ease the fever, rocking as her fingers gently tapped on the child's back, which seemed to calm her; then she looked up at Milla still standing with her hand to her mouth.

"What are you doing, Milla?" she came forward and sat down next to her.

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing... I don't know what's wrong with me. I've been feeling... out of place for a few days now." she said softly as Claira regarded her. Hers was not the only loneliness within these walls.

"I think she's tired of me. She wants her father." Milla decided, wiping away a tear.

"Try feeding her, then I'll take her for the rest of the night." Claira suggested, rising a stunned face.

"I can't expect that-" Milla started.

"I want to. Watching over her will give me something to do, as I won't be able to sleep again." she urged, looking at the child in her arms.

"Claira." she tried again.

"You need to rest. You're doing a lot." Claira said as she stood, and gently lay Bella in Milla's lap.

"I'll be back for her in a little while." she told, and then left the chamber and went down to the fountain, casting another petal of red to the waters and looked up at the face. _Please bring calmness to my family again. Please show me what to do... Please help me._ But the face just stared back, with no obvious answer. _Please make this end... Please bring our people home..._ Then she returned the way she came, and entered the second chamber as Milla pulled her gown over her shoulder and Claira held her hands to take Bella.

"If anything happens-" she started as Claira lifted her out of Milla's arms.

"Nothing will happen, Milla. Sleep now." then she turned, holding the child against her and Milla sighed.

"Good night..." she called, answered with the echo of her friend. Then she lay down, staring at the canopy of the bed. She hated feeling this way, it came and went on the odd occasions; but it hadn't been as obvious as tonight. She counted the times she felt nauseated, dizzy, abruptly warm, strange wants... these were common for the past two days. Then she turned and her eyes went to the stars beyond the window, brightly shining in the black sky as she watched them until her drowsiness became too heavy for her, and she surrendered to sleep only to wake to the grey sky that called upon the dawn. _She slept longer than normal..._ She stood and went to the crib, finding it empty and a momentary stab of fright dug into her heart the moment before she remembered. She silently left the room and made her way up to the lord's chamber and entered softly. She scanned the chamber, and then carefully approached the bed, staring in amazement. There, with a protective arm around her between the thick quilt and against Claira's breast lay her only child, sleeping like nothing in the world could bother her; and Milla smiled through tears. _What wonders you are... How lucky we have been_ _to have this family_ _..._ She slowly moved forward, and very carefully retrieved Bella from the bed as not to stir her friend from the sleep she had been deprived of for weeks, and headed down to the lord's hall where she sat with her before she would need to be nursed. A short while later, a soft knock sounded at the door and Milla allowed entry to their handmaidens.

"Good morning, m'lady." one greeted, and Milla smiled.

"Good morning, everyone. You may start with the chores of the wing." she said, and then looked at the archway leading up to the chambers.

"But please leave lady Claira to her rest, for just a little while longer." she asked, looking down at Bella who also had yet to wake.

Raeghun sat wondering what they could have done differently. While lord Violet held the shores stretching the span below Seagard, he and his men pushed further as far as Oar's Rest, a small settlement just a few miles north-west of the Whispering Wood and held there for several weeks awaiting the coming of the fleets, but drawn out raids slowed their progress and delayed their arrival. He breathed in deeply, trying to alleviate the spasms through his back and legs from a single extended position, ignoring the sting to his skin from new cuts and bruises. The soldiers had erected improvised barricades to hold the shore, and for a while it seemed they would last as the villagers continued their daily activities, and until the force made their appearance. And then came the red dawn under the shadows of black and gold sails, and the world was left a shattered mirror of red and screams while blades clashed and others fled. He had called for his sentinels to bring the women and children to safety... He looked up at the figure in front of him, cursing the burn around his chafed wrists where tightly bound ropes bit into his skin.

"I'm sorry, Berin. That I got you into this..." he looked up from his position opposite from Raeghun, dried blood darkening the right side of his face and merging into the stubble of a forming beard from a gash to his brow.

"I'm at your side, where I'm expected to be." he breathed without the slightest sigh of regret, but it did not lessen the disgust Raeghun felt.

"But if I hadn't turned back-" there were still people behind, and it didn't matter who they were, he couldn't just leave them.

"It's who you are, Raeghun. Don't you ever be sorry for it." his brother silenced him, bringing a sense of gratitude albeit small. The clamour of feet came down the stairs into the hull of the longship on which they were being held to posts amidst barrels and crates with a single small oil lamp hung from the side of the hull for what little light it could offer, and three men garbed in black and grey appeared grinning and laughing.

"So, it seems the fiery bird don't do so well on water, eh?" one remarked, big and burly with black eyes, a bald head and leathery skin hanging from his cheeks. Raeghun faced away from them, the smell of salt and sweat following their hollow footsteps.

"What? Nothin' to say?" he shoved a boot into Raeghun's side, making him wince as the men laughed; and Berin felt his skin singe.

"Do that once more, and I'll have that same foot up your ass so deep you can trim your toe-nails with your teeth." he turned and looked at Berin, his leathery cheeks still pulled in the smug grin.

"Really so?" he moved forward, and lowered himself to meet his eyes.

"The Crimson Knight, I've heard 'em call ya." A sudden hard fist found his cheek, and the taste of blood met him vaguely.

"Ya ain't on yer pretty horse with yer fancy lance now, cuss. Even yer gods have no power 'ere." he sniggered.

"When I am released from this, I'll send you to meet your own." he turned back to Raeghun, regarding him with eyes aflame.

"I'm sure he has a seat for you in the deepest, darkest pit where he takes his shits in." he added, and the grin faded.

"Ya ain't in no position to be threatenin' me-" he started, and Raeghun grinned back.

"It wasn't a threat. I just made you a promise." he assured, then the man moved forward with his fist raised; but then stopped and stared at the bright blue.

"We'll see a few days in the pits change ya. Soon enough ya'll be beggin'." he told, to be answered with a scoff.

"Yes, we'll see who reaches their pit first. So I'd suggest you keep your eyes well open." Raeghun said, and then another shadow appeared behind the others.

"What are you doing here?" came the deep voice of a man who was as gaunt and chiselled as the rocky mountains.

"Makin' sure our guests are comfy." one of the other men replied, and the dark eyes stared at him furiously.

"Get your asses back on deck; the master's ships will reach Seagard soon and we'd better be back with these two." he said, and the men left mumbling up the steps. Their last companion spared them a fleeting glance above an approving smile and then followed, possibly mulling over what a sight they would make. To display one of the greatest heads on their walls... and the hull dissolved into silence once again.

"You al right?" Raeghun asked, and Berin sighed still feeling the force to his face.

"Yeah. Where do you suppose they're taking us?" he asked exchanging his weight to his left side.

"To Pyke. In all probability to exchange us for some leniency." Raeghun guessed, watching the pale light coming through the hatch where the crew came and went, and Berin jeered again.

"Like we would be bargained for..." Negotiation chips, everyone had to have theirs in the instance that their plans didn't follow through the way they wanted, and then Raeghun's eyes came back to his, even in the shadows emitting their steely ardent blue.

"I don't intend to reach Pyke. I will see this through, and then I'm going home." he determined.

Nausea had started to ravage Claira each morning for some weeks not too long ago. Initially she dismissed it to the sadness and the intense loneliness she felt; and then it vanished as suddenly as it came on. Her breasts felt tender, but she dismissed this as well as this happens from time to time when her blooming was due. Most days she felt tired, and irritable but accounted that to her sleepless nights and a disturbed routine; some time later she started experiencing odd cravings such as cinnamon and salmon steak, and ginger snaps which were generally not to her taste. It was mid-morning on a warm day when she made her way to the kitchen with Falgon following close by to give cook Jeody his instructions for this evening's meal of bacon wrapped quail with stewed vegetables and maize, and thought that perhaps while she was there she would have a cream tart. The torches burnt brightly, again accentuating the great hall's celebrated name while sunlight filtered through the highest windows. Handmaidens and serving girls moved up and down the halls, and Milla stood overseeing their activities as they cleaned and supplied fresh items to the occupied wings of the castle. Claira regarded her, reflecting on how well she managed the castle along with Raeghun's court master; then she stopped, her hand resting on the stone railing and Falgon paused next to her.

"Is everything al right, your grace?" he enquired softly,

"I feel warm." She replied, feeling a rush of heat flow down the length of her body from her face to her knees, and then the heat faded into light tingling. The space around her seemed to swirl, and the thought occurred that if she could only make it to the end of the stairway the feeling would fade. She moved to take the next step, and then she was falling. Falling and falling, down and down and down; past the torches, past the stairs, past the floor, past the darkness of the vaults, past the flickering of the Ardent Tombs, but strangely the pain she expected from the fall never came and she was rather floating than tumbling. Someone may have screamed, or called out a name, or something else but she couldn't be sure. The voices were muffled, like she was standing on one side of a waterfall, and they on the other side. The world took on a grey haze, like she was standing in a mist veiled field. Darkness fell over the land again as a face approached her, and colour returned to her sight. She was still on the stairway, staring up at the high roof of the Hall of Fire, the concerned faces of handmaidens, castle hands and serving girls around her, and her sentinel above her with his arms under her. He set her down on the steps, and looked to see a young page rushing up the stairs with a large goblet filled with spring water. Her hand went to her face, her limbs feeling heavy and unresponsive.

"What happened?" she managed to whisper.

"I don't know, your grace. You collapsed." Falgon reported, accepting the goblet from the boy and bringing it to her. Her fingers curled around the chalice, but had no strength to hold it and it nearly slipped from her hands; and Falgon brought the rim to her lips and she swallowed eagerly. Milla came rushing over them then, and Falgon looked up as she knelt at her side. He stood after lowering the chalice to her hands resting in her lap before standing and stepping aside.

"Are you hurt, my lady?" the court maiden asked, placing one hand on her shoulder. She blushed slightly.

"No, no I'm not, thanks to Falgon." She said, and brought the goblet back to her mouth with less effort than before, but the muscles still trembled with exertion.

"I'm worried about you. You've been acting… different." Milla said, examining her features.

"I'll be fine. I just need to get back into routine here, our recent circumstances have left me wind woven." Claira assured, but Milla shook her head.

"I don't think this is attributed only to these long empty days, my lady. It's been tiring and lonely of course, but shouldn't have an effect like this. May I suggest that you to go see maester Adlyn." Milla insisted as she drained the goblet and placed it on the steps next to her.

"Dear Milla, I don't feel ill. It's not necessary." She said, but she put her hand on hers.

"Please. Please go see him." She pleaded, and she nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Please go back to the wing, rest for a while and then go see him. I'll approve this evening's meal with Jeody." She said helping her up on frail legs, and turned to Falgon.

"Deliver our lady safely to the wing." She instructed, and Falgon bowed.

"As you bid, my lady." He acknowledged stepping closer and held his arm for her to hold and steady herself.

"And make sure she is seen by maester Adlyn, will you?" Milla added. Falgon bowed his head once more.

"I will ensure it myself, my lady." He ensured, and took her the way back up to the wing.

"I feel much better now. I don't want to see the maester, I'll only waste his time. Time that may otherwise be spent effectively." She mentioned as they rounded a curve up to the wing.

"Please see him anyway, your grace." Falgon insisted, and she looked up at him.

"There is really no need. In a few days I'll be perfectly well, and things will resume as they always have been." She declined and as they reached the doors, he turned and looked at her.

"Are you afraid of something the maester may tell you, your grace?" he asked, and she placed her hand against the door to enter the lord's wing.

"What is there to be afraid of? What could he possibly tell me, that he hasn't told me before?" she asked, a subtle bitter tone to her voice.

"Then there is no reason not to see him. He is here to serve, just like I am. Let him tell you that there is no fault with your health, and perhaps give you a few ginkgo leaves to alleviate you of your recent light headedness; then life continues." He said, and she nodded after breathing in deeply.

"Al right. Just to make sure everything is in order." She finally agreed, and then entered the lords wing to take her rest. He remained at the door, loyal to his duty until she emerged again when it must have been a little past noon and he bowed to her.

"Greetings, your grace. I trust you had a decent rest." He greeted, and she smiled.

"You could have gone and joined the guards in training, or patrolled the castle grounds. It wasn't necessary to stand guard." She said, and he smiled.

"Thank you, your grace. And when I returned you would have told me that you had already seen maester Adlyn, and he assured that everything is in order." He assumed, and she blushed.

"Indeed, I would have." She said, and he raised his hand to his side to guide her to the maester's tower. He stopped at the base of the stairs.

"I will remain here." He said, and she ascended the steps to the maester's chambers where he was busy scanning through old books and scrolls, a quill and parchment lay on the table with other various items.

"Good day, maester." She drew his attention, and he looked at her.

"Good afternoon, my lady. Welcome. Come in, come in. How may I be of service?" he asked as he waved her closer to a chair next to a tiny hearth.

"My court maiden insisted that I come to see you, regarding recent peculiarities I've been experiencing." She said, and he sat down next to her.

"Peculiarities? May I ask that you describe these oddities, my lady?" he asked, leaning forward to listen.

"I don't feel ill, but it started with nausea several weeks ago which has to my knowledge now vanished, and I've been having odd desires of taste. I feel tired, and sensitive to my skin, especially my chest. I've had strange flushes of heat, and today I collapsed on the stairway. Had Falgon not been next to me, I may have been very seriously injured." He listened intently, and then he sat up and took a string attached to a crystal shaped like an arrow head from his wide pocketed sleeve.

"If my lady would not oppose, I may conduct a quick examination? As per the lady's instruction, let us ensure that there is no fault." He said holding out his other hand, and she gave hers. He dropped the crystal and held it just above a piece of soft leather with a dark mark and a wide circle traced around it, and the pendulum swung in an arch, the tip of the crystal aligning with the edges of the circle and crossing the point in the middle of the leather on the table next to him. He applied slight pressure to her wrist just under her thumb while her cold hand lay comfortably in his palm. They sat like this for a short while, then he looked up at her while he replaced the pendulum back in his sleeve, and fleetingly let the back of his hand rest against her face. He raised his hands, and then paused to look at her.

"May I proceed with the examination?" he asked, and she nodded. He gently placed his fingertips against her breasts, and softly pressed on the upper surface and then the sides, then brought his hands back and folded them on his knee.

"Your pulse is somewhat elevated, my lady. You have a slight fever, and your breasts are rather swollen, explaining the tenderness." He tightened his mouth slightly in a thought, and his eyes went to hers.

"You mentioned you are experiencing strange wants of food, as well?" he recalled, and she nodded. He thought for a moment, and then leaned his head slightly to one side.

"Tell me, my lady. Have you experienced any other, strange sensations? Something resembling tiny fish swimming around, bubbles floating about, or a minor tumbling motion?" she did, from very recently; something she dismissed to nerves. He smiled softly.

"Please do not think ill of me for asking this, my lady. But when was the last time you've bloomed?" he asked, and she struggled to recall the exact time. It was definitely before her husband left for the uprising. She saw him smiling at her, and her hand went to her mouth to stop something between a laugh and a cry.

"This can't be... This can't be..." she felt the burn of tears to her eyes, and her cracked heart shattered into hundreds of glinting pieces.

"Maester Adlyn, is this true? Yet after all my hope has vanished, could the gods grant me this?" she asked, and his smile broadened.

"Yes my lady, I believe so. There is no other clarification. After all these many years, your child has come." He said, and her hands covered her face in a whirl of emotion. He placed a comforting hand on her arm, and she breathed out under a joy so heavy that she couldn't do anything but cry as both misery and bliss battled in her. Much later, after calming on a cup of warm camomile tea and receiving the maester's advice to still walk as much as she could, and not entirely dismiss her normal activities she descended the stairs with a bottle of ground Red Raspberry Leaves to add to her tea daily, and found her sentinel waiting for her. He bowed as she stepped through the tower arch.

"I trust all is in order, your grace." He enquired, and she smiled at him happily, her eyes still glinting from tears.

"Everything is wonderful, my Falgon." She said, and he returned her happiness kindly.

The world was drenched in a deep black, with nothing but the sways of the ship on the waves of a calm ocean and the whistling of the wind through the sails. There was no difference between night and day here, and he wondered how long it has been. Dark shadows, and even darker voices made their presence known around them. And then a light appeared, far off and dim at first but rising like the sun as it chased the shadows away. _Berin... Wake up..._ He looked up to see a slender woman with a wizened yet seemly angular face, dressed in a flowing gown of scarlet with long tortilla sleeves and centre piece, her brow adorned with a gold and tourmaline gemstones circlet, in the shine of the sun in front of him, long brown hair hanging to her waist; and he recognised the forest green of his mother's eyes.

"Your family needs you. You have to get up." she told him, and he pulled against the restrains to his wrists.

"I can't do this..." he muttered miserably as he cast his eyes down, but she smiled.

"You can. You're stronger than you think. You are a Trentin." she encouraged him, reaching out a soft hand with lean fingers towards him.

"Mother..." he looked up again, the clear green of her eyes fading to a hazy white.

"Think. Now get up. Your family waits..." the light dissolved, and she disappeared leaving him back in the shadows; but his vision came back to the space illuminated only by a small oil lamp hung on the side of the hull and he was staring at his friend straining and moving his hands as he could.

"What are you doing?" Berin asked softly, and the clear blue met his eyes.

"Trying to break the ropes. They're slacking, but not enough." Raeghun told, then Berin cast a glance over his shoulder down to his hands. He recalled maester Adlyn once mentioning that his muscle mass was not as dense as Raeghun's; it was softer and more elastic, giving him more suppleness than most.

"You won't be able to break the ropes. But..." he grinned in a moment of madness as his stare came back, his eyes glinting.

"I do agree that a break is needed." he twisted his left wrist inward and took hold of his thumb with the fingers of his right, and then twisted back while forcing down hard with his grip; hoping that the strain may dislocate the bones in his hand allowing enough flexibility to slip through the bonds. But a sudden sickening and ominous snap sounded through the hull as stinging, electric pain rushed through his arm into his neck and he strangled a cry.

"Berin!" he heard his friend's voice through a drunken hum as he slipped his hands through the ropes and stood.

"Shut up, Raeghun." he moved forward ignoring the pain, then crouched as he started untying the ropes that held his brother's hands immobilized.

"Now, let's get out of here." he urged as he helped Raeghun to his feet.

"Any plans?" Raeghun looked around the hull.

"No, but I thought we'd just go with it. We need a distraction." Berin took the oil lamp from its hook against the hull, and then his eyes went to the opposite side.

"Well, wood doesn't go so well with fire..." he flung the lamp, and it shattered on impact drenching the wood in oil and leaving the flames eating away at the wood while dark smoke started to rise through the deck. The hatch opened to daylight as footsteps rushed down the small stairway and they hid themselves in the shadows.

"What the f-" the sailor suddenly stopped, glimpsing their empty spaces and the fire against the hull before turning and heading back, screaming of fire as he went and Raeghun emerged.

"We can't let them put that out." he mentioned, and Berin smiled again.

"They can't come down more than two at a time. Funnelled like that, it should be easy to handle them." he calculated, and Raeghun regarded him.

"But with your hand-" he started,

"Fuck my hand, I'll worry about that later. Let's deal with this first." he said looking up as the sound of more and more feet came towards them; and again they concealed themselves, taking up positions on either side of the steps as the hull grew darker with smoke. As predicted, men flowed down the steps two-by-two until a count of twelve lay unconscious on the wood flooring, buckets of water spilled into the space before they escaped the increasing density of smoke and heat and meeting more foes on deck which were cast to the floor of the deck or to the ocean waves. More and more smoke started to filter through the wood panelling as the ship started to tilt to the starboard side. Landing a sailor down, the sound of thuds on the wood made Raeghun look up to the horizon, another ship sailed nearby with men on deck holding bows in their hands and sending arrows their way. He breathed out, relieved that there was distance between them and the winds blew the arrows off course; and then an idea came to mind as he looked back at Berin who threw another man over the railing of the ship.

"Berin, take the wheel and bring us in." he instructed, and his friend hurried to the stern to steer the sinking ship; then he heard a voice from the bow, loud and enraged. He turned back seeing the same robust man who had previously tempted their frustrations, red faced and almost snarling in rage as he held both Quill and Bristlemane Blade in his large round hands. He felt the motion of the ship as it started to turn, taking them closer to the adjacent ship.

"I'll kill ya! I don't care what the master says, I'll kill ya both!" it ripped from him, and Raeghun faced him evenly, hearing the sudden panicked yells from the other ship.

"Come. Claim your prize." he encouraged, and the man rushed forward blind. _Don't engage... See what he does..._ Raeghun for a moment remembered Falgon, who always watched his enemies closely before moving suddenly. His prosecutions always ended quickly because he paid attention to his opponent, reading their movements as easily as a book. He watched, taking in the figure storming forward, absorbing his motions. Then he lifted Quill in his right hand, and swung forward rather ungracefully, giving Raeghun a moment to duck away as the blade passed his shoulder. He took hold of the wrist, and sent his free palm up into the elbow, shattering the bone and releasing his grip on the sword that Raeghun caught as it fell; then he turned and sent the edge through the stomach and out the back of his attacker as he forced him back against the railing, the black eyes stared at him. Beads vacant of anything as the rage left the man and his body eased.

"Send my greetings to your god." Raeghun told with a soft smile and then pushed him back, releasing his blade and taking hold of Bristlemane Blade as he tumbled backwards into the ocean. The panicked yells had become frightened screams from the ship next to them which had started to turn, but would not be able to escape what came and several men exchanged their vessel for the waters.

"Raeghun!" Berin reached his side, the ship now at an uncomfortable angle taking on more water as the wood below melted away under the damage of the flames, and the force of the waves.

"Time to go." he suggested as he handed Berin's sword back to him, to be returned at its rightful place at his side as he did with his own. The ship rocked, and they turned running for the opposite side where they leapt into the waters moments before a hard explosion sounded behind them and the bow of the sinking ship slammed into the one next to it, tearing through wood and flooding it. They made for shore, swimming hard and unfalteringly to reach its safety before finding it under the pink sheen of dusk. They spared a few moments there to claim their breath, and then Raeghun stood noticing another ship not too far off; but the light made it difficult to tell whether this was friend or foe. He looked down at Berin, still laying on his back on the sand.

"Berin, get up." he urged,

"In a moment..." he breathed, and Raeghun felt for him. He was tired and worn, and in obvious agony; but he reached down taking hold of his right hand instead of his left that was swollen and stained with different shades of blue and purple to pull him up.

"We have to go, we can't stay here." he told, noting that his friend was shivering.

"Al right. Which way?" he asked, sounding either weary or drunk as he found some balance, and Raeghun took hold of his shoulders.

"Fuck, I don't know. South. There's bound to be something that way." he said, and Berin looked up.

"Lead on..." he said softly, and the concern grew.

"You lead, I'll follow." Raeghun pushed him forward, and they disappeared into the shadows of the brush that followed the coast.

It was raining, the soft hum sounding off the roof and the walls of the castle as Claira stood watching the lights on the bay. It was late at night, but she didn't feel drowsy yet, having lit some new candles in the chamber a little while ago and adding a few pieces of wood to the flames of her hearth. The fever had left Bella and calmness came to them again. For a while since visiting the maester, she feared that if she woke this would disappear with her dreams but it never did, and every so often she could feel the tiny motions. Now, the days didn't seem so long any more, and she could find sleep again, with one arm around her husband's memory and her other against his promise. She smiled, still between the throes of disbelief and joy as she pressed her hands to her stomach and a new tear trailed down her cheek. _Will you move for me? Please?_ The smallest flutter found her right hand, and her left covered her mouth to smother another confused mixture of cries and laughter. _I can't believe you're here..._ _This still feels so much like a dream to me_ _..._ And the soft surges came again. _This is real... You are here... You are with me..._ Again she drowned the sounds as she sat down on the chest, _I love you... I love you so much... And your father, he will come home. He will..._ A soft knock at the door made her look back, and she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"Enter." she allowed, and the door softly edged open for Milla to step through.

"Is everything al right?" she asked, closing the door behind her and Claira smiled as she came over to her.

"Yes. Everything is fine, my sweet friend. Why?" she replied meeting Milla's clear eyes.

"I heard... something. And then I saw the light." she mentioned, and Claira looked out of the window towards the lights.

"I'm sorry if I woke you. I wanted to watch the ships for a while." she mentioned, and Milla's eyes followed hers.

"You didn't wake me, Bella did for her feeding. She's asleep now. But it's past midnight, you really should get some rest as well." she urged, and Claira looked back at her again smiling.

"I will. Soon, I promise." she said as Milla returned her gesture.

"It is good to see you like this again. You've been happier recently than you have been for months." she praised, having her friend blush.

"I am happy, Milla. They'll come home soon, I believe it. They must..." she said softly, and Milla nodded in agreement with her.

"Yes, they will. Don't stay up much longer, good night Claira." she turned to head back to her temporary chamber.

"I won't. Good night, Milla." she left again in silence, and Claira cast a final glance at the galley far away in the rain. _I probably should try to get some sleep..._ She stood and after smothering the candles, but leaving the hearth to wither on its own made her way to the bed where she lay down next to the quilt and put her left arm over it while her right wrapped around her stomach and she closed her eyes awaiting sleep to claim her. A bit further down in the second chamber where Bella lay fast asleep in her large rounded crib Milla lay down on the wide bed, it was good to see her friend happy again but something was different. She hasn't said anything regarding her visit to maester Adlyn, and actually hasn't spoken much at all since then. She didn't appear to be ill, and still held to their routine quite adamantly; she recalled glimpsing Claira's hand held against her stomach, and she thought her friend may simply be in a degree of pain. Milla knew that she had suffered some difficulties with that whenever she was in bloom, and hoped it would pass soon. Sleep came and she woke again at dawn to Bella's fidgeting, so she stood and tended to her nursing and cleaning while a short while later the handmaidens knocked on the door to help her dress and proceed to cleaning the lord's wing. Claira took Bella for the while they headed down to tend to the preparation of the feast hall and the options for their morning meal; and after breaking their fast Mandeline further saw to Bella's care while the ladies returned to the lord's garden to pray, again asking for their blessings of favour and safety over their loved ones. Then Milla took a moment to sit down on the wide black marble basin, admiring the smoothness of the sphere that held crystal clear waters as she though of what to say, and Claira joined her running her fingers through the calmness of the cool liquid, and then Milla's attention came to her.

"Claira, are you feeling al right?" she asked, and the striking blue eyes met hers.

"Yes. I'm just tired, that's all." she assured with a soft smile, that Milla thought resembled a dreamy appearance.

"Of course, you haven't been sleeping well. Has the maester given you anything for the pain?" she glanced down at Claira's hand, still held against her stomach; and wanted to make things better, but wasn't quite sure how.

"I don't have any pain, Milla." she said softly, changing the concern to confusion.

"But I thought, with your blooms-" Claira smiled, a light red flush to her skin.

"I haven't bloomed..." Milla stared at her, and the world disappeared as tingling spread over her body. She couldn't think of anything, what to do, what to say, what to think. Everything vanished, the longing, the worry, the anxiety, the fear, until nothing was left but happiness and she watched in a state of intoxication as her friend's hand covered her mouth to stifle either a laugh or a cry and tears escaped her eyes. Automatically Milla leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her friend, but the only breath that would escape her lips was her friend's name, over and over as she held her and they surrendered to the overpowering struggle against tears, there where the wise face kept its vigil over them.

Berin stood watching as great stones were hurled at a thick stone wall, chipping away at the rampart as the heavy masses slammed into the rock with deafening blows; and men waited in throngs to break through, the screams of commands and threatening battle cries sounded around them. They took shelter in a cave somewhere close to shore, where Raeghun sat awake with him through a restless night of fever before happening on a party of Winterfell soldiers that had lingered behind on their way down to meet with the masses the day following. Realizing who they were, the soldiers offered what they could from their stores to ease the fever and discomfort and accompanied them further to the encampments, from where Raeghun had orders sent to lord Violet and Colbert who would have assumed command in his stead to assemble for the final onslaught. They were also told that for a while the shores were left disregarded and much of the iron fleet that were not destroyed during the battle in the Straits of Fair Isle set on the seaport, where Rodrik Greyjoy was slain by lord Jason Mallister during their failed attack on Seagard; and what remained pulled back to the islands where they were now surrounded by the fleets from Blackwater, the Arbor, Oldtown and the Corridor. He flexed his hand, wrapped tightly in linen bands, still feeling the dull throb. It wasn't as painful now as it was then, but kept to himself that he found it rather difficult to hold his sword right. He could swing it, but didn't have the strength to cut through an arrow shaft. So for now, he had to resort to using his right hand. A large boulder struck the wall, and he watched as the top half crumbled away and fell to the ground, rolling into the water of the sea as voices rose over them, and his heart rate increased. Raeghun came to his side, Quill held in his hand.

"Are you ready to finish this, my friend?" he asked, seeming satisfied that their long endeavour was finally approaching its end; and Berin smiled back clenching his hand and ignoring the throb.

"The sooner, the better." he said, and they looked back at Robert Baratheon calling out a command at one of the trebuchets before it flung another great stone at the crumbling wall. It struck solidly, and the wall gave way as men filtered through, the first being a tall man with a blade burning in his hand as he ran forward screaming into the masses that opposed, followed by another large man whom they recognised as Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, and more men bore down on the island keep. Raeghun spared him a glance.

"Not for riches, or glory." he said, and Berin shared his pride.

"Not for power, or authority." he agreed, taking Bristlemane Blade in his awkward hand, and they moved forward along with the masses of soldiers both allies and countrymen, lords and soldiers, kingsguard and sentinels. All in a terrifying clash of glinting steel.

It was a warm day with high white clouds dotting the blue sky that Claira glanced out the window of her common room to meet a vacant bay far below, and later the raven came that announced the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion as Balon bent the knee to king Robert Baratheon. The sombreness left the halls of the burning mountain as all now waited eagerly for the homecoming of their men; and soon enough the Taugere banners were seen emerging from the horizon, returning with less men than with which they left, but returning all the same. With the noon, in barely restrained excitement Claira and Milla hurried to the bailey to greet their people as they entered, but as the flow of entering people receded, several faces were missing from their numbers. Claira's heart sank away as she turned to Colbert who had led the guards home, before giving his horse to the stable hands for care, and now stood by her side.

"Colbert... Where... Where is lord Raeghun?" and for a moment she rued asking, but then saw him smile.

"He and lord Berin should arrive before nightfall, my lady. Derric, Saerus and Edur are still with them. They were seeing off lords Rames and Violet." he informed, and the rush of relief left her giddy before a strong hand found her back to steady her and she was thankful for her sentinel at her side. Colbert stared at her, passing a fleeting glance between her and Falgon.

"Are you feeling al right, my lady? You seem a bit more pallid... than usual." he corrected, and she smiled.

"Yes Colbert, thank you. I'm just tired, that's all." he remained staring at her.

"I do hope it is nothing serious." he added as his stare regarded her in concern.

"No, of course not." she looked over the men, the obvious fatigue of their efforts hanging heavy like a mist.

"Go on, have the men take their rest. I'll have cook Jeody serve something complementing tonight." he bowed to her formally, and she watched as the guards and sentinels retreated into the comfort of Mount Ardor's barracks to cleanse and release their strains to soft beds before they would finally return to their former routines. Then she turned to Milla.

"Not much longer, now." she breathed, perhaps more to herself and they shared an excited utterance before heading to the kitchens to arrange the evening banquet and then returning to her common room after having the instruction given to return Bella's crib along with Milla's belongings to the east wing while they waited, but she couldn't make herself focus on anything and just kept staring out the window that revealed the southern part of the lands as she sat rocking with Bella in her arms who'd fallen asleep just a few moments past as they listened to the gentle melody coming from the lute and the sky grew slowly darker. Then as twilight darkened the land and the music faded, her heart raced as she watched five figures approach the hold, and again her face felt warm as tears came to her. They were home. Finally, after months their husbands had come home.

"Mandeline, would you see to Bella for just a short while, please?" she asked as she stood, and the nurse approached happily.

"Of course, my lady." she took her, laying her gently against her shoulder as Milla stood, and they made their way to the Hall of Fire to welcome the lords home. As they came down the incline and the east stairway, they glimpsed the men entering and Raeghun with Quill's sheath belt fastened over his shoulder gave orders to a carpenter's assistant; and she listened to the sound of his voice, even in his apparent weariness more captivating than the finest Agar wood flute as he spoke.

"Have a pyre built in the east fields. We honour our fallen at dusk in two days." he told, and the apprentice left having received their instructions; then his attention came to them as they reached the base of the grand staircase and they approached. Milla met Berin with her arms around his shoulders, and his circling her waist as they shared a tender and happy moment, and Claira stared at Raeghun. The clear burning blue of his eyes, hair long enough to hang over his ears and neck and a full black beard covering his face, and then she smiled feeling the shiver through her body.

"Welcome home." he moved forward suddenly, taking her face in his hands and capturing her mouth with his in a deeply passionate kiss, the whiskers tickling her skin where it brushed and she wanted to laugh and cry and scream as her arms went around his neck to pull him closer. She had never imagined being as happy as she was at that moment, and then he released her placing his cheek to hers and his arms around her waist.

"I don't ever want to leave you again..." he whispered, and her arms tightened even more giving in to the emotions, and after a while he pulled back from her.

"I'm sorry for how I look. I'll have it taken care of before supper." he mentioned with a shy smile, and she had to laugh.

"I don't care, Raeghun." she said softly, bringing her hand to his face still feeling the warmth of his skin as he pressed his hand over hers, his eyes closed savouring her touch. A sudden high pitched shriek caught their attention, and they looked up as Mandeline came down the stairways towards them with Bella in her arms.

"I just lay her down when she woke up, so I thought she should welcome her father home." she explained as she joined them, and Bella's arms reached for Berin. He laughed as he took her and held her against him, not minding the happy cries coming from her, and they spent some moments together before Raeghun looked up towards the wings.

"Well, I'm dying for a decent bath." then his eyes came back to them.

"I'll rejoin you soon." he said, and then left to tend to himself. Milla noticed Berin's hand, still swollen and oddly out of shape.

"What happened?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Oh, nothing. I'll ask maester Adlyn to look at it tomorrow." he assured, and then watched as Raeghun made his way up the stairs.

"But I think I ought to cleanse myself as well, before supper." he decided, and released his daughter to Milla, and kissed her cheek before leaving. Milla stepped closer to Claira and leaned over slightly.

"You haven't told him." she reminded, and Claira sighed.

"I will. I just think they need some time to settle in again, he seems to have a lot on his mind. Perhaps I should wait until after the tribute." she decided, and they entered the feast hall to await their return. Raeghun found Falgon on the third level, looking over the hall.

"Good evening, ser." he greeted, and the tall sentinel bowed to him.

"Greetings, sire. Welcome home." Raeghun smiled.

"It is good to be back. Have there been any troubles here?" he asked.

"No, our days have been quite peaceful, I am thankful to say." he reported, and Raeghun nodded feeling relieved that the consistency of their daily lives were not thrown into chaos, and that the patrols he set out seemed to have kept the peace.

"Thank you, for watching over my family for me." he said softly, and was met with the gentle smile he knew.

"It was my great pleasure, sire." then Raeghun turned to continue his way up to their bath chamber.

"You have the remainder of the evening to yourself." he allowed, and made his way to the lord's wing while Falgon watched him, also feeling blessed that he and Berin was home safely, and life would return to how it was meant to be. Or perhaps something better. It was strange and wonderful, and he didn't know if he was the only to notice a light moving through the halls. A radiant beauty that glowed more and more until she was shining... Quite like Milla did not too long ago.

"Evening, ser Falgon." he looked back to see Berin come to him, and inclined politely.

"Greetings, lord Berin." he returned.

"Glad to see the burning mountain still stands." Berin teased,

"Glad to see you're still alive." Falgon returned, and they shared a laugh.

"Oh, it will take more than an insurrection to keep us from our home." Berin told modestly as Falgon smiled again looking over the hall.

"Good. Returning home from war is always the greatest sense." he said, and Berin took him in. Almost like he was seeing something long past.

"This wasn't a war, not entirely. But I am supposing you've seen worse." he reflected, and the dark eyes met his again.

"Much worse, I'm afraid... And it is a harsh thing to say, but we... We were battle-born. Conceived, lived and died in war. It's who we are, always have been. We didn't know anything else..." Berin nudged his shoulder gently to release him from the dark and distant memory that so suddenly assaulted him, and saw his eyes clear.

"Well, peace has come again. We may relish it for as long as it lasts." he said, and Falgon nodded in agreement.

"Yes." then Berin turned to tend to his bath.

"Well, fair evening to you." he greeted, hearing the fondness returned as he made his way to the bath chamber in the east wing; but his mind rummaged. War. It was always with him, like the shadow that followed his movements. But there have not been many wars in Westeros for a long time, and Berin supposed for an instant that his friend may have once been a tribe warrior; but dismissed that instantly for his refined mannerism. Hill tribes would not have such elegant speech, not to mention the courtesy that only came from regal halls, and he mentioned that he was born in the west, from where hill tribes have been driven out long ago. Then again, with all the time he spent in both the fields and the strongholds that held them, it was possible to believe that he learnt the ways of the high-born. But there was his sword, his family's sword. The Valyrian Steel blade called Summit - 'Crown of the Mountain'. Berin stopped for a moment looking back. _All this time, and I still don't know_ _who,_ _or what_ _you are..._ And then he smiled. _But, it doesn't matter now, does it? Your past isn't important, your future is. And it's here,_ _with us_ _. You're here, you're one of us._ He continued on his way to the bath chamber to relish the warm waters while their family waited in the southern hall, where Milla held Bella on her lap next to Claira, already seated at the high table. They shared soft conversation as they watched the serving girls move up and down with pitchers of fruit press and bottles of fine spiced wine that were set on the tables along with two large barrels of dark ale rolled out by castle hands for their people.

"How do you think Raeghun would react, to knowing?" Milla asked softly as Claira's eyes went to the arch of the door.

"I don't know, he might react much the same way Berin did when you told him." she recalled him smiling and laughing, and could imagine her own husband doing the same as her hand subconsciously rested on her stomach, feeling a slight warm little tumble. But how to tell him? Just come forth, and say to him. Or a more subtle way of small hints. She had two days to decide.

"I really think you should tell him tonight. He'll be so happy." Milla encouraged her again, and she looked back.

"I want to, but they've just gotten back and I'm sure they're still restless. Let's just give them a little bit more time." Claira urged, and a serving girl approached them.

"Is there anything I may get you while you wait, my ladies?" she asked, passing a glance between them as they thought.

"Perhaps some nuts, if we have any?" Claira mentioned, suddenly developing a peculiar want for something earthy.

"And some honeyed milk, please." Milla added looking up at the girl, and she nodded.

"Yes, my ladies." she hurried back to the kitchen to retrieve their requests, returning a short while later with a wooden bowl and decanter, both filled to the brim with nuts and milk which they enjoyed slowly. Raeghun and Berin returned a while after, once again as they always were, smooth skinned, short haired and dressed comfortably in woollen breeches, fine boots and light cotton tunics, filing in with all the remainder of the household just as final preparations were being made to serve the evening feast, taking their places at the high table as others piled in at the other tables. Claira smiled as the first portion of their meal was brought out, along with horns of dark ale to the high table, and as the bowls were placed before them Raeghun smiled brightly before looking at her.

"Thank you, my sweet." As something special, she asked Jeody to prepare spiced chicken livers in a garlic cream sauce to start their feast; knowing that her husband favoured the strong, dark taste of it. He would have them every day if he could, but considering she couldn't stomach the rich meat he would only have it every few weeks, and she thought of having it served more. Her helping was the only difference in the hall, instead being served battered chunks of white fish with lemon butter. More bowls were brought out, filling the hall with its pungent smell. Claira had finished half her portion when a serving girl passed with a tray holding empty bowls to be returned to the kitchen when a breeze blew through the hall from the garden and enveloped the lady in a cloud of sweet flowers, and the strong bitter odour, and a wave of nausea struck her like a knock to her stomach. Her hands covered her mouth as she struggled against the acid rising in her throat, and concerned voices sounded around her calling for the maester to be summoned immediately before strong hands wrapped around her waist to help her outside to the garden where Raeghun had her sit down on a stone bench under a rose quarts shrub, and she breathed in the clear air eagerly to calm herself. His hand went to her face anxiously, feeling the cool of her skin.

"Claira, are you al right?" he asked, and she looked up seeing Milla stand behind him where he crouched in front of her, his eyes searching her desperately. To hide the tears forming in hers, she pitched forward wrapping her arms around his neck and held him tightly.

"Yes, Raeghun. I'm fine, I promise." she said, the sickening feeling vanishing against his heat as his arms went around her.

"Are you sure?" his hands softly stroked the length of her back, and she pulled away finding some control.

"Yes, I'm sure. You know how that smell affects me." she laughed, and he could smile with her, and after a few more moments in the clear air she stood and they returned back into the hall to see maester Adlyn rushing towards the doors with a page leading the way. He met them, alert and eager.

"What may I do for you, my lady?" he asked, and she blushed.

"I'm fine, maester. But I'm afraid some of the smells didn't agree with me tonight." and he nodded with an understanding smile.

"I see. Should you need to come see me for something to help ease you, you are most welcome." he assured, and she glanced at Raeghun at her side.

"Thank you, maester. I'm sorry to have disturbed your night." she apologised, and he bowed.

"Not at all, my lady. Not at all." he turned to revert back to his tower and they retook their places to further join the feast that included honey glazed pork roast, buttered potatoes and cheese baked vegetable pot, before lemon cakes and warm custard after which they lingered in the hall sharing one another's company and heroic tales. With Bella growing tired, Milla and Claira stood to excuse themselves.

"If you'll please pardon us, my lords. Our day has been rather long." Raeghun smiled.

"Of course. We won't be much longer." he assured, hinting to the horn in his hand; and they left the hall with the men watching them.

"Long days, indeed." Berin jested, hearing Raeghun laugh.

"And even longer months." he added, bringing the horn to his lips and swallowing eagerly. They just shared their thoughts as they finished the last of their ale before issuing the order to have the hall cleared and bid the remainder of the household a good evening, then returned to the wings for their night. Berin entered their chamber to find his wife in a soft white gown as she lay their daughter down in her crib, he discarded his tunic and boots and then approached her placing his arms around her waist while resting his head on her shoulder as he looked down at the sleeping child.

"She's growing so fast." he muttered, and Milla smiled.

"Too fast." he chuckled.

"Soon, she'll require a room of her own." he mentioned, placing his lips to her neck and feeling his muscles tense as she brought her hand to his face, relishing his touch.

"As soon as she sleeps through..." she whispered, then he slipped the gown from her shoulders and brought his hands around to cup her full breasts and he breathed in the scent of her skin.

"I've missed you, so much..." he breathed, placing another delicate kiss to her skin and she turned letting the dress fall to the ground before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"And I've missed you, Berin." she smiled, and he brought his right hand into her hair to guide her lips to his, then took her from the floor to their bed where he cast off what was left of his clothing, and savoured her soft sighs against his throat.

Raeghun's warmth covered his wife's shuddering body where he lay buried in her, his lips still drowning her enraptured moans as his left hand held her shoulder wrapped around her side while her fingers strained into the muscles of his back, and the fingers of his right were locked with hers where he held her left hand against the pillows above her head. Thoroughly satisfied and his blaze calmed, he pulled back slowly, allowing her to breathe through a final pleased whimper as he placed his mouth to her neck, bringing several deep breaths into his chest.

"I love you..." he whispered softly, and her hand released from his grip to move around his neck and she held him tightly, her knees softly pushing into his sides.

"I love you, Raeghun." she returned, sounding almost like a sob and he drew back to notice a single tear trailing down her face; and his hand came to her to wipe it away, thinking he heard her scream.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I hurt you..." she smiled pulling him closer again.

"You didn't... You didn't hurt me..." he eased slightly, laying his head on her chest and taking in the smell of her. There was a sweet taste to the mounds of her breasts that he hadn't noticed before.

"I'm so happy that you're back..." and she was, truly more than anything and nothing else mattered as her arms tightened, and his pressed into her skin, then slowly somnolence fell over them, softly floating away into calm and blissfully deep sleep.

Dawn broke with golden light, and processes of the burning mountain slowly started to recede to its natural order while construction of a great pyre began in the clear fields of the east. Berin tended to the rounds of the barracks and inspection of several armoury items, having them sent to Philpot for reforging before heading to the bailey for sparring facing Gavin with an iron sword held in his right hand. He watched his opponent, smiling confidently as he swung the blade in his hand.

"Any time you're ready." he invited, and Berin gripped the sword tighter. Gavin was a good fighter, and in this condition facing him might prove a bit of a challenge. But he may have been the preferred opponent being more reserved to defence than offence.

"In a moment." he breathed in, trying to imagine his sword hand's movements reflected on his right, then moved forward in a lunge that was parried easily, as were several following attempts before Gavin ducked away from the last strike and touched the pommel of his sword to Berin's ribs. He turned smiling.

"Not bad, for your weak hand." he complimented, and Berin scoffed.

"But it's far from good enough." he brought the sword up in front of him.

"Again." he moved forward, ringing the swords again in the tolls of blades striking each other; and again the flat edge of Gavin's sword found his stomach, making him flinch in frustration.

"It might be a bit too soon for you to be doing this, Berin. You just got back the day before this." Gavin said, lowering the sword in his hand. And if he could have the opportunity to be completely honest, he didn't feel like sparring. But that was the one thing that kept him in order, that kept him strong. To finish what you started despite wanting to do otherwise. To keep going instead of just leaving it and taking it up again the day you felt like doing it, which in most instances never came.

"You're being too soft with me. You know how I am." he said watching the sentinel move forward, and he shared a smile.

"And you're being too hard on yourself. Give it a few more days, then we'll spar again." he said taking the sword from Berin's hand, which he felt himself uncharacteristically grateful for not opposing its release from his fingers, and Gavin's hand found his shoulder.

"Take a few days and rest." then he glanced down at Berin's left hand.

"And have maester Adlyn take a look at that." he urged before leaving to store the blades in the armoury again. Berin sighed and headed back into the hold to join in the rest of the day's activities, finding a seat in the southern hall for their morning meal, and attending to several other small matters before taking some time to play with his daughter in the garden during the afternoon when most were filling their time. His wife and the lady of the hold were in the garden as well, sharing a stone bench and their thoughts. Which flowers would compliment their tables at the evening banquet, which blossoms had the sweetest scent, whether they preferred red, orange or yellow roses, how odd it was that while the petals of the carnations remained white, the edges were lined with bright purple, blue or pink. How these simple notions brought a calm order to their halls, and he smiled bringing his attention back to Bella sitting on her blanket on the grass, staring at a large black and purple butterfly that feasted on a bright blue lily a few feet away. He thought about catching it, then stood up and moved slowly closer cupping his hands to close over it. Then, as he pitched forward it fluttered away on the wind, and he cursed himself. He turned back to Bella, a disappointed frown on her already severely expressive little face, the bright eyes staring at him and he had to laugh.

"I'm sorry, he got away from me. I'll be faster next time." he promised, and then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"There won't be a next time." he looked back at the blue of his friends eyes, and then down at his hand, the fingers curled gently around the butterfly to keep it in the palm of his hand.

"Thank you." he sniggered, and they joined Bella again on the grass, displaying the wondrous creature as she smiled and gurgled excitedly, after a while allowing the wings to take the wind and float away again as if it were merely sitting on a leaf. Several castle hands wandered out to light the torches surrounding the castle garden, and the lords and ladies ventured inside to the advice from a serving girl that the feast would be served soon. They supped on lamb stew with cheese stuffed pastries before a sweetness of grapes and figs, following their normal routine for the evenings; but on their way to the chambers Berin stopped at the doors leading to the east wing.

"I'll find you later. I should have the maester see to my hand." he mentioned, and Milla turned to him.

"I hope it's not serious." she said, and he shrugged.

"I don't think so. I suppose I sprained it, badly." he tried to ease, and she nodded.

"Al right. Don't be too long." she urged, and he turned to make his way up to the maester's tower.

"I'll try. That would depend on his advice." he said, and followed the incline up to the tower where he ascended the winding steps and found the maester counting his supplies while a page was tending to the arrangement of another cabinet.

"Good evening, maester." he drew his attention, and the brown eyes came to him.

"Good evening, lord Berin. How may I be of service?" he asked turning and making his way to him, and a moment of pause followed as Berin took a deep breath.

"If you'd be so kind as to tend to my sword hand, I'd be grateful." he said, and the maester nodded holding out his hands while Berin raised his.

"I believe to have sprained it." he told as Adlyn felt cautiously along the fingers and the palm along the thumb to the wrist; and then looked up anxiously.

"I'm afraid this hand wasn't sprained, lord Berin." he looked at the page still busy replacing bottles and tubs.

"Thank you for your help. Please have ser Falgon called here, and then you may take the rest of the night to yourself. Finish with that tomorrow." he instructed, and the boy stood and left after thanking the maester; and Adlyn's eyes came back to Berin's.

"Like I was saying, your hand was not sprained. It was broken. How did this happen?" he asked, and Berin looked away from him.

"Slipping through ropes..." he told, and then looked back.

"But why summon Falgon?" the maester turned and headed to a cabinet, taking out several items along with a half full bottle of aged strong wine.

"Because, apart from lord Raeghun himself, he may be the only person in this hold with the physical strength for what might need to be done." he handed the bottle to Berin, and then shrugged.

"I'm afraid my stores are low on supplies, and my shipment of poppy seeds will only arrive tomorrow. Finish that, please. But unfortunately I don't have a full one." he instructed, then turned to place his teapot on the fire and then went to his shelves to continue his rummaging through his cabinet. Berin brought the bottle to his mouth and swallowed. The wine was strong and sour, it burned its way down his throat where it struck his stomach like a stone before he gasped and gagged. The maester's eyes came back to him.

"Good, very good. Drink up." he urged, and Berin laughed.

"You want me dead, maester?" he teased, watching the maester searching for something specific.

"No, but close to unconscious might be preferable." he said without a slight, and Berin took several deep breaths before bringing the bottle up and swallowing again. A while later, feeling light-headed and the sensation of tingling stretching over his body he sat down on the chair next to the maester's desk having almost finished the bottle when the tall shadow darkened the doorway.

"You summoned me, maester?" Falgon asked stepping through, and Adlyn looked up smiling.

"I did, thank you for coming. I may be in need of your help, ser Falgon." he told, and Falgon nodded.

"Of course, maester. If I am able." he agreed, and Adlyn made his way around the desk.

"I need you to break Berin's hand again." he instructed, leaving the sentinel stunned.

"Break his hand?" he stood watching them both,

"Yes, ser. You see, after the initial break, the bones were malaligned; and have already started to mend. Should the bones not be reset in their proper positions, lord Berin may never regain any normal function with that hand. However, with the correct position, and adequate time and exercise; I don't see why he won't have the same use of his hand in a year or two." Adlyn explained, and Falgon looked at Berin.

"And you're agreeing?" he asked, and Berin forced down the remaining wine before placing the empty bottle on the table and looking at his friend with an odd smile.

"I'll admit that I'm scared shitless, but if it's not done..." he started, and then saw Falgon's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath before he nodded.

"Al right." he moved forward, taking a position behind Berin, and maester Adlyn came to his right side and lay his hands on Berin's shoulders.

"Sit forward, and lay your hand on the table." he instructed, and Berin obeyed bringing his body forward and resting his weight on his knees while laying his left hand palm down on the table. Falgon took his hand, moving it until the palm rested on the edge, his thumb freely in the air; then he leaned forward as well laying his left hand over the fingers and his right hand on the edge of the thumb. Berin waited for a moment, feeling all the different emotions stab at him. A part wanted to bolt, while the other just wanted it over with.

"Just breathe, Berin. It will be over quickly, I assure you." the maester tried to comfort, but he had to admit it was not helping, then he started to feel soft pressure to his hand.

"Forgive me." was the last words he heard in the deep voice of his friend before he pushed down suddenly and hard, snapping the mending bone as easily as he would an autumn twig and the same stinging agony rushed through him, releasing an excruciating cry from his lungs. The pressure vanished as he strangled another painful wail, the agony rippling through him in tremors from his shoulders to his feet while the maester took firm hold of his hand and straightened the broken bone, then through a series of muffled groans he continued rubbing an oily ointment to the skin that left his hand warm and wrapped it tightly in cotton bandages and leather bands to keep it in place. Finally feeling Adlyn's hands leave him he sat back, and forced deep breaths into his chest as the tremors faded away into lighter shivers.

"Not many men would sit through something like that." the maester commented as he poured steaming water from the pot into a cup and gave it to Berin, who took it and through the shudders brought it to his mouth and swallowed eagerly. The tea was bitter-sweet and tasting of cloves, but soothing as he told both maester Adlyn and Falgon who remained the path that had led them to this; but if it could be helped he would rather not have their wives know if it was not needed, and by the sixth cup he felt more unstrained and the intense pain was now little more than a consistent throbbing.

"How are you feeling?" Adlyn asked after a while.

"Fuck, I don't know. Like I'm in some drunk dream." Berin replied with a smile leaning his head back.

"Any pain?" he tried flexing his hand, bound in position with the cotton and leather.

"No. But I suspect I'll feel it again tomorrow." he breathed, and Adlyn smiled.

"I hope to say that you may experience improvement from this point. But my advice is to avoid using your hand for several weeks, if that is possible. Should you notice any other changes, please come see me again." Adlyn told, and Berin looked at him.

"Changes?" he hoped for something more specific.

"Itching, burning, stinging, severe pain, any discolouration, swelling, involuntary spasms, stiffness-" he brought his hand to his face, feeling a weak pounding against his brow.

"Al right, I've got it. Any shit and I'm back." he decided, the list of potential problems becoming too long, and being too drunk to take in half of it in any instance.

"I should head back, Milla will kill me." he said standing up, finding that the room swayed.

"Shall I accompany you?" Falgon asked, and Berin laughed.

"That would be nice. Just to make sure I don't break my neck this time." they shared the humour, and Berin looked at maester Adlyn.

"Good night to you, maester. And thank you." he greeted with a wave, bringing a chuckle from him as well.

"And to you, lord Berin. Sleep well." Berin's smile widened.

"I will." they left the maester's tower close to midnight, driving the silence from the halls with idle conversation. Reaching the entryway to the east wing, Berin turned to his friend.

"Fair evening to you, ser. And thank you, for breaking my hand. Again." he said, seeing the tall sentinel look away from him.

"I'm happy to have helped, but I can't say that it was a pleasure." he returned, and then bowed his head.

"Sleep well." Berin smiled,

"I will. Definitely." he turned and sauntered down the hall to their chamber, entering softly and finding it dark as the candles had already either been smothered or burnt out, only a few small blue flames still emitted from the hearth. He moved forward, discarding his shirt easily before slamming into the dresser loudly.

"Oh, fuck me." he muttered, and then looked up at the figure sitting up on their bed.

"Berin, what are you doing? You'll wake Bella." Milla's voice came through the shadows.

"I'm trying to get to bed. It's not exactly easy, in the dark." he replied, and heard her snigger.

"You've walked through this room hundreds of times in the dark." before he hushed her.

"Hush, you'll wake Bella!" he returned, and the darkness faded as she brought a candle up in front of her that she lit against the heat of the hearth, and he felt grateful not having to stumble around. He cast a quick glance to the crib, listening for any disturbance but finding it quiet then made his way awkwardly to the bed where he discarded his boots and fell down on the soft mattress.

"Are you drunk?" she asked suddenly, and he looked at her.

"Maybe a little. Maester Adlyn gave me old wine." he told, and she stared at him.

"Odd medication to give for a sprained hand." she mentioned coming around to him, and he laughed.

"I don't argue with 'the healer'. If he gives you deathbell, you eat it." he said, and felt her hands on him to help release him of his breeches for the night, and then threw the sheets over him.

"What did the maester say about your hand?" she asked.

"He said it will be fine. But I won't be able to use it for a while." he reported, feeling the surges of ocean waves beneath him as he listened to her still busy with the sheets, and the world started to fade away.

"I see. In any instance, I don't believe you should strain yourself with training, yet. You and Raeghun have just returned, and you should give yourself the opportunity to settle down before conforming back to the usual routines. It's been months that you were away, you've had enough challenges for a while-" she stopped, straightening and stared at him drowning a laugh as she listened to the soft sounds coming from him. Then she turned and made her way to the crib, finding her daughter still asleep then returned to the bed to lay down, and brought the sheets over her before running her finger down his cheek and smiled. She leaned forward and placed her lips to his brow in a soft kiss.

"I love you." he stirred slightly, and she lay her head on the pillow falling asleep rather quickly only waking again to the grey haze that brought the dawn, but in the covers of a strangely unfamiliar thick mist for their location. Slowly she lifted herself up, and glanced around the room before standing and went to the crib again, where Bella still lay sleeping blissfully. _Well now, she slept through..._ She looked at the bed, her husband also still held in the grip of slumber, deciding that she might start tending to their morning while she was up, and they were both still fast asleep. She dressed in a flowing gown of dark blue and made her way to the kitchen through an eerily vacant hold still in the earliness of the morning, where Jeody was busy preparing pastry dough for their daily supply of crispels and some of his apprentices were busy cleaning and stocking the ovens. He looked up smiling as she came down the little steps, his hands not ceasing their activity.

"Good morning, lady Milla. What can I do for you?" he asked, returning his attention to the ball of dough in front of him.

"Good morning, Jeody. I'd like to discuss this morning's selection with you." she said and he nodded.

"Of course. Is lady Claira feeling unwell?" he asked, and she stared at him for a moment.

"No, I don't believe so. But as I'm here, I might as well tend to the house matters." she said, hoping that he did not notice the change in her, just yet. And then he shrugged.

"Al right. Anything in particular you want?" she put a moment's thought into it.

"I've considered savoury tartlets, filled with bacon, cheese, onions and mushrooms; along with eggs and bacon. Do we have enough fruit press?" he motioned to one of the store rooms to his left.

"Yes, twenty barrels of grape, apple, orange and berry were delivered earlier this week." he reported, and she nodded.

"Good. Thank you, Jeody. I'll tend to the hall a bit later this morning." she decided,

"You're welcome, my lady." he returned with a soft smile, and then she headed past them into the garden to choose the flowers for their tables. She wandered for a time, admiring the boundless colours; thinking of how blessed they were to have such a diverse selection here. Every type of flower she had ever imagined grew here in the garden of Mount Ardor, all except for the famous Winter Rose that was only found in the Glass Garden of Winterfell, and the Snow Refuge of Pale Haven. Remembering that today they would honour their fallen, she discarded the notion to pick out light colours for darker ones choosing wine-red calla lilies, to be complemented by smaller white blossoms for the long tables, and deep purple roses with the red edged carnations for the high table. She headed back to the hall with her selections to show the attendants what to bring to the hall, and found Berin in the arch of the door with Bella softly whining in his arms, and he smiled timidly.

"I think she's hungry." he mentioned, and she held her arms for her.

"I'm sorry for leaving you. I'll tend to her." she said as she took her and he laughed.

"It's al right. It seems we've slept in." he looked up, trying to see through the grey veil that surrounded them.

"But, I can't really tell." he added, and they headed back to their chamber after handing the flowers off to the serving girls to collect more for the tables, finding Falgon with still damp hair ascending the grand staircase on his way to his post at the doorway of the lord's wing subsequently to his own morning routine where they greeted him. He turned and bowed formally.

"Good morning, my lord and lady." his attention went to Berin.

"How is your hand feeling?" he asked, and Berin chuckled.

"It's al right. There's no pain." he told, and Falgon nodded.

"That is good." he commented smiling, and they continued their way up the stairs to the entry of the east wing.

"So I hope. But it will still be a while before I can do anything useful." Berin said,

"You will regain the use of your hand soon. You might even find it stronger than what it was before." he assured, and Berin took that in, and they paused at the doorway.

"We will meet again later." he greeted, again met by a formal bow.

"Will you please be so kind as to inform our lady that I have already tended to our morning meal?" Milla asked, holding Bella in her arms and gently rocking her.

"Of course, my lady." Falgon agreed before they parted ways and the sentinel proceeded up the incline taking his place beside the door, waiting with two handmaidens to assume their roles. Again he heard them giggle, but it was little more than the sound of the ocean rushes. A little while later, the lord of the hold stepped out, clothed entirely in black. The girls acknowledged him respectfully before entering, and then his attention came to Falgon.

"Good morning, ser." he greeted, sounding morose.

"Good morning, sire. I trust you had a pleasant evening." he returned in his normal manner.

"Thank you, my evening was better than what I expect for today." he took a deep breath.

"Many will come to pay tribute to our fallen. And I find myself at a loss for words..." he mentioned softly, but Falgon regarded him calmly.

"If I may, sire. Do not mull on the words, allow them to come to you. When you face your people, you will know exactly what to say." he eased, and Raeghun looked up at him.

"You truly believe that?" Falgon smiled.

"Of course. And so does all of your people." he stated, and could see the uneasiness leave him.

"How much comfort my people have found in you, ser. And I confess, so do I." he told, and then slowly started forward.

"My wife should be down soon. We will meet with you in the hall." he advised, and Falgon nodded resuming his vigil until the lady of the hold appeared through the door;

"Good morning, your grace." he greeted, and for a moment all he could do was to stare at her. Her husband's presence truly made her shine, even brighter than the stars. She hadn't resorted to black; her wide, long sleeved dress was a shade in either deep plum purple or dark indigo blue with silver detailing, and a pendant with a dark gem hung on a fine silver chain around her neck. Her hair was glistening in their contrasting colours, done elegantly in delicate swirls that hung down her back and over her shoulders, and there was a summer glow off her skin; her eyes glowing their enchanting rich frozen blue. He'd never seen anyone as enamouring.

"Falgon?" her voice broke his trance, and he noticed her staring back at him.

"Is everything al right?" he laughed softly, realizing how silly he must have seemed.

"Forgive my rudeness, your grace. You look especially beautiful today." he complimented, bringing a blush to her glowing skin.

"Thank you. I didn't do anything beyond the norm, though." she mentioned closing the door as he watched her. It wasn't something she did, or didn't do. This brightness, came from within.

"I've noticed the same with lady Milla, not too long ago." he mentioned, and she smiled.

"Really? When?" he thought back, still staring at her.

"Shortly before lady Bella was born." an uneasiness came over her.

"I see... Has she told you anything?" she asked, and he looked away from her.

"No, she has not. But even if she did, I would keep such things to myself." he replied, and her hands folded in front of her abdomen as his eyes returned to her, and the uneasiness faded as she softly smiled, her hands gently pressing against herself.

"Oh... Thank you then, ser." he turned to allow her to pass.

"Shall we start your day, your grace?" he asked, and she took a deep breath.

"Yes, we shall." she agreed and they made their way down to the kitchen, where Jeody was already busy with his request for the morning and the appetizing scent hung in the air.

"Good morning, my lady." Jeody greeted as he turned.

"Good morning, Jeody. I've come to discuss this morning's serving." she said, and he smiled.

"Lady Milla has already tended to that earlier this morning. There's no need to worry." he informed, and she shrugged after a moment.

"Very well. I should thank her then. Thank you, Jeody." she said with a soft smile.

"You're welcome, my lady. I suppose I will see you again later to discuss this evening." he replied, and she turned to head back to the southern hall to help tend to its preparation.

"Forgive me, lady Milla has asked that I inform you that she has tended to that. I seem to have been distracted." she looked back at Falgon, he seemed disappointed.

"It's al right." his eyes darkened suddenly.

"No. I should have told you." he was angry at himself, for not completing something as simple as relaying a message. She stepped closer to him, reaching out her hand.

"Falgon, it's al right. Really." the moment her fingertips touched his arm he flinched back, like he'd been stung.

"I'm sorry." he muttered, staring at the area where she touched him.

"Stop apologising. Are you feeling al right?" she asked, feeling concerned. Then he smiled as he looked back at her.

"Yes, I'm fine. Your hands are... cold." she laughed.

"Oh, yes I'm sorry for that. They always are." she looked down at her hands, feeling a moment of regret for what was paid for her life.

"Always, no matter what I do." but she managed to smile again as she looked up.

"The price for being the Lady of Frost." she joked bringing ease to them, and they proceeded to the feast hall where the serving girls were preparing the tables, all centred with the flowers Milla had chosen. It was a long and quiet day, by late noon the people from Mount Ardor's dominion started to assemble in the eastern fields for the tribute; and as the sun touched the rim of the world the people of the hold started their way to join them. Berin, Milla, Falgon and Metron joined Raeghun and Claira next to the great pyre that was built, each with a small wood staff in their hand and several stacks of this wood placed around the great pyre; and as sunlight left the world a deep quiet settled over the field and Raeghun stepped forward.

"Evening. Many have travelled far, and I thank you for coming." he started, his voice carried far over the field for everyone to hear.

"This has been a difficult time, for all of us. More so for you who stand here facing me tonight..." Claira regarded him, tall and proud but sorrow laced in his words.

"I cannot bring them back to you, and nothing will compensate for the sacrifice that your families have made." a pause followed, and her eyes went to the people in front of them, their faced drawn in sorrow and the sounds of crying sounding here and there while warm arms comforted one another. She moved forward, and gently placed her hand in his feeling the tiny tremor in his muscles; but then he glanced at her and softly smiled gratefully as his fingers tightened around hers before looking back at the faces in front of them.

"I grieve with all of you, for your fathers, your husbands, your sons and your brothers who stood by my side in the face of peril. So, let this not be a day of mourning, but a day of remembrance. And not remembrance for what we have lost, but remembrance for what we have been given. We will remember hope, and courage and trueness, we remember their valour, and their strength, and their will to protect what was precious to them." she listened to him, his words becoming brighter as he spoke so beautifully. To the little boy holding and his young mother's hand, his father and her husband became a hero as great as Durran, and to the tear stricken girl wrapped in the arm of an ailing father who could not join the war effort, her brother and his son became a knight as gallant as ser Arthur Dayne. And that those who did not return, did not leave this world with regrets, knowing their homes and their loved ones will be safe, and Claira wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Their bodies have been reclaimed by the earth, and they have found peace." Raeghun told as Berin brought a burning torch to him, and he took it in is right hand.

"We do not look down on their graves, but up to the stars where they run the skies, from where they keep their vigil over us still. Smiling as they wait patiently for us all to rejoin them one day, after we have seen the last days of the lives they have given back to us." he softly released his wife's hand and made his way to the pyre, more than twice as tall as he was.

"With the burning, we send to them our love, our hopes and dreams and wishes; and our promise that each time we see the glint of a star in our night, we will remember." he carefully shoved the torch between the logs so the straw and twigs inside would take light, and then dropped the wood into the centre of the pyre as it started to blaze.

"I will remember." he said softly, and looked at Claira. She nodded and moved forward, adding her staff to the pyre as it burnt.

"I will remember." she looked at him, and he subtly nodded in approval, then Berin followed with the same gesture before Milla, and Metron and all the rest of the people as each made their promise to remember, from where they retreated back to the grounds around Garde's Post where scores of fruits, nuts and ale was shared over memories. A young woman approached Raeghun, her eyes still red from tears but a smile on her thin lips.

"Thank you, m'lord. For your wonderful words." her hand rested on a slightly rounded stomach.

"My child will know of his father's bravery, and how he stood at the side of our lord." she told, and he returned a kind smile.

"Tell him, that his father saved our people, and our lands. That he brought me home." he added, and she stifled a soft cry.

"Thank you, m'lord." she bowed to him, and then left to join the rest of her family as Claira's hands slipped around his elbow.

"That was very kind, my love." she whispered, and his shoulders moved in a deep breath.

"Our people deserve so much more..." he returned softly,

"They have you. That is enough." her head rested against his arm, and they continued to share the comfort of their countrymen until late in the night when the pyre burnt out, the final embers floating away into the night air before all returned to their beds for the night where the Lord of Flame held his Lady of Frost in his arms in the calm of night, slowly succumbing to sleep after a late but comforting warm bath.

Claira woke to a bright sunrise, and a loving kiss to her cheek as her husband rose to start his day. It was rather cold, despite a clear horizon. She lingered a moment watching him stand and move to the dresser to choose out his apparel for the day, choosing grey woollen breeches, an ivory tunic and light leather jerkin, laying them on the bed to dress and not heading down for his normal morning bath as he'd tended to that the previous evening. _I have to tell him... I have to tell him today... But how?_ She stood, pulling her robe over her shoulders and slowly headed to the hearth to warm her cool skin from the flames that had just started to kindle again and placed her hands to her stomach, feeling the slight flutter stronger to her fingertips and she smiled as an idea came to mind. She glanced back, watching Raeghun fasten the threads of the breeches around his waist,

"Raeghun. Come here." she called to him softly, feeling her heartbeat intensify as he looked up at her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked discarding his current activity and making his way to her only in his breeches, and she looked back at the flames; still small but warm against her skin.

"No, nothing is wrong. Nothing at all." she assured, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of her heart against her ribs as his hands slid around her waist.

"Then what-" her right hand came up to the smooth skin of his cheek where his head rested on her shoulder, and she smiled through the burn of tears.

"Shhh... Feel your son." her left hand guided his down to her lower abdomen, pressing it securely to her skin. _Will you move for me? For us?_ And a soft surge tumbled against his hand, strong and distinctive. A pause followed, and for an instant she wondered if her husband was still breathing.

"My... My son..." his breath finally found her shoulder, warm and gentle and she turned to look at him. A paleness spread across his features as he stared at her, and she turned wondering if this was the right approach. But then saw the glint of tears in his eyes as colour returned to him, and he smiled broadly.

"Claira..." her name was little more than a breath as he looked down at her, her body not revealing what lay hidden in any way and pressed his hand firmly to her stomach again, something matching disbelief and overpowering joy dancing in his eyes.

"Really?" his bright smile refused to fade despite the emotions tearing away at him, and her hands came to his chest as she nodded, battling tears of her own. He laughed, and kissed her deeply before drawing back, and as he looked down again he dropped to his knees wrapping his arms around her sides and pressed his cheek to the skin of her abdomen, holding her tightly as he laughed. Her hand rested on his shoulder, feeling the heat come off him, then the other covered her mouth to stop the cries of the tears rolling down her face and her fingers registered the shuddering of his muscles as she noticed the sounds coming from her husband. He wept. She had never seen him cry before, never... For the first time in years, they decided to spend the day within the safety of their sanctuary, allowing the handmaidens to take the day for themselves and return to their duties the next day, as was allowed for her sentinel who stood at his post at the doorway awaiting the lady. Claira and Raeghun shared the wide divan in front of the hearth of the lord's hall where he held her in his arms.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, much calmer than what he had been earlier, and she looked up at him.

"You had a lot to tend to. I didn't want you distracted." she justified, and he smiled placing his lips to her brow.

"It would have been a severe distraction, I suppose." he agreed, and they shared a soft laugh before her head returned to his chest, listening to his powerful heartbeat and his arms softly tightened around her.

"I can't believe this..." he whispered, the only emotion left in his words the extreme happiness and she pressed her self closer.

"Neither could I, for the first few weeks. But it's true." she assured him, to an excited laugh. A soft knock at the door made her sit up, and then she glanced at him for approval for which he nodded.

"Enter." the door opened slowly, and Milla silently slipped inside before closing the door.

"Good morning, my lord and lady. My apologies for disturbing you." she excused, and Claira smiled warmly.

"You didn't disturb us, Milla. Won't you join us for a moment?" she invited, and Milla returned the smile as she came forward to claim a seat.

"Is everything al right?" she asked as she sat down on a chair next to the divan.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry for not tending to the kitchen this morning." Claira apologised, bringing a snigger from Milla.

"It's fine. I've tended to that, will you be joining us?" she passed a glance between them, and Raeghun smiled.

"Not this morning, I'm afraid. But we will resume our usual routine this evening." he decided, and she nodded.

"I will have servings brought to you here." she offered, and he nodded.

"Thank you, Milla. May I ask you to have our entire household join us in the feast hall tonight, and have Berin come and see me when he can." she smiled, realizing the intent.

"Of course. Shall I arrange this evening's banquet with Jeody as well?" she asked excitedly, and Claira blushed.

"If it's not too much trouble." she mentioned.

"Not at all, I'd love to. I'll return here after." she decided, and then stood to return to her duties.

"Thank you so much, Milla. What would I have done without you?" Claira breathed, glancing at her husband, still smiling and eyes glowing.

"I'm always here to help, Claira." she left the lord's wing, allowing them to share it in privacy as she headed down to the southern hall where the serving girls set the last of the feast ware, arranging that a tray with two servings be delivered to the lord and lady and giving instructions that the word be spread to all that their attendance was required at their evening feast. Then she left for the barracks to seek out Berin, finding him in counsel with ser Austinus with a report on the progress of their guards' training, and waited patiently for them to finish hearing that the training went well but might require some motivation for some of their younger members.

"Their motivation should be remaining part of this hold. If they want wealth and fame, they'll sooner seek it elsewhere." she heard Berin say, sounding rather annoyed and Austinus nodded.

"Very well, my lord. As you will." he agreed, and then moved away and Milla approached.

"Rough morning?" he looked back at her with a soft smile.

"Not really. Just trying to 'motivate' some members." he joked, and she nodded.

"Well, as soon as you're done with your 'motivation', lord Raeghun has requested your attendance." she informed, and he glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the Hall of Fire.

"Is something wrong?" and she smiled.

"Nothing you should worry about." she told, and he seemed to ease.

"Very well." he agreed, and she turned to tend to the rest of her duties.

"You can take Bella with you, if you want." she mentioned, and he thought on that. After finishing his business he sought out Mandeline who sat with Bella in her room, playing with her doll.

"I'll take my daughter for a while, I'm sure you have some things of your own to tend to." he mentioned, and she stood.

"That's not necessary, my lord." he raised his arms to her.

"Go on. I'll have you called when needed." he urged, and she thanked him before he left, on his way to the lord's wing and knocking on the door. A moment later, his friend's voice allowed him entry and he stepped through.

"You requested my attendance, my lord?" he asked, and Bella shrieked happily as her eyes came to Claira who stood and came to them as she reached for her.

"My little nymph." Claira took Bella in her arms, and planted a series of soft kisses to her cheek as she turned to spend some time with her and Raeghun greeted his friend.

"I did. Join me in the garden." they left the shadows of the hall for the cool, clear air of the lord's garden and settled on the marble basin of the fountain.

"I want the order given for all of our members to be present in the southern hall, for this evening's banquet; except for the necessary numbers to hold the gate." Raeghun instructed,

"Very well. Anything else?" Raeghun smiled.

"No, that's all... for now. I'll give the rest of the instructions this evening." he said, leaving Berin slightly flustered. It was odd to have the entire hold summoned to the hall, but he seemed happy enough so he left it at that.

"How's your hand?" he asked changing the subject, and Berin looked down.

"It's good. There hasn't been any severe pain, or other problems." he reported, and Raeghun smiled.

"Wonderful. I need to thank you, Berin. I can't imagine what would have happened if you weren't there with me." he said, casting a glance at the clear water.

"We took care of each other. You would have done the same." Berin replied, thinking back to the night when he struggled with fever and his friend sat awake at his side through the dark. But it was over, and they were home with better days in their future. They shared better conversation before his time came to leave the lord's wing to attend their morning in the feast hall and he retrieved Bella from Claira with the promise that they would reunite again soon. The members of their hold broke their fast on fresh fruit and sweet grain, with cheese and tomato bread rolls along with flamed sausages and tea, after which Milla tended to Bella's feeding while Berin saw to the requested alterations of their guard rounds, giving the order that those who remained assemble in the southern hall with the evening banquet before heading back for his daughter and Milla returned to her plan for the day. Berin decided to spend the rest of theirs in the garden. So, with Bella in his arms he walked through the halls, meeting Falgon emerging from the incline on his way back from the maester's tower, likely having returned some of the books he had borrowed.

"It's a peaceful day. Would you join us in the garden?" Berin asked as he turned towards him, and Falgon nodded.

"Of course. Days like these should be appreciated more often." he mentioned with a gentle smile, and they proceeded to the outside garden with all its rich colours and smells; and to the best of their efforts tried to teach the colours of the many different flowers to Bella as they day dragged on. By late noon, Bella was crawling on the grass, recently having found that she could as Berin sat watching her, urging her to come forward to him and rewarding her efforts handsomely each time she reached him and admiring her energy, and then allowing her to make her way back to his friend who sat on the other side. He looked up at the branches above them, dotted with beautiful white blossoms.

"Can I ask you to hold on to her for just a moment, I'll be back." he asked, and Falgon looked up as Bella reached him, hauling herself up against his leg.

"Certainly." then Berin stood and made his way around the tree while Falgon rose to his feet as well, bringing Bella up gently against his chest.

"Well, while he's busy..." he decided to see if any ships were crossing the horizon and followed the garden path to the back where the stone balustrade separated the castle from the Sunset Sea, and pointed to a shadow gliding over the water bringing her attention to it. They watched for a while as it crossed their view, and disappeared under an approaching sunset.

"You'll see this all the time, here. This place, your home is the most wondrous you'll ever know." he told her smiling, and her hands touched his face.

"Ata!" a sudden pain stung at him, as a dark and distant memory came back; one shrouded in a black hue and his hand took hers gently, and held it. _You will never meet their fate..._ He closed his eyes, forcing the memory and the bitter stab away as he claimed a deep breath; and then looked at her again. Happy in his arms.

"Let's go see what your father is up to." he suggested and headed back the way he came, finding Berin under the tree staring up.

"Troubles?" Falgon asked as they reached him, and he laughed.

"I wanted to pick a flower for her, but it's out of my reach." Falgon looked up at the many white blossoms.

"Which one?" he scanned them, and then Berin pointed at a large flower just above him.

"That one." it was pure white with large petals, seeming not to have suffered the wither of the storms. Falgon reached up, taking hold of the stem and snapped it before bringing it down and handing it to Bella who stared at the flower, her tiny hands holding the soft petals between her fingers.

"Thank you, that should keep her busy." Berin smiled, and then held out his hands to take her.

"If it's al right, I'd like to hold her just a little bit longer." Falgon asked softly, his eyes deep and nostalgic, and Berin's hands lowered.

"Sure." he watched them, how this great strong man changed.

"Oh yes, you had daughters." Berin recalled, and then mentally slapped himself. No, no that's not right.

"No, sisters." he corrected, and Falgon glanced at him.

"Yes, beautiful baby sisters. Fairer than the Targaryen queens." he told as he looked back at Bella against his chest.

"They were stolen from this world, too soon..." he breathed, and Berin felt his nerves melt. Suddenly his daughter shrieked, throwing her hands up and down excitedly before bringing the white petals to her face, and it brought them to laughter.

"I believe that was a 'thank you' to her favourite knight for her pretty flower." Berin teased, and then looking at the fiery sheen on the horizon of twilight he recalled his instructions from earlier.

"Lord Raeghun has asked that all members be present in the feast hall this evening." he informed, and Falgon acknowledged the request.

"Very well." they lingered in the garden a while longer, until the castle hands came out to light the torches and a serving girl met them to announce that the banquet will start soon, then they returned back into the hold, preparing themselves for whatever awaited them while Mandeline resumed Bella's care before making their way to the feast hall where the delightful smell of garlic roast game with creamed vegetables and pumpkin fritters hung in the air, and finding it much livelier than normal with numerous members from all orders of the castle. Before the Fervent Hearth, already seated at the high table the lord of the hold was garbed in the rich colours of his house, and by his side his lady was dressed in a beautiful wide sleeved gown of peacock blue silk with bright red lining, the neckline, sleeves, waistband and seams decorated richly with large silver embroidered lilies displaying bright red cores. Her throat, ears and brow adorned with silver, pearl and sapphire, and her hair held back with a jewelled pin from where it hung down the length of her back. Milla smiled with excitement from her seat, apparelled in her green wide sleeved court dress with a girdle of gold amulets, with her hair naturally framing her lovely face and then draping over her shoulders and down her back. Berin approached Raeghun who held a chalice of sweet mead in his hand to greet him, and wondered what further instructions he would give as mentioned this morning.

"Good evening, lord Raeghun." he looked up and smiled, his blue eyes brighter than normal.

"Good evening, Berin." he returned, not at all seeming vexed or anxious of anything.

"Is everything al right?" Berin asked, not being able to place the behaviour of his best friend tonight.

"Everything is fine, my friend." he assured, still smiling. Berin looked back, registering the many faces. The greatest part of the household's orders and their members waited here, assembled as requested, and Berin looked back at Raeghun.

"Everyone has been summoned to the hall as per your instruction... Has something happened?" he asked, feeling a bit strange and Raeghun replaced his chalice on the table.

"Yes. Something has." he told, and Berin felt something like the edge of a dagger up his spine. Then his friend looked at his wife, taking her hand that rested on the table.

"After all these many years, our wait has finally ended." he looked back smiling, his voice echoing off the walls as a silence took the hall and the only sound left was Bella's soft bubbling where she sat on Mandeline's knees. Berin stared at them, feeling both cold and warm, the sensation of prickles spreading across his body and his lips pulled up in a wide smile.

"Do you mean..." he started, not knowing how to finish as his eyes went to Claira and glimpsing her hand against her stomach as she glanced at Raeghun, gasping to stifle an elated utterance; and Raeghun's fingers tightened around her hand.

"Yes. My wife carries my son within her." he declared, and the once silent hall erupted into a joy that would shatter even the walls of Storm's End. Drunk on happiness, Berin rounded the table extending a hand to Raeghun, whom stood and took it mirthfully before Berin's free arm went around his shoulders and brought him closer in a powerful fond embrace.

"This is wonderful." he pulled back releasing his friend as Milla stood to follow, and more members rose to offer their praise, and turned his attention to Claira as he moved forward and placed his arms around her in another gentler embrace.

"Congratulations, my lady." he said softly, and felt her arms gently tighten around his shoulders.

"Thank you, Berin." he returned to his seat, soon joined by his wife while the high table received more visitors and he glanced at her.

"Did you know?" he asked, and she blushed in a nod.

"You could have told me." she took his hand in hers.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to ruin it." she excused, and he sat back laughing; not being able to ease the smile or douse the elation. After four years, this great house grew; and their promise would remain. Despite everything, their promise was kept. He looked at them both, again feeling warmer. _From the Ashes we Rise. Stronger we Rise..._


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14 – THE WOKEN

Falgon stood watching Berin in front of him, winded and holding a damaged sparring sword in his left hand under the shine of the sun. Two moons had passed since the night he was summoned to the maester's tower. His friend's hand healed very well, but the muscles were left weakened and rather immobile, being bound in the cotton and leather for several weeks; nonetheless he'd taken to retraining and it was going well despite the frustration.

"Come now, Berin. You can do better than that." Wymon teased from the circle around them, and the dark eyes cast him a quick glance. He enjoyed doing that, coaxing others into situations. Although being a likeable member of their hold, he had this way of souring the demeanour of others, albeit intentional or not and it might have been well believable why lady Claira had become annoyed with him on more than a single occasion.

"Hold your tongue!" Berin bit back at him before bringing his attention back to Falgon who stood facing him evenly with Summit in his right hand.

"You should rest. We've been going at this since dawn." He suggested, watching Berin force a smile.

"Are you getting tired?" he asked, making the tall sentinel scoff humorously.

"No. But you are." he indicated, evidence of the drawn forward posture and shoulders rapidly rising and falling. Suddenly, Wymon moved forward from the circle unsheathing his sword; taking up an opportunity not presented then lay his hand on Berin's shoulder.

"Go take a seat, let's show you how it's done." he teased again, but Berin grinned.

"You're going to regret this." he told, and Wymon laughed.

"Regret it? I'm going to enjoy it." then he turned towards Falgon, holding his sword out towards him.

"I've wanted to draw my blade against you for a while now." he declared, to the murmurs and flouts of those around them; the venom in his words not clear to all. But Falgon watched him with a confident smile.

"That might not be the best notion from you." he said while Wymon's grin faded.

"We'll have to see." he suggested preparing himself. For a moment, Falgon hoped that the boy was wearing armour underneath his leathers as Berin moved away, taking a space between the others and Wymon stood watching him; trying to anticipate what was not there for him to read. Without warning he shot forward in a lunge, parried effortlessly and sent away along with the weight of his body. He looked back, the tall sentinel was still exactly where he was not having moved an inch, still smiling at him.

"I may not be the best sparring partner for you." he mentioned, and Wymon turned.

"Who said anything about sparring?" he said softly, just enough for his opponent to hear the words; this was as clear a threat as any and Falgon's eyes sharpened, focused and intent on the menace and nothing else. Wymon shot forward, bringing the blade down over Falgon's shoulder and he countered sending the attack away yet again, to his opponent's frustration. But he laughed, bringing the sword around again.

"Are you afraid of me, ser?" he asked, trying to provoke the tall sentinel who only stood watching him.

"Of you? No. But it would be disappointing to get scolded." Falgon said, not in the least bit slighted.

"Oh, accidents happen. So unfortunate that some lead to dismissal, I have the deepest sympathy for ser Hernaut." Wymon told, and a bitter sting cut into Falgon's throat. _How dare you..._ Wymon sprang forward, seeing an opportunity and the blade cut down through the air, catching on Summit's cross guard.

"You have no right to speak of him. He gave everything, he would have died for his liege. And here you stand." Falgon said softly, and then Wymon grinned.

"Yes, here I stand. In front of you." he said, but the grin faded realising his blade would not move in any way; and saw the sharp eyes darken.

"Not for long." the air around them darkened, and he suddenly pushed him back, Wymon pitched falling on the ground.

"Either you finish it now, Wymon. Or I will." he told, laying the long glinting blade on his shoulder and Wymon stood, gripping the sword in his hand.

"You bastard!" he shot forward, bringing his sword up through an obvious opening. Too obvious he found too late, and the shimmering sword came down, clashing and cutting through the blade of the sword in his hand with tremendous force and sending him down; a swirl of dust floated around them where he knelt drenched in sweat and Summit cutting into his right shoulder through the armour, the sting of broken skin edging up his neck; and the edge of his sword fell in the dust several feet away. He looked up at the face above him, indifferent and emotionless as if nothing happened.

"That's enough for today." he decided, bringing the sword away and replacing it on his back as Wymon stood. He looked at the others, some faces in shock and others in fear; except for Berin who sat grinning at him and he knew what he was thinking. _I told you, you would regret this..._ He threw the broken sword down in anger, and walked away towards the guard's hall, dispersing the ring of watchers that had gathered. He paused at one of the long tables, breathing hard and a shadow approached him.

"Are you al right?" he turned to see Hilfert behind him with whom he'd become quite close friends since joining the guards of the burning mountain. He was short, but lean with short brown hair and dark grey-green eyes above a pinched nose and a narrow jaw.

"He caught me off guard, that's all." he said, and Hilfert glanced back.

"Caught you off guard?" Wymon turned to face him.

"If I had a better sword, I could have taken him down today." he said sourly, but Hilfert scoffed.

"You should have known better. Falgon is the best swordsman in the hold if not in this domain, everyone knows this." he told as Wymon looked away from him.

"Everyone says. If he's so good, why didn't he leave for the rebellion with the other soldiers? I've never seen him in a real fight-" he started to tell.

"I have. You'd rather want that man at your back, than in your face." Wymon looked up to see Berin in the light of the arch leading outside.

"He humiliated me." Wymon spat.

"Don't give others the blame for your mistakes." he moved forward,

"You're the one that challenged him." and shoved the broken pieces of the sword into Wymon's hands with a satisfied smile.

"You will have that reforged with Philpot; and do so from your own earnings." he instructed, and then turned as a serving girl entered to announce that the morning's serving will be brought out a little bit later than usual, but that they were welcome to wait in the southern hall. Then he cast the mortified sentinel a final glance before moving off with the rest of the hold making their way through the hall towards the southern hall. Falgon entered last, pausing a moment where he stared at his former opponent and Wymon examined him. The dark eyes taking in all of him, but again no pleasure, no contempt. There was nothing... Then he turned and followed the rest of the guards through the hall, deciding he might enquire with the maester on another book while the hold broke their fast. Breaking away from the flow to the feast hall, Berin approached him with an interesting smile.

"Falgon, why do you use the cross guard like that?" he asked as his eyes examined the sword protruding above his right shoulder before joining his walk to the grand staircase.

"There are two reasons for that. The first, is that it's an effective albeit learnt defence, should an attack come too close. But it takes years of practice, you must be both quick and precise. The second is that it brings your enemy into a final striking range; there's no need to waste energy on trading blows. You block the attack, and you end his life. If done correctly, there's no way that your attacker can retaliate from that position." Falgon explained, and Berin suddenly stopped turning towards him, taking hold of his shoulder.

"I want you to teach me, the way you learned." he said, and the tall sentinel seemed stunned for an instant.

"I can't." he finally replied, and disappointment sparked in the eyes of his friend.

"Why?" Falgon looked away, towards the figures standing on the third level watching over the hold.

"Because I don't know how to teach." he confessed.

"But you learned." Berin reminded, and heard Falgon laugh.

"Yes, I learned because it was driven into me like a nail into wood." he recalled the times, long days spent on nothing else from dawn until dusk.

"Good. Then teach me, the same way you learned." Berin urged again, and his eyes came back to him.

"It won't be easy, Berin." he warned, met with a confident smile.

"I don't care." he took a deep breath, having no alternate but to relent to the request.

"Al right. With the sire and her grace's permission, I'll need a few days for preparations." Berin's smile broadened, secretly pleased with his small victory.

"I could arrange that with them." he hinted, and then started making his way up the stairs to Raeghun who stood on the third level with Claira at his side dressed in an elegant wide sleeved green gown watching over the hall, taking in the faces of his hold, both old and new. Since the uprising, their numbers were left diminished and they were slowly replenishing their forces when they could. His eyes settled on the figures making their way up the stairs.

"These people, have made immense sacrifices for us..." he breathed, and his wife turned towards him taking his hands.

"You make sacrifices, for the people you love, Raeghun. These people love you, you're not just their liege lord, you're their protector, their friend, their brother," smiling, she pressed his right hand to her stomach to feel a tiny flutter.

"Even a father..." they shared a happy laugh as his left arm went around her waist and drew her gently closer. She hadn't started to show yet, but he was there. He could feel his son every night when he fell asleep with his hand against his wife's stomach, blissfully relishing the soft surges. Many had sought to bring their attention to the realism that the child may be a daughter, but Claira was certain that she carried a son, and so was he.

"Have you thought of a name?" he asked excitedly, having given her the freedom to choose one herself.

"Not yet. But I will soon. I was thinking of your father, though." she mentioned as his eyes met hers.

"Rychard?" she paused.

"You don't like it?" he chuckled, softly stroking his fingers over her.

"I do. But as far as I can recall, sons have never been given names identical to their forebears, to allow them their own identity. So they would not be compared to someone greater, or lesser than themselves." he told, and she made a mental note of that. It was a good notion.

"Who were you named for?" she asked curiously.

"My great grandfather, who was married to king Maekar Targaryen's daughter Daella." he smiled again.

"The last dragon in our family." he seemed to bring back a memory, albeit a far off and vague one.

"I never knew him. And my great grandmother died when I was very small. I have but one memory of her, from when I sat on her knee. She had the most beautiful eyes, like amethysts..." he trailed off as the memory faded away, and she wondered for a moment if their son would have eyes like that. Then his attention came back to her.

"But whatever you choose, it will be perfect." he leaned forward and placed his lips to hers in a sweet lingering kiss, to be broken by another small tumble as she laughed.

"Your father is allowed to kiss me." she told him off, without being able to dismiss the humour.

"I'll have to thank him for that. I might have received a slap." Claira looked back at Berin standing behind them, having no concept of how long he'd been lingering there.

"I mean for taking your attention. I'd like a moment to speak with Raeghun, if that's al right." she blushed, taking a small step back as they laughed again. This was a happy time, more than had been for a long time. Since the announcement was made that their greatest wish had become a reality and she was finally carrying a child of her own who would be heir to the burning mountain, the word spread like inferno throughout their lands and beyond, and they received many fond wishes from family as well as friends. Laughter and joy was as natural as the sunlight spilling through their windows each day and it was shared by all.

"Certainly, Berin. I should visit our infirmary in any case." she allowed, and Raeghun brought her hands to his mouth.

"Go on, we'll meet you again soon." he urged, and she moved slowly off to see their wounded before joining the rest of their people in the southern hall for their morning, finding her sentinel who had decided to wait for her at the top of the eastern stairway to accompany her down while Berin and Raeghun remained on the third level. Only after seeing to the wounded, they entered into the sweet smell of flowers, and the enticing scent of cook Jeody's kitchen finding Milla already hard at work having the hall prepared with Bella in her arms. A happy squeak from the baby made Milla turn, greeting them with her lovely smile.

"Good morning, lady Claira. Ser Falgon." she glanced at Bella, gurgling excitedly as her arms reached for the lady.

"Good morning, lady Milla." Claira smiled warmly as her hands came up to take the little one.

"And my little nymph." she brought Bella to her chest and held her in a loving hug before allowing her weight to rest on her hip as the small hands took hold of a lock of hair, swishing it about playfully.

"She's missed you." Milla mentioned.

"Oh, and I've missed her." Claira returned, planting another soft kiss on her cheek as she bubbled again, then looked at the lady's sentinel and reached for him as well.

"Apparently, you're not the only one, though." Milla hinted further,

"Good morning to you too, little Bluebell." Falgon smiled giving his hand freely. Bella took hold of his index finger and brought it to her mouth, and suddenly he started snickering.

"Seems you're feeling a bit shodden this morning." he joked before glancing at Milla.

"She's teething." he mentioned, and her face flashed white as mist.

"Bella! Don't chew on Falgon!" she moved forward, Claira having to share in his soft voice that became deep laughter.

"It's al right. I've had worse than this." he eased, and Milla placed a small white husk into Bella's hand, bringing it to her mouth hoping that she would exchange the sentinel's extremities for the shaft, which after a moment she did to her relief and she could reclaim her from her friend's hands.

"I'm so sorry, maester Adlyn gave her a coral staff but I'm afraid she doesn't favour it." she pardoned, bringing her attention to her daughter.

"You're being very rowdy today, so no sweetness for you." she scolded, being met with a disappointed mumble before Milla's attention came back to Claira.

"And how are you feeling?" she enquired, to a lovely smile as the lady's hands rested against a still flat abdomen.

"Good, I can say. There have not been any difficulties." she reported as she glanced down happily; and Milla smiled.

"Where is Mandeline?" Claira asked bringing her attention back to the people in their hall.

"You'll never guess." Milla giggled adjusting Bella's weight on her hip.

"She's in the garden with Gavin. He asked her to join him for a walk a little bit earlier, so she should rejoin us soon." she hinted, and Claira sniggered with her.

"Well, wonders are a common occurrence of late." she mentioned; the unbidden sentinel had taken an apparent liking to the nurse since she joined them, and spent more time with her. While they waited overseeing preparations of the hall, the tall sentinel took his leave to tend to the activity he had discarded. As the serving girls set the last of the feast ware on the tables, the ladies settled in at the high table sharing light conversation. The peace of their nights, the activities of their days, and all the emotions that came with it. A little while later their attention was drawn by the couple entering the great doors that led outside, where Gavin brought Mandeline's fingertips to his lips before leaving, and the nurse blushed merrily before coming over to them and the morning followed its routine like any other one. The lives of the hold assembled to break their fast before tending to matters and inspections, and the afternoon was spent with relaxing activities with the lords in the fields and the ladies passing time in Claira's common room where she again held Bella on her lap and Milla and Mandeline kept their hands busy with knitting and crochet. Mandeline examined the lady of the hold, despite not being able to rid herself of a strange nagging concern. She did not want to bring it up, but compared to other expectancies she was familiar with, Claira was tiny for the extent hers has reached. Once, a few days ago as she was returning to her room at night after being dismissed from her duties; she had to repress the urge to strike a girl whispering in the hallway, sharing with others that cared to listen, her scepticism that the lady was with child; or then in the instance that she was, and was not showing as yet, whom was the father of her child? But, instead of corrupting the halls, she resorted to reprimanding the girl and her listeners, demanding that they keep whatever ridiculously ludicrous thoughts they had to themselves lest they wanted the wrath of the mountain on them. She hadn't heard anything since then, and hoped no one else did, either. All the same, she confessed it was concerning; and if anything could be wrong she had to address it, however hard it may be... But how? How to do that without breaking the glowing spirit whom waited so long for this gift? And she bit her tongue as she breathed in deeply, wondering what to say.

"You must be very excited, lady Claira. With your son's birth so close..." she started, not being able to think of anything else; and she looked up.

"Yes, just a few more months." she agreed, and Mandeline's heart broke.

"I suppose he will be a tiny baby, with you being so small at this time. All other mothers I knew were great with child by this point." she pointed out, hating herself as she witnessed the smile slowly fade and the lady's hand rest against herself.

"I suppose he's a little bit... small... But he's there... I can feel him..." she mentioned, seeming to recall others she had seen. _A little bit?_

"That is good. Has the maester said anything?" Claira glanced out the window.

"I haven't seen him in a while..." her hope was suddenly fading, and Mandeline wished she could hit herself for doing this. For dimming her light, and saw Milla staring at her.

"Perhaps you should, just to ensure that everything is fine." she suggested, and Claira nodded.

"Al right. I'll go see him." she agreed, trying to hide the sudden anxiety that struck her like a wave.

"I'd be happy to take Bella for a while, if you wish?" she suggested as she stood, hoping that the lady would rather not delay her visit to the maester and held out her arms. Claira stood, giving Bella to Mandeline and left the common room in silence as the nurse retook her seat with Milla still staring at her.

"Where did that come from?" she suddenly asked, the tones of shock and confusion sounding like chimes.

"I'm sorry, Milla. I didn't mean to upset her, I'm just a bit worried. And I might not be from here, but I've grown to love these people." she sighed, bringing her attention to Bella on her knees.

"In the year before I started service at Citrine Arch as your watcher, we served in the Vale where my mother was a nurse in Heart's Home for lord and lady Corbray. I knew a young woman there who received a child, but she didn't show because the baby didn't grow..." she thought back to that time as Milla listened.

"What happened?" she asked softly, and her chest stung with sorrow.

"She lost her baby..." she said softly, a tear leaving a glinting trail down her cheek as Milla sat back against the chair, realizing her fears.

"That's why you told her, to go see him?" Mandeline's eyes met hers.

"Yes. Just to know that she won't see the same heartache as that girl..."

Claira hurried up the narrow winding steps to the maester's tower, hoping to find him and hoping that the sudden fear that took hold of her was irrelevant. Stepping through the door she paused, relieved that she saw him sitting at his desk, going through old scrolls deciding which might need to be transcribed.

"Maester Adlyn?" he looked up, smiling warmly and then stood to meet her.

"Come in, my lady. Come in. What may I do for you?" he invited her to the chairs in front of his little hearth, she stepped closer but remained standing as she held her stomach and the reality of how petite she was sank deeper.

"Maester, I'm worried." she confessed, and he sat down to listen with undivided attention.

"About what, my lady?" his deep brown eyes regarded her intently, and she looked down at her arms around herself.

"My baby... I'm afraid he's not growing..." she said softly, and the maester studied her. Taking in her still remarkably slim frame.

"Well, you are rather small, my lady." he commented, once again trying not to unnerve her, but the threads snapped one by one as the anxiety dug its way deeper into her mind.

"Small? I have no stomach. What if something is wrong? What if I lose him? How could I ever..." she covered her face to stop the cries, and he stood moving forward and wrapping his arms around her, comforting as she shuddered against him and stroking the length of her back to calm the stricken muscles.

"It's al right, it's al right." he soothed, and she forced several deep breaths into her chest, bringing with it his scent of herbs.

"Can you still feel him?" he asked softly, and she stood silently waiting for the soft motion, so clear against her skin.

"Yes." she breathed finally through a soft smile, and he pulled back away from her.

"Then there is no reason for concern. As long as you can feel him and there is no pain, he is fine. I'm sure he will grow, just give it some time." he advised, and she wiped the warmth from her face.

"But maester, this-" she started, and he brought his hand up to silence her.

"Not everyone's child-bearings are the same, Claira. Yes, most mothers are great with child by this time, and it's not common for a mother to carry as small as you, but it has happened." he told, and she found a bit of relief.

"And the children?" she couldn't stop herself from asking, and he smiled.

"Born healthy and strong. But I will tell you what is not healthy, for either of you." he continued, taking her hands in his.

"Being in any amount of distress, even if it's just thoughts. Do not reflect on anything that could or might happen, that's why I am here. Leave the concerns to me, you should enjoy this time." he advised, and her fingers tightened in his.

"Thank you, maester." she smiled once again, calmer than before as the flush left her cheeks.

"Good. Was there anything else, my lady?" he asked as he accompanied her back to the doorway.

"No. But if there are any changes, I'll come see you." she promised, and returned to her common room where the first eyes that met hers, were those of the nurse.

"Have you seen your maester?" she asked, not entirely veiling the uneasiness in her voice; but she smiled.

"I have. He has assured me that everything is in order." she watched the obvious relief wash over her, and approached her.

"Thank you, Mandeline. For your concern, and for sending me to see him. I'll make a point of it to do so more often now." she ensured.

"You are most welcome, my lady. But, I hope you did not find my insistence unmannerly." Mandeline apologised, watching as Claira moved away to retake her seat.

"Of course not. That's what families do." a warmth spread through her as elation melted her heart. In all her years at the different holds, she had only been seen as a servant and nothing else. There to perform her duty, with nothing less expected and nothing more given. She'd never been in a place like this, never felt a joy as overwhelming as here. Never been part of a family larger than herself, her mother and her father. But here, she wanted to stay. Day seeped into night, and the hold gathered in the southern hall to share the evening feast of smoked ham, garlic stuffed mushrooms, creamed chard, fresh tomatoes and custard tarts after which they retired to their chambers for the night and Raeghun sat on the bed awaiting his wife to return from her bath. Shortly after, she entered their chamber dressed in a soft lavender gown, and he smiled as she approached him.

"You are so beautiful." he complimented as he stood, taking her hands in his.

"You've been telling me that a lot, lately." she teased as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her.

"Well, it's true. No one will ever deny it." he moved forward and kissed her as her arms wound around his neck to share his warmth, and his arms tightened gently to press her against him. A soft tremor broke the union of their lips in a laugh, and Raeghun looked down.

"You'll have to do better than that to keep me from my wife, little one." he encouraged, and her hand went to her stomach.

"Oh, he'll be able to beat the stuffing out of anyone, one day." she predicted, the vision of a man much like his father entering her thoughts. Black haired, blue eyed, strong and brave and proud.

"He'll be able to do more than that, with the right training." Raeghun's hand rested on hers, and once again he pulled her closer and placed his lips to her brow.

"Which reminds me, there is a small matter I need to discuss with you." he led her back to the bed where they sat down.

"It concerns Falgon." he pointed out, and she stared at him.

"What about him? Is he in trouble?" she asked, and he laughed.

"No, you know him better than that. Berin has asked him to help retrain his sword hand, so they might not be on the grounds for a while. But, since Falgon is your sentinel, they'd need your consent." he explained, and she sat back glancing away from him; bringing into her mind the words he had told her... _I belong to you..._

"But Raeghun, you are the lord of this hold. Permissions are to be granted by you." she reminded him, to a small shrug.

"I told Berin that I do not believe there would be any problems with that as we've seen peaceful days, but Falgon won't leave Mount Ardor's grounds without our permission; or maybe more specifically, yours." he further told.

"How long?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. He mentioned that he would require several days for preparations, whether that is here or elsewhere he didn't say. And then further to that, every second day or so, at least for the training itself." she found herself battling with it, not enjoying the idea that her most trusted and calming protector would be absent from her side, let alone the castle grounds.

"And your plans?" she looked back at him.

"I'm not going anywhere." he assured, and she smiled with a gentle nod.

"Then, I give my consent. Falgon can help Berin with his training." she agreed, and he brought her hands to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"Thank you. I'll give them your permission by morning." he decided, and they took their places for the night, only surrendering to sleep some time later, still appreciative for the opportunity to enjoy each other, and rising again with the pink sheen of dawn. Having received approval to leave the castle grounds, the tallest of the Sentinels was seen riding through the portcullis on his bay stallion with the sunrise following the promise to return by the fourth day and was not seen again, his absence left a considerable emptiness throughout the halls of the hold, along with a subtle sullen atmosphere over some. Gavin had been appointed to the lady's company for the time being which seemed promising, hoping that his cheer might lift the air. And then to the elation of the castle and all in and round it – and as if to prove a point, Claira's abdomen started to swell quite suddenly to the point that the maester advised her to apply sage oil to her skin multiple times during the days to avoid any damage this sudden growth may cause, and a small but visible curve over her stomach could be seen. It was past noon one overcast day, Hilfert stood in front of the hearth of the guard's hall, wondering on the circumstances. The castle was peaceful, but the noticeable sadness of the lady of the hold during the past four days brought to mind the whisper he'd heard in the hallway not too long ago. A set of footsteps drew his attention to the grey haired figure who came to his side.

"You've been quiet." Hilfert mentioned, watching Wymon sigh as he stared at the flames.

"Mount Ardor is quiet. But it's a good quiet, I suppose." he agreed, and Hilfert's eyes went back to the flames.

"Despite the good fortune, lady Claira seems somewhat unhappy." he hinted, receiving a flout.

"She's not the only one, I'm sure." Wymon told.

"It's not the others that worry me. She misses him, and I'm just wondering-" he started, and the stare of the man next to him met Hilfert's.

"About what?" he asked suddenly, almost harshly and Hilfert turned towards him, recalling a few nights that he saw the glint of black marble in the halls followed by a dark mass.

"About who the father of the heir truly is." he said softly, and the face he stared at hardened.

"That will never happen." Wymon told, having to admit that even though he was covetous he knew Falgon well enough to bet his life on the belief that he would never betray Raeghun, much less Claira. But chose, for the time being, to keep his greater admiration for one of their foremost members to himself.

"I thought you didn't like him." Hilfert indicated, having listened to several outbursts of ranting on the faults he found.

"I don't. But by entertaining these thoughts, you're not tarnishing the honour of a man that has none, only hers." Wymon told, and his friend looked away in disgrace.

"That is true..." he stared at the flames, feeling like a fool even for listening to the admittedly absurd tale. Yes, she enjoyed him, favoured him, admired him, perhaps even idolised him. But she would never allow a degree of intimacy; and whenever he was with her he would not touch her unless it was necessary, but would simply follow to keep watch over her. There was a tranquillity to him that was rare in men of power, and it was his presence she relished, nothing else. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked back to the eyes staring at him with a wry smile.

"Good. And if you ever think that of my lady again, I will have you served to maester Adlyn as raven feed." he promised, not noticing the great grinning mass moving through the Hall of Fire behind them, towards the small group slowly making their way up the stairways, and the sound of the heavy footsteps echoed through the hall as he walked forward. The past few days have been tiresome, but he was happy to have returned. Moving up the grand staircase Falgon looked up, taking in the ladies on the second level, and settled on the figure in glinting blue silk with her hair held back in braids, from where the strands hung freely down the length of her back, and seeing her again left the sensation of butterflies fluttering across his shoulders. Milla turned, the sparkling orange velvet hugging her body glowing in the hearth light, noticing him she smiled and reached for Claira's elbow, and he paused on the steps.

"Greetings, my ladies. Your grace." she turned, her frost blue eyes glowing and her smile bright; his heart skipped a beat. She was still as beautiful as ever, if not more.

"Welcome home, Falgon." She welcomed him, and a soft warmth spread through him. _Home..._ Then he noticed the gentle curve over her stomach, and he smiled.

"Thank you, your grace. It is good, that the little one has decided to make his presence known." he indicated, and Claira looked down resting her hands on the small swell.

"It was quite sudden, but it is wonderful." she agreed with a blush.

"It is good to see you, ser. You might find Berin in the stables, he is in the lord's company." Milla advised, and Falgon nodded.

"Thank you. I may speak with him this evening, as we won't return to the training grounds today." he decided, bringing his attention back to the blue eyes still watching him.

"When will you?" she asked, sounding near to fearful.

"With your permission, with the morning if I am not needed, your grace. Training will start at dawn, and end with sunset every second day, in the event I am not required at your side." he told, and she nodded, and then sighed.

"You should go and rest, I'm sure you're tired." she allowed, and he took a step forward.

"If it please you, I will retake my place in your company. I have not played for you in a while." he offered with a gentle smile, seeing his queen shine brighter for just an instant.

"I would like that..." she said softly, and he proceeded to follow them to her common room where he assumed his place against the wall, and took the lute in his hands, summoning from its strings another soothing melody which enveloped them entirely as they sat listening while they continued their embroidery and knitting and Bella played happily on Mandeline's lap until the sky grew dark and they were informed that cook Jeody's feast would be served soon, and they made their way down to the southern hall where they enjoyed one another's company along with berry press, chicken roasts with potatoes, broccoli and cauliflower with cheese strips and carrots, and finally apple pie; all in the whims of a jester's entertainment before deciding to have the hall cleared and return to their beds for the night. As Claira returned to the lord's wing on the arm of her husband, Falgon met Berin at the base of the grand staircase to inform him of their planned training schedule, and then returned to the guard's hall for the night. Rounding the arch, he met the light grey eyes of Wymon. A short pause followed as they stared at each other, the dark outweighing the light and a mixture of respect and dislike alternated in the flashes of light; but then Falgon smiled.

"Thank you, for what you've done." he said, and in the instant after the obvious emotions were replaced with confusion he looked away.

"I didn't do it for you." Wymon countered, wanting to hide his thoughts.

"I know. So, thank you." he said again, and the light eyes went back to him. To the tall mass that was so daunting, but had not a single shred of thought for himself. And rather than wanting what he had achieved in so little time, he wished to be more like the tall warrior.

"We are both her sentinels, her honour and welfare must be our first if not our only priority." Wymon determined, and Falgon nodded.

"Of course. And I am sure we will have no difficulties concerning that." he agreed, and Wymon could smile.

"No. No I believe there will not be. Good night, ser Falgon." he greeted, and started to move past the great sentinel.

"Sleep well, Wymon." they haven't shared a conversation like this in a long time, and he returned to his bed at ease and with peace while Falgon reclaimed his place in front of the hearth, the books he had borrowed from maester Adlyn still exactly as he had left it; and he settled in to enjoy the quiet of night.

With the early morning, Berin made his way quickly down the stairways after greeting his wife and daughter, still lingering peacefully in their chamber. Despite being tired from a rather fretful night, he felt excited for what waited. He imagined the different things he might be doing, recalling that Falgon mentioned his father using logs tied to trees once, and wondered if that would be one of his trials. He emerged into the crisp air of morning, the light pink of dawn on the horizon far off in the distance, and saw his friend already mounted and waiting on him.

"Am I late?" he asked hurrying down the steps to retrieve his own horse.

"No. I suppose I am early." Falgon answered, and Berin laughed.

"Good, I was afraid I slept in. I'll just be a moment longer." he said as he passed to the stables, making his way down to the stall with his dun mare where he brushed out the pelt and saddled his steed before leading her out and mounting. He took a place next to his friend, who handed a leather saddle bag to him stocked with hard cheese, salted pork and fresh fruit.

"Your rations for the day." he told, and Berin reached back to place the bags behind the saddle.

"Are you ready?" his friend asked, taking up the leather reins in his hands and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

"Yes. We can go." Berin agreed, and then followed through under the gatehouse over the bridge, passing to an easy canter down the road past the village of Garde's Post, tailing the path for nearly a league and a half before turning west for another two into a wooded area, slowing to a steady walk through the trees. Berin decided to claim an apple from the saddle bag, taking several bites as he shadowed Falgon through the brush; and then finally stopped on the border of a vast clearing and he stared in amazement, the sweet sourness in his mouth forgotten. He watched as his friend dismounted, and left his horse to graze on the lush green grass between the trees. After another moment, forcing the mash of apple down his throat, he dismounted and trudged after the tall mass not being able to draw his attention away from the field.

"What is this?" he asked, taking in all the different objects and Falgon turned to face him.

"Your training grounds." he told with a gentle smile, and Berin thought he might have asked for more than he could imagine.

"This?" it was as amazing as it was frightening, and heard Falgon laugh.

"You said you wanted to learn the way I did." he reminded, and then Berin's eyes went to his.

"I did, but I didn't imagine anything like this." he confessed, again examining the grounds. Several logs hung at angles from high branches, tied with thick ropes. A gauntlet with angled shafts created a maze that would require complicated movements, and yet another several logs hung from the branches above it. A series of long posts stretched out to their right, and several other daunting obstacles he would need to face at some time or another, and heard his friend laugh again.

"I might confess I'm being merciful. I didn't sharpen the shafts like my father used to." he said, and Berin felt the singe of remorse.

"He was that hard on you..." he breathed, and saw the powerful shoulders rise slightly in a shrug.

"He wanted the best for us." he said as Berin's eyes went over the grounds once more.

"By the way, you never told me what lady Claira asked that night before we left." he recalled, followed by a short pause.

"It's not really important, Berin. You and lord Raeghun are both safely home." he said, trying to cast it off but the head of their order scoffed.

"Not important? You expect me to believe that something irrelevant would have had her crying?" he asked, almost challenging him for an answer, and then Falgon sighed.

"She asked me to exchange positions with you, that's all. To enter battle with the liege while you temporarily assumed the role of her sentinel." he revealed, seeing Berin stare at him.

"And you told her, no?" he asked, finding it unusual that he would turn down a request from their lady.

"I told her, that I didn't have the freedom to choose at whose side I stood. Had the liege assigned me to his company, that was where I would be. But he assigned me to her, and did so for a reason. A reason I will not question or challenge again." he explained, bringing back to mind the day that he was summoned to the Hollow; and Berin laughed.

"Fuck, you're solid. Are you even human?" he teased, and Falgon smiled.

"I am as human as you are, Berin. But perhaps not as negotiable." he replied, turning and moving forward towards the grounds.

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder and the green eyes glinted above a broad smile.

"I'll give it my best." he promised, and then moved forward to start his training.

By late noon, Milla accompanied Claira to maester Adlyn's tower for another of her promised visits to him. He examined her by once again taking her pulse, her temperature, and gently feeling the curve of her stomach while asking his questions on any pain or sudden changes, apart from the growth and if she still applied the oil he gave each day, or if she required more. Milla had decided to try and help in proposing a name for the heir to Mount Ardor, as Claira hadn't decided on one yet. And perhaps, in suggesting names it might prompt her choice in something; but it would be preferable to have names that coincided with the Taugere line, and suffice it to say that Milla was not too familiar with the house history going further back than Raeghun's father whom she had heard of. She watched as their maester laughed, bringing his hands away from Claira.

"He's growing fast, and already very strong." he mentioned as his attention went to the table next to him, and folded his leather sphere to store it away.

"It is very good to hear that." Claira said, resting her hands lovingly against her stomach.

"Are you still experiencing uneasiness in the mornings, my lady?" the maester asked as he stood, and held his hand to help her up.

"Not at the moment, thank you maester." she eased, taking his hand and carefully coming to her feet as the maester nodded.

"Good. You may experience swelling to your hands and feet as well. I'd like to suggest milder waters during your baths, and if his lordship has the time for it, to gently massage any uncomfortable areas." he told, and she nodded making a mental note.

"Thank you, maester. I will see you again in a few days, as promised." she said, and turned to Milla.

"Is there anything you need?" she asked, and Milla smiled.

"No, I'm fine. We can go back to the common room, if you want. There are some more things to discuss." she allowed, and Claira smiled.

"Very well." then she turned back to the maester at her side.

"Good day to you, maester." she greeted him, and he returned a small bow.

"And to you, my dear lady." he said smiling, and they started back to the arch leading back down the tower.

"Be careful down the steps." Milla cautioned as her friend slowly started moving down, her hand against the wall for support.

"I will." her voice came back as Milla watched her, and then turned back to the maester with a fascinated smile.

"Maester Adlyn, does the Taugere family have a ledger?" she asked, and he glanced at a very thick tome held on the top shelf of one of his bookcases.

"Of course, my lady." she turned towards him slightly, with her request.

"If you have the time for it, won't you see if you might find some interesting names for us, please?" she asked, and he smiled with yet another small bow.

"Yes my lady, of course." he agreed, meeting her beautiful smile.

"Thank you, maester." she thanked him excitedly, and then flitted down the steps to rejoin their company in Claira's common room where they would further discuss their thoughts and plans for the following days or weeks. Maester Adlyn looked around his tower, all his chores already having been taken care of. Then moved to the bookcase and brought the great leather-bound tome down from the top shelf, blowing on the surface to release a thin layer of dust from it. Apart from being slightly dirty, the tome was in fine condition of strong black leather with the house sigil worked in gold on the surface. He carefully brought it to his table and lay it down, opening the book to the last page that was written, the final inscription that he had made over four years ago, reaching back over the centuries of their line.

 _Raeghun Taugere, married to Claira of house Tormont;_ _brother to Maryne_ _-_ _deceased, Babieca married to Jarron Stowren, Mae married to Cladus Hightower;_ _and_ _the_ _only son and heir of_ _Rychard Taugere._

 _Rychard Taugere_ _married to Madryde_ _of house_ _Redwyne;_ _brother to Vicon – deceased,_ _and Raeda married to Thoras Baratheon;_ _and_ _is the_ _eldest son and heir of_ _Varin Taugere._

 _Varin Taugere_ _married to Madelyne_ _of house_ _Karstark;_ _brother to Babyra married to Tyrone Lannister,_ _and_ _is the_ _only son and heir of_ _Vaeghun Taugere._

 _Vaeghun Taugere_ _married to Daella_ _of house_ _Targaryen;_ _brother to Varion – stillborn, Malianne married to Eidemar Tully,_ _and_ _is the_ _son and heir of_ _Rhemard Taugere._

 _Rhemard Taugere_ _married to Estme_ _of house_ _Bolton..._

 _ **The King and the Princess**_

It was a lovely, clear morning when princess Dowsabel Taugere stood in her room, regarding herself in the mirror as her handmaiden Jada smoothed down the soft purple silk hugging her body. The princess smiled, adoring the young woman next to her who was also her close friend. Jada was a well spoken girl of nineteen, that grew up in this castle as the daughter of her mother's court maiden. And this was the day they would start a four week journey in the company of her father, the Ardent King and their Sentinels to the lush green of Highgarden along with her two older sisters to be presented as potential matches to the heir of the Reach. At sixteen, it was exciting that she would have the chance to see more of this world; she never went beyond the woodlands visible from the sun tower of Mount Ardor, but did not think it likely that she would be chosen as a bride. She was the youngest, separated by several years from her sisters Necasia of twenty one and Jessamine of twenty two; and of course oldest brother Rhedan of twenty four whom not long ago married to lady Arlena from her father's first bannerman, house Foch. She loved her siblings, but was seen by her sisters as the odd one, not sharing a love for dancing or embroidery like they did, but rather spent the time she could in the fields on horseback with her brother, and his wife when she could.

"You look so beautiful, your elegance." Jada said, fastening a close fitting string of pearls around her neck as Dowsabel smiled.

"Thank you, Jada. I wonder what it would be like." she said excitedly, glancing out the window.

"Oh, much the same as it is here, I'm sure." the handmaiden said, styling her long black hair over her shoulders and down her back.

"You don't think they will choose me, do you?" she asked, bringing her bright blue eyes to the handmaiden next to her.

"Why shouldn't they? You're just as beautiful and smart and talented as your sisters." Jada asked, fixing a lock of hair over Dowsabel's shoulder.

"They say I lack refinement." she joked, and then heard Jada laugh as her hands rested on her arms.

"Well, your elegance. You might not float like they do, but there is something you have that I've not seen in them." she mentioned softly, and Dowsabel brought her attention back curiously.

"And what is that?" she asked, seeing her friend smile.

"A spirit for freedom." she whispered, and they shared a soft laugh. Then a shadow darkened the doorway, and the face of her father appeared immediately drawing their attention.

"Are you ready to go, Bel?" he asked, and she smiled as she regarded him. He was a tall powerful man whom had seen just over fifty years of this world, with dark grey hair which once rivalled the deepest black touching his shoulders and a full grey beard over the features of a strong regal face, and bright burning blue eyes.

"Yes, Father." she turned, ensuring that all was in place and he smiled.

"Good." then he looked at Jada next to her.

"Jada, make sure that my daughter's gold dress is packed for the presentation." he instructed, and she issued a formal curtsy.

"I have packed it this morning, majesty. Everything is in order." she assured, and he nodded.

"And your effects?" he asked, and she glanced at Dowsabel.

"Already on the back of the cart with the others, majesty." she advised.

"Very well. Then hurry down, it's time to leave." he told as he turned, the last glimpse of him the glint of the black feathered cloak hanging from his shoulders and trailing behind him, the famed artefact that gave him the alias "Blackwing". She remembered, that not too long ago he and their brother rode to battle with king Theon Stark, who was known through the lands as 'The Hungry Wolf'; months later they returned having left the heads of their invaders along the shoreline as a warning. But they came home, and that was all she cared about. Dowsabel looked at Jada, her smile brightening in excitement.

"Well, shall we go?" she asked, trying to resist the drawing urge to rush down to the waiting party.

"Certainly." the handmaiden agreed, and they started forward, exiting the chamber and heading down the steps through the lord's hall. They departed the lord's wing, finding Dowsabel's sentinel awaiting them at the doorway.

"Good morning, my princess. And dame Jada." he greeted with a graceful bow as Jada closed the door behind them.

"Good morning, Aeron." Dowsabel returned, and he smiled.

"You look lovely this morning." he complimented, and she blushed.

"Thank you. You tell me that every morning." she reminded. He too, was one of the members of their hold whom she adored the most. Fair haired, clear grey eyes, and handsome even in his thirties with a square jaw and high, characterized cheekbones, Aeron Flare was the bastard son of her father's bannerman lord Ermadus Rames, whom chose to live his life here in service of the king and his family.

"It's true of course, my princess." He held his arm to escort her down to the waiting company, and her fingers slipped comfortably around his elbow.

"You tell me that every day, as well." she teased.

"Good. Then you will never forget it." they took the hallways down and descended the eastern stairway before moving past the great hearth and further down the grand staircase and through the Hall of Fire towards the doors. They emerged into the light of the morning, where a four horse drawn wheelhouse stood waiting at the base of the stairs surrounded by their company of sentinels, hands and a few additional guards, and another cart harnessed to a brown gelding waited nearby; and her mother queen Dynamene Taugere who was a beautiful lean woman with full lips, long gold hair, emerald green eyes, and a soft heart shaped face, along with her brother the prince and his wife was seeing off her sisters as they prepared to enter the cabin. She breathed in the cool air of morning before continuing down the steps, and joined her family. Queen Dynamene embraced her daughters each in turn, with soft words of encouragement before Rhedan did the same and they entered the shadow of the wheelhouse; and then it was her. Her mother's arms went around her and held her for a moment.

"Be sincere, and be proud." she said and then drew away.

"You are a Taugere, Dowsabel. Always show it." she told, and the princess nodded. The queen was a proud woman, who taught her daughters to be equally proud, as it was their duty to represent their noble line. Nothing less was acceptable. Then she turned to her brother, and he embraced her as well.

"We'll see you when you return in two moons." he said softly, his arms gently tightening around her. He had the same stern face, black hair and burning blue eyes as their father.

"Don't go riding without me." she teased and he laughed.

"I wouldn't dare." he released her, and she greeted Arlena who was great with child in the same way.

"And when you come home, a new little prince or princess will welcome you." she said excitedly, and Dowsabel laughed. Arlena was a comely woman with long ash blonde hair, and soft blue eyes.

"I can't wait." she said, gently stroking her hand over the curve of the young mother's stomach, and then her brother helped her inside the wheelhouse where she took a seat next to Necasia between the seat pillows. It was spacious, and soft cushions kept them comfortable on the wood seats, five small windows allowed light and air to enter, small shelves held some items they might need and a small basket with embroidery and knitting to busy their hands during the days' travel stood in the corner in front of the seat. A moment later Jada and another handmaiden joined them in the wheelhouse, and took their places on the seats as Dowsabel glanced through the little door, seeing their father come up beside the wheelhouse, mounted on his enormous dapple grey warhorse before the door was closed and secured shut and her heart started to race.

"Don't look so scared, Bel." her attention came back to Necasia next to her, dressed in elegant green and her black hair done up in a swirl against her head.

"I'm not scared, I'm excited." she said with a soft smile.

"You should feel honoured." it came from Jessamine across from them, and the blue eyes met. The eldest and most poised of the sisters, she was dressed in ocean blue, and her hair done attractively against the nape of her neck.

"We will be presented to the heir of Highgarden, whomever they choose will be the next queen of the Reach." she told, and Dowsabel still believed that her sister would be most preferred.

"I'm sure they will choose you, Jessamine." she said, and saw her sister smile.

"Thank you for being so positive, Bel. But I've heard that men often prefer younger brides." her heart sank like a stone into a pit of water, and she looked out the window.

"Whatever happens, we will face it." she breathed, and the wheelhouse started to move, slowly rocking as it ambled forward and left the outer bailey under the gatehouse, across the bridge and down the road towards the south, passing by a small farm with a well, a forge and stable that tended to the guard's post on their long journey. And so the days and weeks passed between camps and hosts that took them across wide green fields, over hills, between farms, over rivers, past forests, and the far off peaks of mountains; all with the liveliness of smiling faces and waving children as the celebrated phoenix banner passed the many different people, and every now and again they imagined that they glimpsed the whimsy of the children of the forest until one warm spring morning the high walls, lush green and sweet flower smells of the great Garden met them on the horizon. The Ardent King and his daughters were welcomed warmly in excitement where the princesses were presented proudly to the rulers before King of the Reach, Gwayne IV. In their great hall, King Baderon "Blackwing" Taugere stepped forward, raising his hand to indicate his daughters.

"I present my daughters, graceful, proud and noble." He looked back, naming each of his three daughters. Jessamine, dressed in bright ruby red velvet with snow white silk ribbons adorning the seams, neckline, sleeves, hemlines and delicate embroidery on the bodice, smiling as she stepped forward and curtsied perfectly. Necasia stepped forward, dressed in fiery orange organza that glimmered in the light of the sun, wide ivory sleeves and gold details, also issuing a graceful curtsy. Then, Dowsabel stepped forward, dressed in glinting gold silk with black lacing over the sleeves and back of the dress into a flowing train. She curtsied, slow and carefully, feeling awkward as the men stared at her. King Gwayne and his son stood grinning, and then came forward regarding each of the princesses, showing a definite interest in Necasia, and in her; and the kings took a moment to speak while the prince shared words with them, complimenting their beautiful appearance and his excitement for the proposed wedding. He was a pleasant man of twenty three with rich mahogany hair, deep blue eyes, and a soft lengthened face. They shared tales of their homes, their lands and their people, what they filled their days with, their favoured stories and places; and finally she saw their fathers, the kings, shaking hands and a moment of dread stung at her chest. They spent another two weeks in the company of the rulers of the Reach in Highgarden, lavished with the best they had to offer and the days were filled with good fellowship and finery as they waited for the decision to be made. While the heir kept his preference secret, there were many in the castle whom speculated that the youngest princess would be chosen as the bride, while others were certain his heart was set on the eldest. And finally one day the hold was summoned to the great hall where the prince was to announce his bride. Dowsabel stood beside her father, feeling the flush of heat to her skin as they waited anxiously, and king Gwayne stepped forward.

"We thank you for taking this long journey, king Baderon; and for sharing these warm days with us. While it is true that all of your daughters are both beautiful and favourable, only one may be chosen. And I am happy to announce that my son has made his decision." he said, glancing at the prince.

"I have. If it please you, father." he said approaching the Ardent King.

"It will be my great honour, majesty. To beg the hand of princess Necasia, as my bride." he asked, bowing formally to the visiting king. A moment of silence followed, and then the king smiled.

"I give my consent to this union." he agreed, to the happiness of the castle which soon spread to the lands around them while preparations were made and discussions were shared for a wedding to soon follow within the next year; and days later when most of the excitement settled it was time to head home. The wheelhouse was prepared as it was before, and the princesses entered along with their handmaidens for the journey home, and by noon the wheelhouse was rolling over the hillsides with their company on their way back to the burning mountain. King Baderon led the way as they took the same road for days before they would be crossing a wide bridge over the rushing water of a river. The king stopped, watching the bridge. They crossed this way before, but it seemed different now; whether it be because of the morning light or a different angle, he couldn't be sure; but it was quiet with only the furious clashing of the white water racing over the stones.

"Is something wrong, majesty?" Aeron asked as he came up next to the king.

"I'm not sure, Aeron. But this is the only way across the river, and I'm afraid my girls are a bit homesick; I don't want to delay the journey any longer than is needed." Baderon said, watching the other side of the river.

"Shall I take someone and check the far side of the bridge, majesty?" Aeron asked, and Baderon glanced at him, still having to look down from his massive steed.

"Yes, that might be best. Do a quick but thorough search before we move forward." the king instructed, and Aeron urged his horse forward with two more sentinels following while the others remained around the wheelhouse as they waited. A few moments later, the door of the wheelhouse opened and Jessamine peeked out.

"Is everything al right, father?" she called forward, and Baderon looked back.

"Yes, my sweet. We'll continue on in a moment, just stay inside." he instructed, and she disappeared into the shadows of the cabin again, closing the door. A short while later the sentinels returned to the company.

"There's no obvious sign of interference, but it might be best to cross quickly." Aeron reported, and Baderon nodded.

"Very well, let us then not tempt mischance." he proposed, and the sentinel motioned to the wheelhouse driver to move forward as they started to slowly make their way across the stone of the bridge; but reaching the centre Baderon's senses stung as he looked up to see several men on the opposite shore, one man standing on the edge of the bridge grinning at them, an iron short sword held in his hand and he stopped bringing the company behind him to a halt.

"G'day, majesty." the man called, and Baderon looked at Eilert, a middle aged man with ginger hair, a full beard and light grey-blue eyes, whom was the head of the sentinels at his side.

"Can we get the wheelhouse turned around?" he asked, and the sentinel examined the area around them calculating the width of the bridge.

"Not sure, majesty. It might be a bit narrow for a turn." he said, and then looked up at the other side.

"But that might not be the best notion, either." he said, indicating to at least twelve more men on the bridge behind them; and Baderon sighed as his mind ran. If it had only been him and his warriors, they would not hesitate to battle their way out. But he could not risk his daughters.

"Travellin' for pleasure, majesty?" the man asked, and Baderon's attention went back to him.

"For trade. What can I do for you?" he returned, attempting to be polite in the hope that the outlaws may decide to let them go.

"The roads is a dangerous place, and I couldn't help wonderin' what you're transportin' in the wagon?" he said, and Baderon cast a glance at Aeron by his other side.

"Seeds and grains from Highgarden to be planted on the farms. Not worth all that much, I'm afraid." Eilert told, and the man's grin widened.

"Seeds 'n grains? Never seen 'em hauled around in somethin' like that. Let's have a look there, shall we?" he proposed, and they watched as several of the bandits started to make their way over the bridge from both sides.

"We'd prefer to be on our way, we still have a long journey ahead of us." the king urged, but the man remained grinning.

"Just a quick look to make sure all's in order. Won't take up too much of your time." he promised, and there was a stretch of silence. There was not much of a choice, and the king looked back with a sullen nod; and Aeron dismounted going to the wheelhouse and opened the door. He was met with the frightened faces of the princesses and their handmaidens, wishing there was a different way.

"What is happening?" Jada asked softly, the quiver of her voice clear in the small space.

"I'm sorry, my princesses and ladies. Please join me outside, but stay close to me." he instructed, and they passed scared glances around. Dowsabel stood first, followed by Jada, Jessamine, Necasia and the last handmaiden, holding hands as they departed the wheelhouse and remaining behind the sentinel as they came into view of those outside.

"Well now, ain't those some beautiful bags of grain!" one of the men howled.

"Wouldn't mind 'em being planted on my farm, if I had one." another added as they laughed.

"Al right, don't make a spectacle of yourself. We said it's just a quick look." the first man said, examining the group.

"That all that's in there?" he asked.

"You want us to get the clothing out as well?" one of the guards returned, clearly irritated; and the bandit smiled again as he watched each of them for a time.

"Seems all's in order, majesty. For a fee, we'll let you go." he proposed, wanting it to sound like a positive trade of an apple for a pear.

"You honestly believe I would give you anything?" Baderon demanded, but it did not deter the man grinning at them.

"Don't see you havin' much of a choice. You're outnumbered." he pointed out, the obvious truth. He continued to examine the girls, and then pointed at the young princess dressed in sky blue.

"Give the coin to the girl, and send her over." the bandit instructed, sending a singe over the Ardent King's shoulders.

"I will not." he refused, and then heard the gentle voice of his youngest daughter.

"It's al right. I'll go." she agreed, and Aeron's hand tightened around hers.

"No." she looked up at him.

"He just wants the coin. I would rather sacrifice a few steps, than to see any of you hurt." she said softly, and he stared at her. The eyes sparked with fear and apprehension, and then they heard the man laugh.

"Smart girl." he said, and Aeron turned towards her.

"Don't do this, Bel." he pleaded, and she forced a smile trying to be brave.

"It will be al right." she whispered. Reluctantly, Eilert dismounted and proceeded to count out a selection of two hundred and seventy three gold coins from a leather pouch before sliding them back, and closing the small bag and gently handing it to the princess. She gripped it against her chest tightly, trying to stifle the race of her heart; then she took a deep breath and started to move forward towards the bandit, and then stopped in front of him. He smiled at her, displaying gaps between crooked teeth and his cloudy grey eyes sparkling with greed under the shadow of shagged brown hair. He held out his hand, and she carefully reached out dropping the leather pouch into his soiled hand.

"Thank you, lovely princess." he said with a small, ungraceful bow. _It's over. We can go home now..._ She started to turn to rejoin her family, when his arm suddenly wrapped around her and pulled her back against him, holding her firmly. He smelt like straw, and it seemed her heart would burst from her chest.

"Let her go!" she heard Aeron call from the group amidst the screams of her sisters.

"I will, but not here. Just to make sure you don't follow and slit our throats, she'll be comin' with me for a little while. Once we're out of sight, I'll leave her to find you." the bandit told, and Dowsabel wanted to cry.

"If you harm her in any way-" her father started, and the bandit laughed behind her.

"You'll have her back alive, old man." the bandit promised; and Dowsabel's mind shot in different directions. _Alive..._ He started to move back towards a dark brown horse, shadowed beneath the trees, and the last words from her sentinel sounded from the bridge.

"I will hunt you! I will hunt you and kill you slowly, do you hear me?" he yelled, but the man paid it little mind as he hauled her up onto the pommel of the saddle and mounted behind her. As he spurred the horse forward to a paced canter, she started thinking of the things she could do; she could always jump and start to run, but on horseback he would catch her quickly. She could try to fight, but his physical strength would overpower her with little effort. She could try throwing him from the horse and ride on, but this part of the world was unfamiliar and without knowing where to go, either he or his men would find her again in time, and her heart sank away. They rode for hours over fields and past rocky hills, passing woodlands and far off castles until the landscape changed once more and the sun passed its highest point in the sky. Still not having found a solution, she started to pray to anyone that would listen for help. Even just a little bit... Then she felt the pace of the horse slow, and finally they stopped just off the road bordering a forest. She looked around, rocks and stones and boulders dotting the landscape.

"Well, it'll be a while before my men catch up. I'll take a rest here." the man said and dismounted. In the instant she thought of taking up the reins and just spurring the horse into a full gallop to anywhere, any place away from here his hands took hold of her arms and pulled her down, throwing her on the ground. She hauled herself back against a stone, flanked on both sides by berry shrubs. She took another deep breath, huddling up as best she could as she watched him, staring at her. And then his expression changed, the grin still set on his withered face but the eyes darkened to something malevolent.

"Pretty dress you've got on. But it looks kind of uncomfortable in this heat." he mentioned, and moved forward as her heart stabbed at her throat. He dropped to his knees as he reached for the seam of her dress.

"Don't touch me!" she called, and his grip went to the skirt pulling her closer.

"Come now, it's warm out here." he urged, his other hand catching hold of the threads holding the bodice snugly to her figure.

"Get away from me!" she screamed, frustrating the man as he yanked her closer.

"Stop fussing!" he ordered, and her nerves broke as she started to cry.

"No!" she didn't care what he did, or how hard she had to struggle against him. She was a Taugere, she would not simply submit. She screamed again as she heard a series of small ticks as the stitching over her side that held the bodice and the skirt together snapped under the strain. _Someone, please help me! Anyone..._ The earth started to shudder and shake beneath her, and her breath caught in her throat. She saw the man looming over her rise on his knees and look up, the expression on his face instantly changing from menace to fear, a fear she had never seen in anyone. Quick as a hare he stood and started to run, only having gone a stone's throw away before something big and brown flashed past her; and she thought she'd been struck into a different world. A monstrous horse with legs as big as her waist and white feathering around its hard hooves, a black mane and tail fluttering like banners in the wind of its speed charged forward, directed at the running bandit by its rider; a great muscled man with long dark hair hanging to his shoulders, holding a large double bladed war axe almost as big as she was easily in his hand. The black steel whistled through the wind as he cut the bandit down with a single strike, then he scanned the horizon before replacing the axe on his back, then turning and noticing her. She took him in, he was dressed in black leather boots reaching to his knees, dark leather breeches, and the glint of mail armour was visible under the waistline of a sleeveless studded leather jerkin with grey fur linings as he urged his horse forward, the heavy hooves sounding with the heartbeat in her ears; then he dismounted and it felt her heart would explode from her body. He was enormous, much, much bigger than any man she'd ever seen in her life and her thoughts went to the tales their nurse used to tell them as small children. _It's a giant!_ He stopped, towering over her and then moved slowly down. Overwhelming emotions of fear took hold of her as she covered her face and screamed, believing the worst... But then nothing happened. There was silence around her, and she breathed freely. Focusing on the air expanding her chest several times before she brought her hands away, but then the a strange tingling raced up and down her spine. He was kneeling in front of her, just a few feet away, staring at her; and she found herself surprised. He was young, and his skin was a rich bronze from days in the sun and his arms covered in the scars of nicks and cuts; but he had a clean square face with highly defined features, and the most enchanting eyes she'd ever seen... darker than gold, but lighter than amber that pierced into her. For another moment they stared at each other, and then he gently smiled.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice deep and calming, but she couldn't bring her stare away from his; and through the lingering effects of shock and fright she shook her head not being able to find her voice, but not knowing if he perceived it as either a positive or negative response.

"What's your name?" he asked, and she forced her voice to react. _Giants can't talk..._ She reminded herself, from the stories.

"D... Dow... Dow..." she tried, but it was little more than strained whispers; and his smile widened.

"Well, little Doe. This is the wrong part of the woods to get lost in." he teased, and she felt the heat in her fingers; willing herself to find her voice.

"I... I'm not lost... I was taken... from my family..." she corrected him, and he nodded taking in the voice he could now hear more clearly.

"Oh. Do you know where they are?" he asked, and she breathed in again shaking her head. He looked up, scanning the horizon.

"Where were they when you last saw them?" he asked, her eyes still fixed on him.

"On the bridge... somewhere near the border of the Reach." she recalled, and he held a hand to help her up.

"I'll send some of my men to try and find them. How will we know them?" he asked and more tingling fluttered over the skin of her back realizing he was not alone, and her expression clearly told him something.

"No harm will come to you, I promise." he said, and she stared at him.

"How do I know that?" she asked, and he smiled again.

"Because a man's worth, is as good as his word." and after a moment's hesitation she reached out and he gently took her hand. His hold was kind and warm as he pulled her to her feet as he stood, she looked back and gasped at the sight behind the stone that concealed her. A group of at least twenty great men, on equally massive horses waited only feet away. She had no idea that they were there. It took her an instant to realize that some of the stark features, belonged to the faces of women. They were smiling, jesting and laughing amongst one another once she came into their sight.

"Doe?" she looked back at the man that found her, rummaging for new words.

"Oh... My father is king Baderon Taugere. He wears a cloak of black feathers." she explained, and the man at her side's attention went to the group.

"Bryden!" he called, the suddenness of his voice echoing off the field around them and she had to smother an instinctive urge to cover her ears. One of the men moved forward, she calculated him to be between his thirtieth and fortieth years, black haired with a full beard, almost as tall as the man next to her and bright brown eyes.

"Take five men and head south. Find the Blackwing, and tell him that his daughter is with us and she is safe. He may come find her." he instructed, and Bryden nodded.

"You think he'd believe me?" he asked, making the tall warrior sigh.

"No, I suppose not." he looked down at the princess again.

"How would he know that you're safe?" he asked, and she thought. _My hairpin? My shoulder cloth? No, any of those things could have easily fallen..._ Then she looked down at her hand, a silver ring with their house sigil on her finger. She took it off and presented it to him, he held his hand and she dropped the fine silver circle into his palm and he examined it for a moment before closing his hand.

"Anything we should tell him?" he asked, and she glanced at the other great man, still waiting on his steed.

"Only that I want it back." she said softly, and he nodded as the warrior walked forward and gave the ring to him.

"Hurry. Daylight won't wait." he urged, and Bryden nodded again.

"As you bid." he turned his horse around, and started moving off while five others followed, and soon the small group was cantering down the path heading south; Dowsabel felt calmness come over her. These people were not here to harm her, someone had heard her prayer. She would be able to rejoin her family, and go home soon. He returned his attention to her, with a gentle bow.

"For the time being, you will be our honoured guest, your elegance." he proposed, and started guiding her to his horse where he gently picked her up and seated her on the pommel of his saddle before mounting; and the sudden realization came back that he called her father by his alias.

"You know my father?" she asked, even more hopeful as his warmth closed around her, and he urged his horse onward.

"I've heard of him." he said, the motion slid her weight slightly, and her body rested against his, where his smell of earth enveloped her. She felt comfort, all the fear and anxiety vanished and she battled with an urge to laugh. She looked up at him, with a grateful smile.

"Who are you?" she asked, and his eyes met hers returning the smile.

"My apologies. My name is Aecaeus, and my kin, the people of the earth, are The Stone Holders." he told as they walked forward, passing to an easy canter and the remaining people in the group followed over the field. She looked towards the horizon, again feeling strange. She had only heard about these people once in her life; they were known as the finest warriors alive. Some time later, they broke away from the forest border and a massive hill came into view, like a horn that rose from the earth. They approached it down the winding dirt path, surrounded by herds of cattle, goats and sheep; huts dotted the fields around it. Finally they entered into a wide stone pebbled courtyard enclosed by a waist high stone wall and gated with a massive stone arch, where more tall, dark skinned people with baskets and wood shafts and other manner of materials, foods and tools in their hands welcomed their warriors home, some paused to stare as they passed; most of the eyes all shades between gold and deep brown were set on her. Even the women were taller than she was. Trying to ignore the stares, Dowsabel looked up at the mound, so high it almost touched the grey clouds overhead. Granite slabs created stairs to what she perceived as a door into this marvellous natural creation, and other small openings could have been windows. She had never imagined anything as magnificent as this. Aecaeus dismounted, his company doing the same and two younger men came from a thatch roofed structure to stable the horses. Then he gently took her and brought her down to the ground softly; some of the people assembling around the returned party. Aecaeus looked up at the cliff, the object of her seeming enchantment.

"Welcome to Sanctum, your elegance. The stronghold of the Stone Holders." he welcomed, and then his attention went to another man approaching them from inside the hold. The same dark hair, but shorter only covering his neck and ears; the same stern features but clear amber eyes. He smiled as he waved.

"Aecaeus!" he called out to him, and then reached them.

"Where have you been?" he asked, melding the tones of concern and curiosity.

"Patrolling the border, where you should have been." Aecaeus told, throwing a hand at the man's shoulder and shoving him back. It wasn't a playful notion, but not entirely violent either.

"Well, I'll leave a few days early the next time." he said rubbing his shoulder, and then his attention went to the girl.

"Who's this?" he asked with a friendly smile, and Aecaeus glanced down at her.

"Princess Taugere, she will be our guest. I've sent Bryden to find her father." he informed, and then the other man bowed formally.

"Welcome, your elegance." he said with a smile, and Aecaeus looked back at her.

"Princess Doe, this is my brother Deinias." he introduced, and she sniggered.

"Pleased to meet you, ser. But my name is Dowsabel, not Doe." she corrected, and he laughed.

"I like 'Doe'. It suits you." he teased, and his brother stared at him.

"Be respectful, Deinias." he told, the tone telling more than the words could; and the younger man glanced down.

"Of course, Aecaeus." then turned as Aecaeus moved forward leading her inside.

"I'll show you a room where you can rest. This must have been a tiring day for you; and I'll ask one of our women to tend to your dress for you." he said indicating the tear over her hip as she followed, entering the hold into a wide, high cavern with stone pillars reaching to the cap, where more jagged stones protruded from the surface. Flaming stone braziers lined a centre pathway to a granite dais where a throne carved out of stone loomed over the stone hall, and a white marble circlet with three spines on the brow formed a crown which rested on the seat. _The king..?_ She wondered who he was, picturing a man much like her father, with bright golden eyes. Aecaeus turned right, following a passage with wide stairs further up into the mountain hold and she shadowed him. Every few hundred feet an opening allowed air and light to enter, and they passed several high doors as they walked and climbed, further and further. He stopped in front of a door, and opened it so she may pass through, and she examined the space. A small window opened to the south, overlooking the stone courtyard far below. A wood frame bed stood against the wall, where a chair and table waited at its feet; and a stone brazier burned next to a large chest against the inside wall, and a wolf pelt rug covered the floor.

"May I have something brought up for you?" he asked from behind her, and she turned suddenly realizing that she hadn't eaten anything today.

"That would be very nice." she said, and he nodded. She stared at him for a moment, at the entrancing eyes.

"Very well. Try to get some rest, I'll see you again in a while." he said and then turned to leave, but she stepped forward.

"Aecaeus." he paused and looked back, for a moment she wondered what to say as he waited patiently. Then she smiled again.

"Thank you. For everything." she said, truly grateful and he returned her smile with a gentle bow.

"It is my great pleasure, little Doe." he said, and then moved off as she watched him. She didn't mind the name, and found it rather sweet. She looked on, the way he moved, as if he glided over the stone floor while his footsteps echoed in the space. Then she retreated back into the room, closing the door behind her. She scanned the room, and decided to lay down for just a little while. So she settled on the large bed, which was very comfortable for something so simple. Thick furs covered a leather sheet that was spanned between the frame, and secured to the wood, a black bear pelt provided a soft place to rest her head. She eased herself into the furs, relishing the softness of it; the pleasantness that took her so and she started to drift away into soundless sleep. At some point she thought she heard the door open, and then close again; but was too tired to pay any true attention to it as whatever time of the day was left disappeared into darkness. She woke to a knock on the wood of the door, and flexed on the furs to make her limbs respond.

"Enter..." she called softly as she started to raise herself on the bed, and the door opened. A tall elderly woman entered, with greying brown hair and warm hazel eyes, garbed in a dress of leather and goat pelt. She smiled at the princess.

"Good day, my name is Alna. I've been asked to tend to your dress for you." she announced as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, and Dowsabel stood from the bed.

"Oh. Thank you." she came forward, as the woman examined her. Then she leaned forward slightly.

"I cannot sow it together while you're still wearing it, I'm afraid." she mentioned, and Dowsabel blushed feeling silly. She scanned the room for something to change into, then heard Alna laugh softly.

"I have three daughters of my own, and I helped them bring all of their children into this world. There's no reason for you to be afraid, dear girl." she eased, making the princess blush again.

"Thank you..." the uneasiness faded, and she started stripping off the dress to be mended. She found it strange, how easily she connected to these people, how much comfort she found in their presence... then she handed the dress to Alna and headed back to the bed, noticing that a serving of soup waited for her on the small table next to the bed. Alna stepped away and sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the table, bringing out a thick needle and thread; preparing her hands for work. Dowsabel sat down on the bed, throwing the fur over her legs.

"That was brought up for you this afternoon, but you were asleep. You should eat something." Alna said as she positioned the tear between her fingers.

"Did you bring it?" Dowsabel asked, reaching for the wooden bowl. It was still warm, and the stone block it rested upon even warmer. A fresh heel of bread lay alongside it, with a wood goblet filled with berry press.

"I did. I hope you like it, it might be a bit... stronger than what you're used to." she mentioned, and Dowsabel brought the bowl closer, taking up the wooden spoon for a taste. The soup was thick, and salty with pieces of dried meat. But hearty and filling all the same.

"It's good. Thank you, Alna." she continued to satiate her hunger on the soup and bread while Alna mended her dress.

"Have the others returned?" she asked hopefully, and the woman glanced up at her, pulling the thread through the fabric of the dress.

"Not yet. But don't worry, they won't rest until they're back here. Someone would have been sent for you if they were." Alna mentioned, watching her and then softly sighed.

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing here that would fit you." she said, and Dowsabel laughed.

"That's al right. I don't mind to wait." she watched as the woman's eyes came back to her, with a gentle smile.

"He likes you." she suddenly said, and Dowsabel stared at her in a moment of confusion.

"Aecaeus." Alna finally clarified, and she blushed again under a soft flout.

"Oh. He's... He's been very kind to me." she said softly, finding herself thinking of him.

"Yes, he is that." Alna agreed, and Dowsabel scooted slightly closer.

"You know him well?" she couldn't stop the question, wanting to know more about him.

"Yes. I watched him grow up." she told, and Dowsabel watched her face become soft and nostalgic as memories came back to her.

"Nearly five and twenty years past, Aecaeus came into this world early. Very early. He used to be this tiny little thing, so small that no one believed he would see his first day. But he fought. And he lived..." she looked up, her hands resting from their motion for a moment as she smiled brightly at a shadow dancing in the corner.

"And he grew, oh my stones he did." her attention went back to the work in her hands.

"He became the greatest man the Stone Holders ever knew, taking up obligations when his parents passed from this world. But despite his massive strength he has a very soft heart." she told, the pride in her voice slowly melting into something else.

"Only, I believe he is lonely. His responsibilities take up a lot of his time, and he has little thought for else-wise." she further added.

"He is young, but all the warriors fall under his command?" Dowsabel asked, attempting to place his role.

"That he is, and many others. There is no trust or respect, greater than what our people have for him." she agreed, breaking off the thread and holding the dress up in front of her to examine her work. Then stood and presented the dress to the princess.

"Well, I hope this will do." she said, and Dowsabel looked at the area the tear used to be. There was an obvious difference in the stitching, and of course the size of the thread now holding the fabric together. But she was thankful that there would no longer be a hole in her garments displaying her skin, and she looked up.

"Thank you." Alna bowed her head with a pleased smile, and left the room for the princess to redress. There was not much to do, except wait. If not for her fear of getting lost in these stone halls, she might have explored the hold; but she lay down on the bed again and watched the stars drag themselves by as she waited for sleep to come to her again. But once more, she found herself thinking of him. Of his smell, his warmth, his gentle smile, of his deep and calming voice... and of his eyes. Those enthralling eyes that captured her so deeply, and she wished to see them again. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine them. The way they stared at her earlier this day, and how they seemed to draw the fear out from her. A soft knock on the door drew her attention, so subtle she thought it might have been her imagination. But not leaving it to chance, she stood and went to the door to open it. Her heart skipped a beat, and a swirl of fluttering butterflies moved through her stomach when she saw Aecaeus in the hallway.

"I apologise for waking you." he said softly, and she blushed.

"You didn't..." she whispered, wondering at his reason for coming as she glanced down a silent passage.

"Have they returned?" she watched his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

"Not yet. But they will, soon. Bryden is not the kind to keep others waiting." he assured, and for a strange moment she felt relieved.

"I'd like to show you something, if that's al right?" she smiled, happy for his invitation.

"Of course." she stepped out, closing the door behind her and he led her down to the great stone hall where a single brazier still burnt close to the throne, where the crown still awaited its master as it did before.

"Wait here." he left her standing in the centre of the cavern and went to the brazier, where he gently doused the flames until the chamber was left in a deep flawless darkness. Fear gnawed at her senses, but then the shadows dissolved and she looked up at the cap of the chamber and gasped in utter wonder. Thousands of stars sparkled against the stones in all their colours of blue, red, purple, green, yellow and orange.

"This is beautiful..." she breathed, and then felt his presence next to her.

"The Sanctum Spheres." he named them, and she noticed him marvelling at this sky with her.

"Crystals absorb warmth from the sun through the earth, and then give us this light. But they only come alive in complete darkness... It reminds us of the promise, that even in our direst times hope will remain." he told, and she looked at him. At how grand he was... and an insane moment that she wondered how it might feel like if he kissed her.

"Aecaeus..." he looked down, his eyes clear even in this soft light.

"I will never forget this." she promised, and he smiled.

"That is good." he said, and then his attention went to a man entering from outside, carrying a torch.

"Perfect time to display the spheres." he jested, and then joined them. It was Deinias.

"Bryden is back." he announced, and Dowsabel's heart jumped.

"Took him long enough." Aecaeus moved forward as the princess followed them outside, torches and fires lit the courtyard and she could make out the shapes of men on horses entering the stone circle, followed by the wheelhouse. Between the foremost warriors with Eilert at his side, her father was scanning the faces of those around him; much less than there were this afternoon when she arrived. And then he saw her, his bright blue eyes glittering with relief.

"Bel?" she rushed forward as he dismounted, and moved away from his horse to meet her. She threw her weight against him as her arms circled his waist, and his enveloped her closing her beneath the feathered cloak and he held her tightly.

"Thank the four winds... and the sun, and the moon and the sea, and everything in between..." he breathed against her, then drew back to examine her.

"Have you been injured? Has anyone touched you?" his questions started as his left hand went to her face and his eyes moved over her, but she smiled pressing her hand to his.

"No. I'm completely fine." she promised, and he drew her into another solid embrace.

"I feared the worst..." he whispered, his arms tightening around her. She returned the pressure, imagining how afraid he must have felt, of how scared her sisters must have been, and how desperate their sentinels would have seemed. But then she drew away from him.

"It's al right." she looked back at the brothers calmly approaching, and then turned.

"Father, this is Aecaeus and Deinias. Aecaeus is the man who saved me." she explained, and Baderon looked up at the tallest of them, looking down from another two feet at least, but with a grateful smile.

"Thank you so much, for what you've done. This service to me will never be forgotten." he said, and Aecaeus bowed his head.

"Your sincere gratitude is more than enough, majesty." he said, and Baderon released his daughter to reunite with her sisters who had come from the wheelhouse, and he turned to face him fully.

"Your actions merit a greater reward than simply my gratitude. Please travel with us to my hold." he requested, seeming to bring uneasiness to the warrior.

"Am I in a position to decline?" he asked, and Baderon smiled.

"You are, but it is ill mannered to decline an invitation from a king." he advised, and Aecaeus laughed, accepting the small defeat.

"Very well. But may I suggest that you spend the remainder of the night here, and resume your journey by morning? It is late, and I assume you've had an exhausting day." he proposed, and the king accepted gratefully. All members of the company were presented a place to rest; and some time later in the silence of the night Eilert moved down a hallway to the chamber he'd been given, hearing voices nearby.

"Aecaeus, you cannot go alone. Take Bryden with you, at the least." He remained in the shadows, glancing carefully around the corner and identified the brothers in the passage.

"Bryden is needed here." the tallest said, clearly bringing concern from the other.

"We don't know those lands. Anything could happen." he said, but Aecaeus smiled.

"Nothing will happen. And by the odd chance that something does, you are still here. So until I return, or otherwise; you will have command." he told, and Eilert moved away towards his chamber, also finding himself wondering about these people. Great people... Powerful men... Splendid warriors... Barely more than a Hilltribe, but nothing better than rogues... By sunrise, and after allowing Dowsabel to bid farewell to both Deinias and Alna they resumed the road north, with Aecaeus on his massive steed even greater than the king's on the right side of the wheelhouse; where Dowsabel could see him through one of the small windows. In the safety of the cabin, she shared with her sisters and their handmaidens her experience, slowly diminishing their initial fear of the great man; and kindling an easier esteem for him. Throughout the journey, he remained aloof, resting beneath the stars on the edge of their encampment and fully tending to his own needs. Not only a brilliant warrior, but also an adept hunter and he was happy to share from the prey he brought down. Most in the party enjoyed him, apart from a couple of those whom chose to reserve judgement. But when presented, the young princess would take up the opportunity to share words with him; but most conversations would rest primarily between him and her father. The roads were peaceful, and rather vacant; but in all likelihood others would rather not dare approach at the sight of the tall man with an axe at his hand. One warm noon, Dowsabel glanced out the little window and smiled at the sight of Mount Ardor looming on the hill of the horizon; and some hours later they passed over the bridge and under the gate into the outer bailey of the burning mountain where castle hands approached to greet their rulers home and tend to returning their belongings. The bailey was held in a strange silence, as their members regarded the outlandish newcomer, and finally one of the braver stable boys approached cautiously.

"My I tend to your horse?" he asked softly, and Aecaeus nodded.

"Thank you." and the boy took the reins, leading the massive steed with the others to be groomed, fed and watered. The princesses and handmaidens left the wheelhouse, and after removing the items from the back it was rolled away to be stored; then new faces came from the hold to welcome them home. Queen Dynamene and prince Rhedan descended the steps while princess Arlena waited in front of the doors with a newborn child in her arms, wrapped in a soft white blanket. Fondness was shared as they reunited, and finally the king approached the warrior once again.

"If you'll please follow me." he requested, and Aecaeus approached the massive hold at his side. Making their way up the stairs, Rhedan smiled at him.

"Welcome to the burning mountain." he greeted, glancing at Dowsabel who stood in the doorway; and then blushed before vanishing.

"And thank you, for what you've done for my sister." he said, and Aecaeus bowed his head.

"You are welcome, sire." he said, and Rhedan joined them towards the hall.

"I hope you will accept a seat of honour with our family this evening." he urged, and the warrior chuckled.

"You are most gracious." he returned, and then his eyes went to the grand woman waiting at the top of the stairs, staring at him with no kindness in her green eyes. Then she turned, and disappeared into the darkness of the hall.

"Please do not take offence, my wife is... distrustful of strangers." Baderon eased, but Aecaeus smiled again.

"I am not offended easily, majesty. It might require a blade through my chest." he jested, and they shared his humour as they moved forward. Going through the Hall of Fire, Baderon turned to Rhedan.

"My son, won't you ask your dear wife to see to this evening's selection with cook Jervis?" he asked, and the prince smiled.

"Of course, father." he agreed, and moved away as the king looked at their visitor again.

"This way, please." he led him to a large vault in the centre of a great tower at the heart of the hold, gold and gems and jewelled artefacts filling the space in abundance, and Baderon smiled raising his hand to the inside of the chamber.

"Choose any item from my treasury, and it is yours." he allowed, watching the man at his side step forward into the glint of gold and silver and diamonds and rubies and sapphires. He seemed to take some time to examine the items, finally taking up a beautiful goblet of white gold, with yellow and rose gold rings, adorned with sapphires and rubies; which Baderon thought was a fine choice. But then Aecaeus smiled, and replaced the goblet before turning back to him.

"I'm afraid that what I desire, cannot be granted by you." he confessed, to the king's confusion.

"I am the king, it falls within my discretion to grant or deny anything within my domain." he reminded, but there was no change in the striking eyes looking back at him.

"Forgive me, majesty. I don't care for titles. Having such, would not make me a greater or lesser man, than who I am. And there are some things that not even you have the power to give." he told, and then moved forward pausing in front of the king.

"With all respect, majesty. I will take no item from your treasury." he declined, and Baderon nodded, understanding his words.

"Very well." he stepped aside, allowing Aecaeus to exit the treasury, and having the vault door closed behind him.

"Should you so wish, you may have any chamber of your choosing in the west wing of my hold, until you choose to return to your people." he offered, to the warrior's grateful acceptance; and they returned to the Hall of Fire, finding the daughters of the king in front of the great hearth, cooing over the new baby.

"You will have freedom of Mount Ardor and its grounds, apart from the lord's wing to the north. I will speak with you again later." the king said, and then left to tend to his awaiting duties. Dowsabel looked up, smiling brightly as she called him over, and he joined them to meet the tiny princess who stared at him in wonder.

"She's beautiful, your elegance." he complimented, and Arlena smiled happily.

"Thank you so much. I look forward to this evening, when we may share more discussions. But it is time for her feeding. Will you kindly excuse me?" she said, looking down at the little one still staring at him.

"Certainly." he allowed,

"We will accompany you." Jessamine suggested, raising her arms to take the little one and Necasia smiled at him.

"We will meet again tonight." she said excitedly, and then glanced at Dowsabel.

"I will join you in a moment." she promised, and they left up the stairways before she looked back at Aecaeus.

"May I ask what you chose as your reward?" she asked curiously, and he laughed.

"I chose nothing." he told, and she stared at him.

"Oh..." she seemed confused, and he took a step closer to her.

"We have little use for treasures, there was nothing in that space that I desired." he told, and she glanced away from him. From the striking eyes staring at her.

"Is there anything that you do?" she asked softly, bringing her eyes back to the gentle smile.

"Not gold, or jewels..." he whispered, and she blushed feeling her heart flutter.

"I trust you found something suitable." a woman's voice caught their attention, and she looked up to see her mother standing on the third level watching them, her hands resting on the stone railing; and his eyes met hers.

"You might find it preferable, that your vault will remain as it is, highness." he returned, and she nodded.

"Well, then. If there is nothing here that meets your interest, you might wish to return to your... home." she suggested, sending a sour sting into Dowsabel's stomach; realizing her mother's intent.

"Mother, Aecaeus has been invited to share our table this evening." she informed, but the queen scoffed.

"Unfortunately, our kitchens may not meet the taste of the austere." she said, making it burn in Dowsabel's chest. She couldn't believe this, she was trying to make him leave. But, had he been a noble, she would have done anything she could to have the honour of his presence at their table.

"Mother!" she cried out, but then felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and she looked at him, smiling softly at her side.

"It's al right, Doe." he eased, and then looked up again at the woman leering at him, while Dowsabel watched him. Strong, and proud even in the foreign he was resolute.

"You're different from us." Queen Dynamene directed at him, but he faced her evenly.

"Yes, we are different. We look different, we sound different, we even see different. But we are not worlds apart. The same sun that rises on your horizon sets on ours, the same rain that falls on your fields flow down our streams; the same elk that grazes on our hillsides run over yours. But because we soil our hands you look down on us, because your customs are not ours, you name us savage; because your gods are not ours you brand us enemies." he retaliated, making the princess smile secretly. She had never heard of anyone, who had ever spoken to the queen like that; but saw the soft face harden and the green eyes glint angrily.

"You are dismissed from my hold." she said sharply, and he issued a polite bow.

"As you wish, highness." he turned, and started his way out of the hall; and Dowsabel's heart stopped. _No... No! He's leaving..._ She turned, her eyes meeting her mother's; and for the smallest moment she hated her. _How could you?_ She turned and rushed after him, finally taking hold of his wrist before he exited through the doors.

"Aecaeus, please..." he looked back, his eyes entrancing her once again.

"Please don't go." she pleaded desperately in a soft whisper, but he smiled and took her hand, releasing her grip on his wrist and softly brought it to his lips.

"I will see you again." he promised, and then vanished. Like a great shadow he disappeared from her, and she was left standing there, her heart shattering as she stood frozen, watching as his great figure grew smaller and smaller down the steps, across the bailey to the stables where he reclaimed his horse, and a moment later departed the grounds of the burning mountain. But then the blaze in her chest melted the frost, and she spun around heading back to the stairs, and stopped in front of her mother, fighting the flames.

"Mother, you could you?" she demanded, but the queen simply stared at her.

"You need no explanation from me, Bel. Whether by your will or not, I will protect my family by any means." she told, and Dowsabel scoffed in unbelievable resentment.

"He was our guest! Aecaeus is a great man, he commands the warriors-" she started to tell before her mother silenced her.

"Eilert told me everything. That man is nothing more than a rogue. Did you think I would let my line be seen with someone like him?" _Like him? Like him..._ Dowsabel stared at her mother.

"He told you hare tales. You have no idea what he's like." she told, and then sombrely made her way back to the lord's wing. She heard her mother calling after her, but did not turn to head back and rather headed to her room where she spent the remainder of the day, trying not to submit to the tears ravaging her nerves. She felt alone, as Jada was helping prepare the southern hall for the evening, but it would feel empty and she did not look forward to the night any longer. A soft knock at the door drew her attention.

"Enter." she allowed softly, hoping that it was not their mother. The door opened, and Arlena looked inside.

"Are you al right, Bel?" she asked, moving inside and closing the door.

"I will be, I think. Where is little Avelyn?" she mentioned, and Arlena joined her on the bed.

"Jessamine is tending to her. But I'm worried about you, and I haven't seen your friend since noon." Dowsabel looked away from her, at the dark sky outside.

"He left." she couldn't conceal the bitterness in her voice, and wiped at a tear stinging her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I rather liked him." she mentioned.

"My mother didn't. She has this mental representation of a wall between high-born and commoners. She told him, that he shouldn't be seen with us..." Dowsabel told, her voice breaking.

"And he was offended?" Arlena asked, and Dowsabel thought back. He didn't seem offended, Aecaeus handled the situation better than she did. He even smiled at her.

"I don't know. I don't think so." she still stared out the window. He promised he would see her again...

"Bel?" she looked back, and saw her sister by law examining her, her blue eyes taking in every detail with great concern.

"Arlena, am I being silly? Please tell me I am mad." Arlena took her hand gently in hers.

"Do I have reason to do that, sweet sister?" she asked, and Dowsabel forced a smile.

"I... I can't stop thinking of him. I just..." she looked away again, and heard Arlena sigh gently.

"Well, we cannot choose who we fall in love with, Bel. But perhaps, things will be better." she said, and stood.

"Come. Supper will be served soon." she urged, and they headed down to the southern hall. The banquet passed mostly in soft conversation before they retired back to their rooms for the evening, and after the handmaidens were dismissed from the wing, in the quiet of night Dowsabel lay on her bed listening to the voices from the lord's hall. Despite having their differences, her parents made arguments sound like ordinary discussions; and she closed her eyes trying to listen to the words coming from her father whom sat on the divan in front of the hearth.

"I liked this man, Dynamene." he told, staring at the flames and wondering at her reason for dismissing him from their hall so suddenly, finding it unlikely that he would have disrespected his wife.

"I understand that. But think of the consequences if he remained. I saw the way she looked at him, the preservation of our noble line, that is our legacy." she said, standing near the bookcase.

"He saved my daughter's life, and he further protected her until I found her. I owed him." he said as he looked her way.

"You offered him a reward, which he refused. You owe him nothing more. And I would not tarnish our house to allow my youngest to run off with some rogue-" she started, but then his eyes went away from her again.

"He's not a rogue." he silenced her, perhaps a bit more harshly than he intended, and a short pause followed.

"But he's not a noble." she reminded, and his eyes wandered from the flames to the sky above the private garden, for a moment wondering if he had returned to his own people.

"I don't know what he is. Yes, he lacks the finery of nobles, but is too refined to be a simple peasant." he debated, and then stood going to his wife.

"We did not marry for love, Rhedan did not marry for love, Necasia will not marry for love, and in all likelihood, Jessamine will not marry for love. If there is a possibility that one of my daughters may do so, should her happiness not be more important?" he asked, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

"No, we did not. But we learned to love, as many others do. Would a match with one of lord Violet's sons not be preferable? Or should you desire another alliance, give her to Theon Stark's son." she proposed, and he sighed. She would not relent, her deep rooted belief that high bloodlines must be kept within the nobility.

"Let us see what the future holds. Go take your bath, I will wait for you." he suggested, and leaned forward gently kissing her cheek, and her arms went around his neck.

"I want our family safe, Baderon. Safe and provided for. Please don't hate me." she whispered, and he drew back.

"I couldn't hate you, Dyna." then he turned.

"Go on, now. We've had a long journey, and I'm tired." he urged, and she nodded then left to the bath chamber to cleanse before rejoining her husband and they retired to bed for the night; deep and dark and silent and peaceful until the princess woke again with the dawn. Her morning followed its normal routine as always, with Jada helping her dress and tending to their morning duties. After breaking their fast, she met Aeron asking that he have their horses prepared for some time in the fields. She hadn't spoken to her mother beyond the formal greeting, and didn't feel like spending her time in the castle and that some time away from the walls may clear her mind. After promising her father that she would not wander far, and with Aeron and two additional guards in attendance she left the castle grounds for the nearby woodland, relishing the sweet sounds of birds in the trees, the glimpses of wildlife in the distance, and the bubbling of a stream somewhere in the brush; and she imagined his voice again. As calming as the world around her was now.

"Is everything al right, your elegance?" Aeron asked from her side.

"Yes, Aeron. It is good to be back home, I've missed this. But it is a shame that my brother could not join us." she dismissed it, and then halted her grey mare as a familiar brown mass moved between the trees. She drowned a smile as she again urged her horse forward, coming into view of a small clearing she saw him lying on his back on a pelt on the grass, four freshly caught hares suspended over a cook-fire, and the massive black war axe leaning against a tree.

"Aecaeus?" he looked at them, and smiled as he stood.

"I told you, I will see you again." he said as he came closer, and she laughed.

"I thought you left." her guards passed glances between each other.

"I was dismissed from the hold, but not the lands." he indicated, and then glanced at the fire behind him.

"Won't you join me? I'm afraid my snare was a bit too effective, this morning." he invited, and they agreed happily, and so dismounted leaving their horses to graze as they shared his meal and passing stories between them. Soon after, fully satiated he stood and turned to her.

"May I ask you to join me for a walk?" he asked, and she smiled. Aeron looked at her.

"Don't go far." he cautioned, and she nodded.

"I won't." she promised, and headed off at his side through the trees. One of the guards stared at Aeron.

"Is that safe?" he asked, and Aeron breathed in deeply.

"She trusts him. And so do I." he eased, and they continued to share the comfort of the fire while the couple enjoyed the nature around them.

"I'm sorry for the way you were treated." she apologised, and heard him laugh.

"It's al right, Doe. Your mother wishes to protect her family, I could imagine myself acting much the same way in her position." he said, and she glanced at him.

"I feel safe with you." she eased, and he turned her way.

"I am happy to hear that." he said, and he shared his life and those of his people with her. He told her of their customs and traditions, the right of _The Mehrune_ where adolescents will earn their swords and shields, and their community.

"Ours may not be as formal as yours, but we have a monarchic structure just like you. We have kings and queens, princes and princesses but no formal lords or bannermen. Each fighting man is the king's sword hand, and each fighting woman is his shield arm. And we have a maester just like you, whom is known as a 'savant'. But he is not restricted to the hold, his aid is to all within our country." he told, and she smiled.

"It sounds wonderful. The contentment of a simple life..." she reflected, wanting to hear more about them.

"We don't just live off the land, we live with it. We are connected to it, since the age that giants and the children of the forest still walked these lands freely. We still keep the ways that your people have forgotten long ago." he further added, and she looked up at him.

"Does your people share giant's blood?" she suddenly asked, connecting the very tall people to that but he laughed.

"No. We've just always been that way. But the story goes, that back when the first men settled on these lands, there was a small fishing village on the west shore. Of course, there were struggles over land, and in time the village was destroyed by a warlord from the south. It tells of a young woman whom escaped its devastation, and somehow found her way into the safety of a stone cave. She was a simple woman, not the daughter of a great leader, or the wife of a fierce warrior. But in the cave, she had a dream where the stone god came to her. He promised, that if she found a way to release his light from that cave, he would give back the lands that were stolen from them; and that her sons would grow into powerful warriors, and their reign would remain solid as stone. And she agreed." he looked up at the horizon.

"She made the cave her home, and brought two sons into this world. She protected them, cared for them and raised them with that promise; and so it happened that they went out as men and reclaimed their home; and so started the line of the Stone Holders. On their mother's advice, the brothers built a shrine to the stone god, and its hope is celebrated each year." he told, and she took it in; adoring the idea of sharing this story with her own family. But dreading the reaction of her mother, she decided to keep it to herself for the time being. She noticed that he was not carrying his weapon.

"Your axe?" she asked, and they continued their walk.

"It is named 'Edge', forged of core steel from deep within the earth. It is one of our greatest weapons." he told, and she thought.

"I've never heard of core steel." she mentioned, and he laughed.

"You wouldn't have. It is extremely rare, and not favoured as implements of war. Harder and heavier than any other steel, its sharpness only rivalled by one other." her thoughts went to her father's blade.

"Valyrian steel." he nodded.

"Yes." he confirmed, and they walked on. She loved this, the stories he told and the time she could spend with him, and somehow they found themselves back with the party of guards and she realized that it was well past noon.

"We should start heading back, your elegance." Aeron suggested, and she nodded.

"Of course." then she turned to him.

"Will I see you again?" she asked hopefully, and he smiled.

"If you so wish." he agreed, and she laughed as her heart fluttered once again. He helped her onto her horse, and bowed as he watched them head back to the hold for the remainder of the day, and enjoyed a fine evening. At the very least, Jada and Arlena noticed a change in her demeanour, but she attempted to appear placid in the presence of her mother; not wanting to bring forth another unwelcome conflict. A serene week passed that the lives of the hold continued as normal, and the princess spent her days away from the hold in the woods. Dynamene walked through the hold, finding her husband in the Hollow, in counsel with his sentinels.

"Leave us." she dismissed them, and they quickly made their way from the chamber to her husband's sudden surprise.

"Is something wrong, my queen?" he asked, and she rounded the table towards him.

"I'm concerned about Bel. She's been spending a lot of time in the woods, and I suspect there's a reason for this odd behaviour." she hinted, and he laughed.

"I know she's been meeting with him, Dyna." he said, and she stared at him in shock.

"And you said nothing?" she demanded, bringing the burning eyes to her again.

"What do you want me to say? You want me to forbid her from leaving the hold?" he asked, and she scoffed.

"If that is what is necessary." she said and he stood.

"On what grounds? She has done nothing that deserves punishment, and that man has not wronged me in any way." he told, and she glared in silence for a moment.

"He's not like us." she reminded, and he looked away.

"Is that your only reason? For goodness sakes, Dyna. Let her enjoy this. He won't stay here, it will pass soon enough." he said.

"But what if-" she started.

"He won't touch her. He's had multiple opportunities if he wanted it so, but our daughter is still as pure as the day she was born. Now I suggest that you discard your prejudices, lest you insist on further uneasiness in our home." he said, and then passed her leaving the space for clearer air and she stood there, hoping that the stranger would leave their lands sooner rather than later. She went to the window, scanning the lands trying to determine where the small party might be while out there, somewhere under the shade of the trees Dowsabel and Aecaeus spent another day together, seated on a fallen tree where they shared in the sweetness of two honeycombs presented by a passing farmer in a kind gesture. She laughed as she watched him.

"You really enjoy this." she mentioned, and he laughed, holding the comb in his hand.

"It's wonderful. Our sweetness comes from berries or maple blossoms." he explained, and she giggled bringing the comb to her mouth again.

"You might consider a honey farm?" she proposed.

"My people wouldn't know the first thing about bee farming." he joked, and continued to relish the sweetness before discarding the wax and washing the stickiness from their hands and mouths in a nearby creek. Then he turned towards her, his beautiful eyes soft but morose.

"Thank you so much for this, Doe. But I have to return to Sanctum tomorrow. I'll be expected to be there for the silver eclipse." he informed, and her heart sank away.

"Will I see you again?" she asked desperately, watching him and waiting longer than she expected for his answer.

"I don't know." he said softly, and her eyes burnt with tears as the air around her grew suddenly cold, and it seemed all sound drowned away. As if in a dream, she watched him gently lean forward, and felt the soft touch of his lips against hers, sending a tepid tingling down her back that warmed her completely in the tender kiss he stole from her. Her hands went to his face, gently drawing him closer as his kiss deepened, and more enticing prickles spread over her body. His mouth was still sweet, and his smell closed over her. It reminded her of a freshly tilled field, then he drew back and gently wiped a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

"I will remember you." he promised, and the sting to her eyes flowed down her cheeks. _No... No, this can't be..._

"Aecaeus... Take me with you." she suddenly pleaded, and he stared at her.

"I can't." he said, and she felt her heart sink deeper into darkness.

"Why?" she wanted to cry, but fought against the urge.

"Because wars are started that way." he told, and she threw herself against him, her arms circling his waist. She didn't care if he saw her cry.

"It's not the same... It's not the same! I want to be with you." she felt the gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders.

"Doe-" it broke in her, and her arms grew tighter around him.

"No!" then his arms went around her, warm and soothing as he held her.

"I can't bear it... The thought of never seeing you again... I can't... It's too hard..." she breathed against him, hearing the gentle pulse of his powerful heart against her cheek and feeling him breathe deeply. He must have thought she was being foolish, the whims of a girl; and could hear her mother's voice reprimanding her for such an outburst.

"The silver eclipse is a celebration. Ask your father, perhaps he will allow you to attend." he suggested, and looked up at him. At his smiling face, severely grateful that he did not find her laughable.

"Thank you, I will." she said, finding it to smile. Giving her time to calm from the sudden emotions, they walked slowly returning to the guard's party before returning to the hold, and she sought out the opportunity to meet with her father alone, slipping inside the Hollow the instant the sentinels left and closed the door behind her. He looked up from the table.

"Father, may I speak with you?" she asked nervously, but he smiled.

"Don't have much of a choice now, do I? Come closer, we wouldn't want your mother hearing about your... adventures." he joked, and she eased coming over and sitting down next to him.

"You're not angry?" she asked, and he laughed softly.

"No, I'm not angry that you've been meeting with Aecaeus. But, if not for the circumstances, I would have preferred it to be here." he said, and then turned towards her.

"Now, what is this business you have with me, my sweet?" he asked, and she leaned forward.

"He has told me so many fascinating things about his people. I would like your permission, to attend the silver eclipse. It is a celebration that they hold each year, and I'd love to see it." she asked, and his expression changed.

"Bel, we've only just returned from a long journey. And now you want to go off again? Would it not be better to attend this 'celebration' next year?" he asked, watching her eyes change from excitement to desperation.

"Please, father..." she begged, and he noticed the glint of tears in her eyes. He looked away from her, cursing himself.

"Bel..." he started, and her hand closed over his where he could feel the tremor in her fingers.

"Please..." she tried again, and he took a deep breath. What was another three weeks on the road, compared to the tears of his beloved child? Unlike her sisters, she barely asked for anything. She was content in her days spent in the hold, only occasionally venturing out under guard; and never passing beyond sight of the burning mountain.

"I will allow you to attend, on one condition." he proposed, and her other hand came up enclosing his.

"Yes, anything." she immediately agreed, not pausing to consider the outcome.

"Only if you are accompanied by Rhedan, and myself." he decided, and she smiled throwing her arms around him and holding him tightly.

"Thank you, father. Thank you, so much." she breathed against him, almost sobbing and he soothed her.

"Al right. When does this journey start?" he asked, and she pulled back with a gasp.

"Tomorrow..." she suddenly realized that they had very little time; but her father smiled.

"Well then, we'd better start our preparations." he said as he stood, already setting everything out in his mind.

"Have Jada assist you, and it might be better that you inform dear Arlena of the endeavour. I'll see to your mother, and have the hands prepare the wheelhouse and the cart before sunrise." he said, and she smiled.

"Leave the wheelhouse, it's slow and draws too much attention. We'll only take the horses this time." she suggested, and her father seemed to agree to that notion.

"Very well. Go on then." he urged and she started heading for the door, but then paused as if she'd forgotten something then turned back and came to him, again closing her arms around him in a loving embrace.

"Thank you." she whispered again, and then swiftly left to attend to her duties, explaining the situation to Arlena and persuading Jada to help her pack for the new journey ahead. After enduring a restless night of nerves and excitement, she rose with the purple shade of dawn and pulled a dress of deep green from her drawers, wondering how to dress herself before Jada finally entered her room in silence and softly came over to help her into her garment. Fully dressed, they exited her room and she turned to Jada.

"Head on down, I'll just be a moment." she instructed, and her handmaiden started down the stairs and she instead made her way up, entering each room to bid her sisters whom were still asleep farewell with a soft kiss to their cheek. In the second bedroom, she found Arlena awake with baby Avelyn at her breast. She looked up with a tired smile.

"You're off early." she mentioned, and Dowsabel approached.

"It's a long road." and then she knelt next to her.

"Thank you, Arlena." she said, stroking a finger gently over the soft hair.

"Rhedan deserves to go out for a bit; he's been a great help." she looked at the little princess.

"We'll manage." she smiled, and Dowsabel stood to gently plant a kiss on each of their cheeks.

"Good bye, sister." she greeted, and Arlena smiled at her again.

"Fair winds and warm days to you, princess Taugere." she returned, and then Dowsabel departed their chamber, slowly and carefully making her way to the highest chamber where her mother also still lay sleeping. She approached silently, and leaned down to gently kiss her cheek.

"Good bye, mother. I... I love you." she whispered, and then started to head for the door before stopping as her heart pulled in different directions, only one stronger than the other. Then she turned back, pausing a moment in front of the small table before turning and leaving the chamber. She paused again at the door and glanced back, sparing a final glimpse at the silver ring she left on the table before closing the door, and with Aeron awaiting her at the doorway, together they took the halls down through the Hall of Fire and emerging into the morning air. She breathed in deeply, watching the company in the bailey. Her father, her brother, her friend, and their sentinels, and the same cart harnessed to a piebald filly, ready for the sojourn back to the Stone Holds. She smiled, and was escorted further down as one of the sentinels helped Jada onto a dark mare. Joining the party, Baderon looked at his daughter.

"Is everything in order?" he asked, and she suppressed the pace of her heart.

"Yes, father." she agreed, and his great dapple grey warhorse was led to them along with her grey mare.

"And our host?" he asked, and she blushed.

"He might meet us on the way." she assured, and Baderon nodded.

"Then, it is time to leave." he decided, and Aeron helped her onto her horse while the king mounted his, and with the party on horseback they once again left the castle grounds. They travelled down the road under the changing sky, and the golden light of morning spilled over the fields as they passed the woodland and they scanned the surroundings.

"I don't see him." Aeron mentioned, and Dowsabel continued to watch the woods. They'd passed his camp site already, but she wanted to believe he would not simply leave.

"He might be waiting further along the road..." she wanted to believe.

"Let's head on then." Rhedan proposed, and they continued on, crossing the hill she stared at the space in front of them, feeling all of her senses ignite. He was waiting for them, just down the road on the next hill, mounted on his great horse and his war axe ready on his back, the shine of the morning sun from behind him. He seemed so celestial, the only thing brighter than the light of dawn the glow of his eyes; and he smiled warmly, bowing his head to greet them.

"Good morning." his deep voice met them all, and the welcome was returned fondly before his attention went to the king.

"Whenever you're ready, majesty." he allowed, and Baderon glanced back at the party.

"Lead on, Aecaeus." he smiled, and the warrior directed his horse down the road, proceeding to lead the company on a paced trot back to his homeland until finally the peak of Sanctum loomed in the distance, which oddly seemed shorter than before despite three weeks on the road. By late noon, they entered the stone courtyard welcomed by the Stone Holders; but the area was strangely vacant. They dismounted, allowing the boys to stable the horses and Aecaues faced the group.

"We will have you settled." he decided, and then a figure approached from inside the hold.

"Welcome home." he called, and Aecaeus smiled at Deinias, who was garbed in traditional leathers, smears of mud created patterns on his skin, and a fascinating head-dress of vines and twigs.

"It is good to be back, brother. And good to see that the hold is still intact." he said, and they shared a laugh.

"I gave it my best, but suffice it to say that your position does not suit me." he said, shoving a gentle fist into his brother's arm, and then looked at the others.

"You made it just in time. Everything has been prepared." he informed, and then smiled at the visitors with a bow.

"We welcome you, to the silver eclipse." he said, and the visitors thanked him.

"Go on, we'll join you once all has been accommodated." Aecaeus urged, and Deinias moved off excitedly.

"That was interesting." Aeron muttered watching the tall man move away.

"His role will be the ritual master for the extent of the eclipse. It is one of our great honours, and he is most suited for it." he told, and Dowsabel stared at him.

"It starts tonight?" she asked, and he smiled.

"Yes. As said, we arrived just in time." she was amazed that he was able to calculate their arrival so precisely. Then he proceeded to lead them inside Sanctum, having the remaining members present their visitors with chambers suited to their requirements, before gathering in the stone hall before their departure to meet with the rest of the citizens for this special celebration. But before leaving the great chamber, Dowsabel glanced back at the throne; the stone crown she had glimpsed the first time still rested on the seat just as it was months ago, and she wondered if they might meet the king and his family this evening. Then she followed the progression to a field not too far from the great hold, and again stared in astonishment. The field was lined with wide tables, great baskets of fruits and dried meats, hundreds of bowls holding nuts and berries rested on the tables, great fires burned all around them illuminating the field in brilliant light, and in the centre on a small hill, loomed a stone shrine surrounded with thousands of pebbles, with a massive stone carving in the likeness of a dragon, with a horse skull head displaying long jagged teeth, a thick mane, great curled horns and lion-like feet. At the centre of its chest, a wondrous stone glinted, clear like a shimmering diamond. They looked around at the gathering people, hundreds of tall powerful men and women, and Dowsabel looked up at Aecaeus.

"I hope you will enjoy this with us." he said softly, and she smiled.

"I already am." so the days passed that they shared in the joy and energy of the people of the earth, each day in the company of the foreign, and nights filled with feasts and wild wine and dancing to the beat of drums, lutes and flutes. They shared their lives, their histories and traditions, and other manner of stories; but not once could she distinguish the high from the common among these people. They were all connected, all equal in the gaze of the massive creature that represented their deity. Upon one of the nights, while sharing in discussion with the Ardent King, a small pebble struck the chest of the warrior beside him, and Aecaeus looked up at a man grinning from the other side of the table. He smiled at Bryden, taking up the pebble and threw it back before standing and taking his axe in his hand. Dowsabel watched as they stepped into the centre of the clearing, staring as an incredible clash ensued. Feeling her anxiety, Alna who sat next to her tonight leaned closer.

"Don't be afraid, they won't be injured." then she looked at her as she explained. This was another of their customs; casting a stone at the chest of a man was a challenge. Casting the stone back was acceptance, and casting it away was rejection which was rarely done. Most of these, were simple tests of skill, and would only end in bloodshed had the initial stone struck the face of the challenged. Moments later, she breathed out relived as the hook of Edge rested against the neck of the challenger. They eased, and exchanged a firm grip on one another's wrists before he returned to the table. The evening that the shadow passed over the full silver moon, the fires were put out one by one as Deinias told the story of their beginning,

"We are of the earth. Once of water and sand, now of stone. Strong, proud, eternal..." he started, mesmerizing those around him as Dowsabel and her family listened. He made it sound so different, so dramatic, so epic; and she loved it. In the darkness that settled over them as the moon was devoured by the shadow, they stared in awe as the stone in the centre of the shrine started to glow and finally shine like a tiny little sun and the world was drenched in white light. It took her completely, and again she felt like crying. She wanted to stay here, be a part of these people... But too soon they would have to go home and it tore at her. She looked up at the face of the creature towering over them with deep leering eyes. _Would it be unfair to ask anything_ _of you_ _, even if you don't know me?_ _Even i_ _f I'm not one of your people?_ As the light slowly faded, and the fires were brought back to life she wiped away the remnants of tears down her face, and suddenly realized she was staring at the piercing eyes. He smiled, and she blushed looking away. Then he stood, holding his hand towards her and she couldn't resist the urge to look to her father for guidance, whom simply smiled and nodded in approval. Then she looked back and took his hand as she stood, and he guided her towards the shrine. _Will this be the_ _last moment_ _we share?_ He led her around the shrine, and brought her to its front, leaving her under the stare of the creature as he once again circled. She watched him, feeling slightly confused at his behaviour. Then he stopped in front of her again, smiling down at her, and she felt the flutter of her heart once more, the sensation he created so easily in her. Then he slowly lowered to his knees, now looking up at her with his wondrous eyes shimmering in the light of the fires. Her breath caught in her throat, wondering at the situation and he finally presented a small white stone to her, which she took in her hand and stared at it. His face disappeared into shadow as he glanced down, and waited patiently for something she did not understand, and her mind reached for what to do. The field was gripped in a deep silence, but then she relented to the mysterious pricks to her skin, and her hands gently took his face, guiding his eyes back to hers; then she smiled and leaned forward placing her lips to his in a tender kiss; and in a dazed moment she heard the voice of the ritual master.

"The king has chosen! And the chosen has accepted!" her heart stopped in the moment his arms slid around her thighs, and he raised her away from the ground, now soaring over everyone else to the fervent beat of drums and screaming voices of excitement as they circled the shrine once more. But her mind stopped as she floated above everyone and everything, not hearing much of anything as only one thing echoed in her mind. _The king... The king..._ _The king..._ She couldn't decide whether to laugh, or cry, or scream. _The king..._ He gently brought her down to the ground, setting her softly on the ground in front of the table, still staring at him with the others behind her equally bewildered.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly, but he smiled.

"I didn't need to." he said, but she couldn't add the pieces together.

"Why?" she asked again, her voice nearly void of emotion.

"Would you have treated me differently if you knew?" he asked, and she looked away. _I might have... My mother would have..._ He glanced at the people behind him, clearly having intensified in the celebration.

"All my people know who I am, but I don't want the constant courtesy of being named 'king Aecaeus' whenever I am addressed, or spending my days on a throne and issuing orders. I go out, I protect my people, I hunt, I build and I plough if needed; I am human, just as they are. They do not respect me for my title. I have earned their respect simply for my deeds." he told, and finally she understood. Then she looked back at her father behind her, staring at them in shock.

"Father?" his bright eyes glowed in the light of the fires, and then went to the man behind her.

"You asked my daughter... for her hand?" he tried to make sense of it, and Aecaeus nodded gently with a soft smile.

"I did." he confirmed, not the slightest regret or defensive tone to his deep voice. Then the blue eyes came back at her in silence, before he brought his gaze to the small group around him, evidently all stunned to the state of silence, and they only looked on. Then his attention returned to Dowsabel.

"Is... Is this what you want, Bel?" he finally asked, and with another tear trailing down her cheek she nodded. Baderon's eyes went to Jada at his side, watching him for his reaction and then he looked to Rhedan. For the first time since succession, he was at a loss. What would happen? What would his wife do? What would her sisters think? Would they ever see, or even hear of their beloved Bel again? Then the world came back to him, and he saw his son smiling and he too, nodded in definite approval. He sighed, and looked back at his daughter, his youngest standing in front of them in silence.

"This won't be easy to explain to your mother..." he started, a moment of regret passing through his mind before he looked at the stone king.

"But I give you my blessing." he agreed, and Dowsabel's hands covered her mouth as she started to laugh through tears. Jada rounded the table to hold her, and in her comfort she released the suppressed emotions while Baderon came forward to address Aecaeus.

"I never thought, that my youngest will be the first of my daughters that I lose." he said morosely.

"You will not lose her. Not completely. She will take my name, and my home, and name my people her own. But her line will always be yours, majesty." Aecaeus told, and it left him feeling relieved, as well as grateful.

"I have learnt a great deal from you, king Aecaeus. And I will take this with me, for the betterment of my own people." he said, extending his hand.

"And betterment you will have, king Baderon. So much, so that others name your fields gold." he predicted, and took the hand of the Ardent king fondly, and they laughed happily as they looked at the princess.

"When will the ceremony take place?" Baderon asked,

"When she is ready. In a week, with the next full moon, in a year; it makes no difference to me. I will wait an aeon if I must." he eased with a subtle shrug.

"Before the eclipse ends, if it pleases you." it came from Dowsabel, once again calmed from the whirl of emotions.

"That is in two days time." Aecaeus mentioned, looking at Baderon.

"Very well..." he agreed, and returned to the festivities sharing within their company the prospect of the coming union. With sunrise on the second day, Dowsabel stood in the room she'd been given while Jada rummaged through her belongings. The tiding of the king's marriage was spread fervently, causing immeasurable excitement along with the occasional debate on his union with an outsider. But, his decision was resolute and set in stone, for an instant she laughed at the irony.

"I knew this one caught my attention for a reason." she heard Jada mutter behind her and then looked back as she pulled a dress of white and ivory silk from a chest to display it while Dowsabel stared. Gold lace adorned the square neckline, elbows and the wide sleeves; lovely delicate gold blossoms adorned the ivory centre piece and several gold ribbons were threaded through the eyelets of the corset bodice with great care. Her hands went to her mouth as the sensation of weeping came to her again, but Jada smiled and spread the dress on the bed before coming to her and placing her arms around her.

"Don't cry, Bel. This is a happy day." she soothed, and she exchanged the cries for laughter.

"Thank you so much, Jada. I... I don't know what to say." she whispered, and then her handmaiden drew back.

"You don't need to say anything. You deserve to be happy." Jada said, and the princess nodded.

"Well then, let's get you dressed. I'd like to enjoy this time with you, until we leave this afternoon." she mentioned, turning to go back to the bed when Dowsabel suddenly took her hand.

"Jada. Will you stay with me?" she asked, bringing the handmaiden's attention back to her in surprise.

"If you want to, of course." Dowsabel corrected quickly, then after a moment of silence Jada smiled.

"I'd love to, if your father has no objections." she agreed, seeing her friend's eyes brighten.

"Hurry now, the others will be waiting." she urged again, and proceeded to help the young bride into her garments for the morning celebration. A string of gold with a pearl pendant was fit around her throat, and her hair left hanging freely down her back and over her shoulders. With all set they headed down to the stone hall, where they were met by her father and brother before continuing on to the shrine where all the Stone Holders had assembled. On the arm of her father, the Ardent King, they moved down a pathway between the tall people, towards the great sculpture where he waited, looking the same as he always had apart from that he accepted his brother's vigorous proposals to wear the crown, and the reality of her position burnt even clearer. Then her father stopped, turning towards her and brought her hands to his mouth before he released her and allowed her to continue the short few steps to her betrothed alone where she finally stood in front of him, his marvellous eyes looking at her clear as topaz with his smile. Then he held his hands towards her, and she smiled placing hers in his fingers, feeling his gentle hold.

"Under his sight I, king Aecaeus Rhinemar of the Stone Holds stand with you. I give you our riches, all that we hold dear and valuable, to hold dear and valuable to yourself. I give you our lands, to live and thrive and name your home. I give you a title that will be worthy of you, to lead and rule by my side as my queen. And I give myself completely as I am, my eyes to see the beauty of you each day, my shoulders to support you in your need, my arms to hold you in the cold and my hands to help you. I give you my strength to shield and carry you, and my voice to guide you in times of concern. And I give you my heart that will love you always, to be only yours until I am reclaimed by the earth. In return, I beg only for yours." he promised, and she blushed feeling the heat stretch through her.

"It is yours. Always, until I am reclaimed by the earth..." she returned, and he leaned forward placing his lips against hers in a tenter kiss to the jovial sounds of those looking on, and deep calls sounding _To the king! To the queen!_ The ritual was followed by a day of feasting and dancing, once again to the beat of drums within Sanctum's courtyard until noon when the Ardent King and his party prepared to leave for home. The horses were brought out and the cart equipped for the journey north, and permission given for Jada to remain behind. Dowsabel approached Aeron, busy examining his horse.

"Aeron?" his attention went to her.

"How may I serve, my princess?" he cast a quick glance at Aecaeus, bidding his farewell to Rhedan.

"Or, I suppose it is my queen, now." he corrected, and she laughed.

"Could I persuade you to stay, as well?" she asked, but he stared at her in silence for a time.

"Bel, I love you. But I can't. I've enjoyed this time, and you've never been as beautiful as you were today." he looked away from her, taking in their surroundings and she felt the sting to her heart.

"My place is at Mount Ardor. I could never conform to these people." she looked on, cursing the bite to her chest.

"Don't say such things..." she whispered, then he looked back with a smile.

"Besides, you have found a man that will better protect you, than I ever could." he took her hand and brought it softly to his mouth.

"I wish you every blessing, and a thousand years of happiness. Good bye, my sweet Bel." he said, and she nodded.

"Good bye, dear Aeron..." she turned to join her father and her husband, leaving him to finish his inspection before mounting his horse.

"Bryden and his warriors will accompany you as far as our border. From there, we wish you a safe and peaceful travel home." Aecaeus said as she stood next to him.

"Thank you. For everything." Baderon said as they took hands in a firm gesture, then he looked at his daughter.

"We will miss you, Bel. But, you'll be al right." he smiled, and then held her closely.

"Farewell, my sweet. We love you." her arms tightened around his waist.

"And I love you, father..." he held her, in his secrecy trying to force back the tears before releasing her and looking at the man at her side again.

"I have a gift for you. But, if you would not deem it as disrespectful, I would require you to kneel." he said, and Aecaeus lowered himself. Dowsabel stared in awe as her father removed the feathered cloak from his shoulders, and wrapped it around those of her husband. Then he stood, regarding the glint of black feathers over his shoulders of the cloak that hung to his calves.

"You honour me, majesty." he breathed, and Baderon smiled.

"You are my son, Aecaeus. There is no greater honour." he said, and then mounted his horse.

"Fair winds, and warm days to you, Stone King. If you are ever in need, call upon the strength of the Corridor." he advised, and Dowsabel felt his hand rest on the small of her back.

"And to you, Ardent King. May your walls remain forever unbroken." they left the stone courtyard in the company of the stone warriors, disappearing over the horizon. The remainder of the day was spent in the sound of music and communion with their people until deep in the night when the king swept his queen from her feet and carried her to a bed chamber high within Sanctum's safety. Hearing the door close behind them she scanned the surroundings, where a wide wood frame bed with soft furs centred the chamber. A window opened to the east, several chests lined the walls, a table and chairs waited in the corner, a thick bear skin covered the floor, and a warm hearth burnt in the west wall. Above it, hung the shimmering blade of a great sword, the cross guard and upper part of the steel displaying the same face of the shrine.

"One day, that blade will belong to our son so he too, may protect our people, and our family." she heard from behind her, and then looked back to see him approach her completely bare, the same scars covering his body; then she looked up into the mesmerizing eyes. He smiled,

"Making things difficult for me?" he teased, and she blushed.

"I... I'd like you to do it..." she whispered, and he leaned forward to kiss her again, deeply and passionately. Her hands ran up his powerful arms, over his shoulders and over the skin of his chest as it flamed in her. She felt his fingers over her cheek, softly down the curve of her throat, the trail of his touch warm and tingly as it spread over her chest and to her shoulders before the dress suddenly dropped from her. She broke the kiss in a small laugh; he was so gentle she didn't notice the ribbons being released to free her body from the silk.

"Are you afraid?" he asked suddenly, and she stared at him.

"No, I just..." she started, but he smiled.

"It does not have to be tonight." he said, but she lowered her hands allowing the sleeves to slide off her skin and the dress to fall to her ankles before bringing her arms around his neck, feeling the tremor to his muscles.

"Is something wrong?" he laughed softly.

"I'm afraid of hurting you." he brought his hand to her face.

"You're so small... so frail..." he whispered, and kissed her again. He moved past her and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her forward onto his knees in the lingering touch of their lips before pulling away from her, and just staring at her.

"What was it about me, that you noticed?" she asked to break the silence.

"It was impossible not to notice you." he joked, and she laughed.

"You know what I mean, Aecaeus." his hands went up, just playing with her hair as he continued to look at her.

"Your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes. Flawless as the skies, and deep as the oceans; so much that each time you look at me I drown." he confessed, bringing a flush to her cheeks. All this time, he felt the same.

"I have forever with you, my little Doe." he promised, and she pressed herself closer against him feeling the surge of heat passing between their unprotected skin.

"I love you, Aecaeus." she breathed against him as her body grew slowly warmer and the ensnaring sensation of tingling spread from her scalp to her ankles, and his arms constricted around her.

"And I love you." he whispered into her glinting black hair as she looked up, and placed her lips to his neck, softly in the curve between his jaw and throat feeling him shudder to her touch, and his muscles harden against her. He turned, laying her on the soft furs where he kissed her again, moving slowly down to her throat and her chest; and they surrendered, releasing themselves entirely to the bliss of years to come.

Maester Adlyn looked up through the window, noticing the almost purple of dawn on the far off horizon. _Has it really been that long?_ He closed the ledger, replacing it on the top of his bookcase and heading up to his private chamber to steal whatever sleep he could before dawn arrived. He'd gone through the great book all the way back to one of the greatest of the Ardent Kings, and several names caught his attention. But one seemed to stand out, despite not being from the Taugere lineage; perhaps from being only mentioned once throughout the long history. He decided, if he could, he would go through some of the other tomes on histories as this name surely had his interest, but with little to go on it might be a time before he found anything. He carefully slipped into bed, and fell asleep easily before waking again to the shine of the morning sun, and then stood to start his day as any other, redressing in a clean grey robe and adjusting his chain. As he had done each day for the past sixty years of his life, he headed down the little winding steps, holding one of the silver links in his hand with a silent prayer. _Grant me wisdom, skill, and the hand to save a life today..._ Then he entered his lower chamber, finding his apprentice already waiting for him.

"Good morning, maester." he greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning, my boy." he returned with a smile, and proceeded to instruct the young one in his chores of cleaning out the cabinets, and used vials before going over his stores and listing items that needed replenishing and further mixing balms and poultices while attending to those who sought him out for their qualms. After being brought their morning serving, he returned to his bookcase, pulling scrolls and books on histories of the west and finally locating a small piece in a book on western tribes. The information was not as detailed as he'd hoped for, and considerably incomplete, only providing a fraction of a glimpse into that world. Then he looked up and smiled at the lovely face emerging from the doorway, and the tall mass shadowing her.

"Good morning, my lady." he stood to meet her as she returned his fond greeting.

"Good morning, maester." Claira looked at the works left open on his table.

"You've been busy." she mentioned, and he glanced back.

"Going through the ledger, as lady Milla has asked; and some additional browsing. But I did find an interesting piece." he told, and she came forward curiously.

"Really? What about?" she asked, and he turned allowing her to have a better look at the writings.

"Tell me, have you ever heard of the Stone holders?" he asked, and she shook her head before glancing at her sentinel.

"Inhabitants of the west, your grace." he informed, and she looked back at the maester.

"They were great, strong people; and frequently sought out as both allies and enemies, yet a small group; I don't believe they totalled a thousand. But I am afraid my reading has ended quite… abruptly." he continued to tell, glancing at Falgon waiting a few feet away.

"They were wiped out, long ago." he explained, seeming to know a bit more about them; but the maester's eyes couldn't discard the sensation of a darkness forming in the chamber.

"So the story says. You don't suppose that a smaller group escaped, and somehow survived-" he started, but to his surprise was silenced by the deep voice.

"They were _all_ killed." the words were solid, and the dark eyes hard; but then he glanced away and the darkness that filled the air suddenly vanished before he returned his attention to them, softer than before.

"If it please you, your grace. I will wait in the hallway." he said, and she nodded allowing him to leave again in silence. After a moment, listening to his heavy footsteps disappearing down the stairway she sighed.

"Well now, that was interesting..." she breathed, wondering at his sudden change, and how the mention of these people seemed to vex him, but decided that she would not rather spare him. Then returned to the maester at her side.

"You were saying, maester?" she asked, and his brown eyes met hers, for a moment seeming lost.

"About what, my lady?" he asked, and she sniggered softly.

"You mentioned the stone holders." she recalled, and he seemed to lighten at the notion of having the opportunity to continue his findings to someone who was interested.

"Oh yes, that. You recall some of the histories of our house? Long, long ago in the times of kings, king Baderon Taugere, you may also know as "Blackwing" had a single son, and three daughters. It turns out, that the youngest daughter, a princess Dowsabel was wed to a king Aecaeus Rhinemar of the Stone Holds. The detailing isn't complete, compiled of different people's accounts of memories, but the piece describes that a great and powerful man saved the girl's life, and they fell in love." he told, adding the pieces of depictions together as best he could and saw her smile warmly as her hand went to the round of her stomach, evidently feeling a soft nudge.

"That sounds like a wonderful story." she reflected, and he smiled with her sharing the sentiment.

"I'm sure it was. Enchanting moments don't come to all." he agreed, bringing to mind another's tale that was not too dissimilar from that. Then he put his hands together.

"What may I do for you, my lady?" he asked, and she blushed.

"I'm sorry maester, one of my handmaidens knocked the vial of oil you gave me from my table this morning. The poor girl was mortified." she presented the blue bottle to him, and he examined it. Only a handful of the oil still clung to the inner surface, but he smiled.

"Not to worry, my lady." he turned to one of his cabinets, and retrieved another green bottle to present to her.

"Any other changes?" he asked as he handed the glass to her, and she shook her head.

"Since yesterday, no. But I will visit you again soon." she promised, and he walked with her to the doorway.

"Thank you, maester." she greeted, and then carefully made her way back down the steps with her hand held against the wall as he watched her slowly descend and disappear from his view, finally again meeting her sentinel waiting at the archway into the tower.

"I trust everything is in order, your grace?" he asked with a gentle bow.

"Everything is fine, ser Falgon." she examined him, his dark eyes were soft... but nagging on the edge of sadness.

"I'm sorry, if we upset you." she suddenly said, and he smiled.

"You shouldn't apologise, you've done nothing. But I regret my prior outburst, it was unmannerly. I ask your forgiveness, and will ask the same of maester Adlyn." he promised, but she still stared at him. He wasn't like this, and she reached for him.

"Falgon..." the instant her fingertips touched his arm, he jerked back again staring at his elbow; it was rather unsettling.

"Are you al right?" she asked, but he laughed.

"I'm fine." then he turned and raised his hand for her to pass.

"Shall we resume your day, your grace?" he asked, and she nodded as she moved forward passing through the long hallways with him following. A man so different from the others, and she couldn't shake the thoughts from her head, still wondering in her silence...


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15 – THE HEIR

It was late at night on yet another full moon, and the new faces of those accepted into Mount Ardor's service roamed their halls. Life in the great hold proceeded peacefully each day as it always had, while the head of their Sentinels returned from his training each second day with cuts and bruises, but seemed in good spirit and reported that he was doing well despite harsher training than what they were used to. Once, Milla had begged for the training to end, but he insisted that he would continue with it until he felt satisfied with his achievement, and it was left at that. Raeghun lay on their bed next to his wife, holding a small book in her hands; with his head resting against her abdomen, listening to the gentle sounds inside her as he told a story of when giants still dwell among the first people and his right hand softly tracing the curve under a soft white gown. He couldn't stop the smile, joyful that the swell of Claira's stomach had become clearly sizeable. The uncomfortable swelling of her hands and feet had started as well, but he found it pleasantly rewarding to spend some time each evening just gently treating these areas, and on several occasions she fell asleep to his touch. _Just a little bit longer, then we will finally meet you..._ A sudden nudge against his cheek made him draw back in surprise, and he laughed.

"He kicked me, the little grundle!" then he heard her laughing softly above him.

"Well, that's what you get for bothering him when he wants to sleep." she teased as he looked up, seeing her closing the book and laying it on the small table next to the bed.

"Which child doesn't enjoy a story at bed time?" he asked, stroking the curve again before placing his lips against her in a soft kiss.

"Perhaps he didn't find this story appealing. Giants and Snarks and Grumkins... We used to hear stories of that, my brothers loved it but it scared me mindless." she mentioned, laying her right hand on the warm skin of his shoulders as he pulled himself up, bringing his face to hers.

"Then, shall I try Fairies and Unicorns and Mermaids?" he proposed, making her snigger again as her arms pulled around his neck.

"I was thinking of Heroes and Princesses and Kings. But we'll know his preference soon enough, I'm sure." she said, and he smiled lowering his mouth to hers in a deeply loving kiss before drawing back and running his fingers up along her cheek and into her hair as he stared at her, again marvelling at what fate has given him.

"I love you, so much... Both of you." he whispered, and she returned his smile gently pulling herself up against him, her lips touching his shoulder as she held him.

"And we love you." his arms went around her, holding her close in the deep of night where they surrendered to sleep and woke to the orange light of the morning. Raeghun stood and tended to his morning routine before returning, and finding his wife still lingering between the sheets as he approached; sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her, he softly ran his hand over her back and hip.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and she softly moaned.

"I feel a bit strange, but I'll be fine... I'll get up in a moment." she mumbled, and he nodded.

"Rest as long as you need to, my sweet. I'm sure Milla would have no objections to tending to the kitchen, I'll ask that she come up later this morning to help you." he suggested, and then she looked at him.

"But Raeghun-" she started, but he smiled.

"Don't worry. You and our baby are what is important now. And if you feel the need to remain in bed, then do so. Maester Adlyn will tend to you." he further prompted, and she sighed.

"There's no need for that." she said, and a moment of silence followed as he stared at her; taking in the little more than usual pale to her cheeks.

"Are you sure?" he asked, bringing her to a soft laugh.

"Yes. I'll be down before cook Jeody serves." she promised, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek before standing and leaving the chamber and she eased again on the bed, running her left hand over the curve, softly sniggering. _You're so strong... Could I ask you to be a little bit gentler with me?_ Sometime during the night, a sudden kick to her lower back left her in a considerable degree of pain, and even now she could still feel the tingling sensation down the back of her legs. She looked up at the canopy of the bed, at the depiction it held which was a phoenix rising from a crown and surrounded by the rim of the sun. She had always thought it beautiful, and again slowly succumbed to a shallow sleep as a soft motion slid past her hand pulled into a vague dream of sunlit fields, her family around her, the glint of a valyrian steel blade and a black haired boy with burning blue eyes. With morning light spilling through the door, a soft knock at the door stirred her from sleep, and she allowed entry to Milla and two more handmaidens who tended to the chores of the wing. Milla smiled warmly as they stepped inside.

"Good morning, my lady." she greeted, receiving in turn the fondness.

"Your lord husband has asked that we leave you to your rest, if you so wish." the court maiden mentioned as she rose from the bed.

"I'll be just fine, lady Milla." she allowed her feet to reach the wood of the floor, still feeling the soft pricks to her feet while Milla searched her wardrobe for a suitable dress, after a few moments pulling a light coloured loose fitting dress with thick fabric over the gold and green bodice which would not require the use of a corset, a high waistband and wide sleeves that would hug her wrists with soft gold cords; and of course soft flat slippers in a shade of peach to match the dress. They shared idle conversation as Claira proceeded to apply the sage oil to her skin before being helped into the dress, and the back laces gently fastened to her figure. Her hair was braided, and draped over her left shoulder, and a fine gold chain with a pearl pendant hung from her neck; and seeing that all was in order the ladies departed the lord's wing, leaving the maidens to continue their tasks and finding Falgon awaiting them at the doorway.

"Good morning, your grace. I trust you are feeling better." he greeted with a formal bow as Milla closed the door behind them.

"Good morning, ser. Yes, I am. Thank you." she returned, but not entirely being able to free herself from the sensitivity down her legs, then he turned raising his hand.

"Shall we start your day, your grace?" he proposed, and she moved forward slowly.

"I assumed you would be training today?" she asked as they took the hallway down, and he glanced at her.

"Not this day, your grace. Lord Berin has some matters to attend to here, we will return to the training grounds tomorrow." he advised.

"And it is going well?" she enquired, and he chuckled.

"Very well, I am pleased to say. He is quite capable of applying his initial training to his current trials. I believe that before long, he will meet the degree he wishes for." he further reported, as Milla took that in silently. Too many times he had come home with multiple red weals across his back and legs, bruises to every part of his body; but no matter how she pleaded or argued with him he would not concede, his only response to the injuries was that Falgon was a challenging trainer, but found relief in his notion that it may not continue for much longer. They entered into the Hall of Fire, most of the faces of those moving up and down the stairs and hallways belonging to newer members of the hold while handmaidens and chamber maids continued to see to the maintenance of the different wings, servant's quarters and the barracks, hauling old, empty and dirty items to the kitchens and washhouse to be exchanged, except for the soft face of Mandeline coming up their way with Bella fidgeting in her arms.

"Good morning, my ladies and ser Falgon." she greeted, her eyes resting on Claira.

"You look more radiant each time I see you, my lady." she complimented, bringing a soft blush to the pale cheeks.

"Thank you, Mandeline." she returned, watching the nurse adjust Bella's weight on her hip.

"I've been advised that the kitchens will be serving soon, the lords are already seated." she told, and then glanced at Milla.

"But I'm afraid her coral staff has been forgotten in your chambers. I'll just take a moment to fetch it." she said, her bright eyes glinting.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Milla asked after a moment's pause, and she smiled.

"If it's not too much trouble, my lady." she accepted, and Milla turned to Claira.

"Go on, we will meet with you again soon." she urged, and Claira nodded before watching as they headed to the east wing to retrieve the coral staff, before glancing at the stairway down to the second level where the light of the great hearth drenched the hall in light. For a moment the steps seemed narrow and frightening as her hands rested against the curve of her stomach and a soft flutter passed her hand. _You're right, I'm being silly..._ and then brought her attention back to Falgon whom patiently waited next to her, and she smiled.

"Shall we proceed?" she asked, in an unusual attempt to bring confidence back to herself; and he returned a gentle nod.

"Certainly, your grace." she moved forward, carefully down the steps as she counted in her steady descent _one, two, three, four, five, six, seven..._ Slowly as the light of the hearth neared them she made her way down the stairs towards the feast hall for their morning. A sudden hard clamour of falling trays from above drew her attention, and a single step reached too far; she felt herself tumbling forward as a terrified gasp escaped her lips. She braced for the harsh impact with stone stairs and closed her eyes; but instead a strong and gentle arm wrapped around her waist between swollen breasts and a distended stomach; bringing her to a pause.

"My apologies, your grace. Are you hurt?" she looked up at Falgon next to her, his face for a moment in the shadow before he brought his eyes to hers; his arm anchored her in place on still unsteady legs and her hand clenched his forearm, trembling. She stared at him, and for the first time she could see into his eyes, cleared by the light of the fires around them. Eyes that were normally shadowed, or too far to make out this clearly. They were brown, a shade so deep they seemed red.

"Take your hands off the lady at once!" a young guard freshly accepted into the members of the barracks commanded from the level below them, with a blade drawn in his hand. Falgon moved, blocking her from his view, despite not entirely noticing the air subtly darkening around him she knew what his instinct could drive him to do. Her hand tightened around his arm, still shivering.

"Don't..." she pleaded in a whisper, and watched as his hand slid away from the grip of his sword. Then she looked at the boy at the bottom of the stairway.

"If not for these hands, ser; you would have found me bloody at the bottom of the steps. Put away your weapon!" she ordered, and the young guard stepped back shamefully. She looked up at Falgon.

"Thank you." he nodded respectfully, and escorted her the rest of the way down the steps to the safety of a handmaiden whom accompanied her further to the southern hall. Then he turned, looking at the guard behind him.

"Bare steel in my queen's presence again, and I will kill you." he promised, eerily calm. The young guard felt his blood run cold as he stared at the dark eyes. The threat was real... more real than a man running at him with a dagger drawn. Then Falgon turned away from him and headed down the steps, through the hall to the barracks and found himself in the outer bailey between the sounds of steel, whistling arrows and grunts of training soldiers. He looked up at the blue sky, feeling the heat to his arm. It was so strange, for months now the touch of her fingers to his skin burnt, and he could imagine it resembling the sensation of pressing a white hot iron to his arm, and for an instant he battled against a painful utterance. He hadn't experienced any real degree of pain for ages, and for just a moment his thoughts went to the brand on his chest. He had no idea why he had it now, or where it came from, but it would occasionally emit a similar burning sensation, reminding him that the small container he received from maester Adlyn long ago was nearly spent and bringing the notion that he might enquire with him later to replace it.

"That was harsh, Falgon. He's still young." he heard the voice of their master-at-arms behind him, and looked back to see him approach from inside the hold.

"He's spring green..." he muttered, returning his eyes to the sky while Austinus stared at him curiously.

"How many years have you seen, if you'd pardon my asking?" he suddenly asked, and Falgon looked back at him finding the question out of place.

"In my thirties, I believe. I haven't paid any mind to my name day in... a long time." he tried to brush it off, and then saw the master nodding.

"I see. He is but a boy, several years your junior. He's new here, and anxious to please his lord and lady. The minds of young ones have a tendency to require some restraint. Understand though, he doesn't have the kind of experience that you do." he tried to ease, and Falgon breathed in deeply. His reaction might have been slightly unnerving. The boy wasn't a danger to her, but with her next to him the glint of steel forced him to react to it the only way he knew how...

"I'll apologise to him later. I don't handle threats well." he confessed softly, but heard Austinus laughing.

"Especially in the presence of our lady. She favours you." he teased, bringing a smile from the sentinel.

"I am her humble servant. My existence is but to assist her elegance in any way that she is in need of." he returned, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Aye, it is. And you take your responsibility very seriously, perhaps more so than any other guard in this castle." Austinus admired him, and he looked back at the elderly man mirroring the sense of confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked, meeting the confident smile.

"I'm old, Falgon. Not blind. I saw what happened. First off, you saved our lady and her unborn child from a potentially crippling if not fatal fall, and then you deliberately exposed your back to a drawn blade, whether you noticed it or not. Despite the conditions, you broke a cardinal rule of the sword; luckily I'm assuming that with your experience, had that poor boy been a real enemy he wouldn't have stood a snowflake in the seventh hell's chance against you" he hinted, and they shared a small laugh.

"Many have tried. Not with much luck, I'm afraid." he joked, and then Austinus stepped back.

"Well, we should head inside to eat something. It will be another long day for us." he mentioned, looking over the men slowly discarding their activities to make their way to the feast hall.

"Go on, I might have something later." Falgon said, returning his eyes to the sky and the master-at-arms left with the others into the hold while he continued to wonder. But dismissing the thoughts he went back to the hall, gathering up the books he finished to exchange them with the maester while retrieving a new poultice; and the remainder of the day passed as it otherwise normally would with Falgon in the company of the ladies while the lords tended to their businesses, and darkness returned to the land to settle in for the night.

It was mid morning when Berin finally fell down on his knees, exhausted and aching. After weeks of enhancing his speed between the posts, and increasing his agility by avoiding the logs swinging from the branches, it was time to face the course which utilized all of his abilities. It would require him to move fast as much as fluently to avoid more logs, precise control to avoid the shafts angled in the ground, and his goal was to reach the end of the course in as little time as possible, each time attempting to better the extent it took to find the exit while having to touch his blade to numerous targets set throughout the labyrinth of logs and shafts and gulleys and dikes and obstacles; all with a single rule: _Forward. Always Forward_. Falgon demonstrated to him how it was done multiple times, moving easily through the course like a ghost through a breeze, evading the logs precisely no matter from which direction they came, and touching the tip of his sword to each of the target posts as he went. Clearly, this was something he had done thousands of times. Now, for each time Berin would take a step back, or miss a target, the flat of Summit's blade would lash at his back or legs, leaving red scars. He breathed deeply, reaching for a single hope in the struggle... Only after mastering this course, he was promised to meet his friend with a blade. Fresh cuts stung at his skin, and new bruises pulsed in his back and legs. He looked up at Falgon in front of him, with an amused grin.

"Good. But you can do better." he encouraged, and Berin sighed. _Is this really worth it..?_ He looked at his hands, shaking on the ground.

"I... I'll try..." he muttered, and as if reading his thoughts Falgon glanced away.

"My father told us, if you give up you're weak. There is only one outcome for the weak." he told, and Berin looked back at him; feeling the air burn in his lungs.

"This is hard..." he confessed, not having realized the extent of his request when he approached the great sentinel in the Hall of Fire; but saw the dark eyes watching him with a strict if yet understanding notion.

"I know. And it's going to be harder on you. I started younger than you did." he explained, making Berin glance back at the maze. He couldn't imagine running this kind of course at seven years old, to be made to endure this kind of harshness so young.

"But this?" he started, and heard Falgon scoff.

"Another clemency I've applied to your training. My father's lashes would leave you bleeding." he told, and Berin raised himself to his feet still shaking of exertion, newly realizing the countless blemishes over the warrior's body apart from the key-shaped scar over his chest. It burnt in him, almost despising a stranger he had never met.

"Your father was a cunt." he said suddenly, of the notion that for children this was closer to torture than training. How many days did they suffer their wounds? How many nights were they kept from sleep of the pain edging through their small bodies? _I started younger than you did..._ Four? Three? Some time before he could actually recall memories. He stared at Falgon as a silence followed, and then saw his shoulders lower as he breathed out, and looked away from him towards the logs hanging from the branches.

"My father was many things. But he was still my father." he said softly, the tone of his deep voice bordering on sorrow more than resentment.

"Strength meant that much to him; that he was willing to do this to his own sons?" he asked, and then the dark eyes came back to him, slightly harder than before.

"Tell me honestly, why did you ask me to train you?" he returned a question, a challenge in the words as they stared at each other. Berin looked down at the ground, recalling each time he witnessed his friend draw his blade, in sparring and distinctively the attack on their party in the woodlands close to Riverrun... How he admired him. Each time his hand gripped the hold of his great sword, it left a spark in his chest; a spark he wanted to ignite and let blaze just as Falgon could, so well, so effortlessly.

"Because... I want to be as strong as you. As fast as you. As good as you." he finally accepted, here in the safe silence of the woodland, and saw his friend move forward approaching him.

"My father was hard, bordering on cruelty. But he made me everything that I am. I hated him for a long time, until the day he lay Summit in my hands, and I realized what it was all for, what it all meant. Would you, or anyone of your family have trusted me if I was anything but this?" he asked, again to a drawn out silence, and fresh respect dawned on him as he had to acknowledge that he could not imagine this man as anything but what he was. Powerful, fearless, proud and daunting as much as he was gentle, tranquil, sincere and kind. True and concrete, proven and loyal to the core he was Falgon of the Fire Hall, and righteously so. Then he walked forward again passing Berin, heading towards the labyrinth.

"If you want it to end, I will not ridicule you. Not everyone can tolerate this kind of training." Falgon said, stopping next to the entrance to the course and turning back; allowing his friend the opportunity for a final decision. A decision that will determine the outcome of a great part of his future.

"Now, do you wish to proceed with this, or to abandon it?" Falgon asked, awaiting back Berin's answer before he followed with a renewed smile.

"Our family doesn't give up, Falgon. Ever." he reminded, preparing himself for another run through the course, and heard a pleasant laugh from his friend.

"Good. Again." he instructed, and Berin took his place between the angled shafts that would guide him through the intricate maze. He took it in – dodge, right, left, dodge, dodge, target, left, dodge, right, left, dodge, target, right, dodge, right, target... He felt light-headed from thinking about it and glanced down at his feet.

"Try not to force your reflexes. Register the moment, and react to it." Falgon advised, and Berin nodded. He brought a deep breath into himself, and lowered himself for the dash through the hindrances.

"And remember..." Falgon started, and Berin smiled.

"I know. Forward." he ended, to the contented grin of his friend.

"Always forward." he agreed, and then he moved forward into the system that would make him stronger, faster and better in less time than he initially predicted as moments, days and weeks followed. The lashes to his back and legs healed, slowly becoming less and less before vanishing entirely, and one warm day he finally faced his final trial. The great sentinel stood before him, the great blade held in both his hands as he waited, and the dark eyes focused on him intently.

"Your training is at its end, and now it is time to pass judgement on you. You have received the same training I have. Push yourself against me as hard as you wish, and I will defend myself accurately." he instructed, and all throughout his body Berin's muscles shivered with every kind of emotion he could identify – fear, excitement, anxiety, anticipation... All he had suffered, had come down to this. He gripped the sword tighter, feeling the new strength of his sword hand and how it stretched through him while forcing steady deep breaths to expand his lungs, and listening to the world around him. The wind through the trees, the birds singing their songs, the trickle of a stream, the cicadas in the grass, the horses grazing on the shrubs somewhere nearby and the intimate suppressing silence with his heartbeat in his mind. _Forward... Always forward..._ Then he moved, _forward..._

With late noon, the horses made their way steadily over the fields back to Mount Ardor as Berin smiled happily. He could not exceed his friend of course and accounted that to his clear physical strength, and enhanced experience, but he came close and he was content with what he had achieved, feeling revived in many ways. He looked at the back of the man leading the way home, grateful for the time he had given with no obligation and no expectancies, simply for the betterment of a single man. How great their people would be, if this kind of training was applied to all. Their force would be unstoppable... They passed under the gate into the bailey where they dismounted and gave their horses to the care of the stable boys before heading into the hold to reunite with their people. They spied Raeghun on the second level in discussion with Metron, perhaps discussing the monthly taxation ledgers and new appointments.

"Well, our day is done. I believe that you will be allowed to take the rest of the day for yourself." Falgon mentioned as they headed towards the grand staircase, and Berin smiled.

"Thank you, my friend. Where are you off to?" he asked.

"I may rejoin her grace's company, should she have need of me." he mentioned as they started heading up the stairs.

"Or if she simply wishes for it." Berin teased, and Falgon laughed.

"Or if she simply wishes for it." he agreed, reaching the second level and Raeghun glanced at them with a smile before returning his attention back to the court master.

"That will be all for today, Metron. See that all appointments are tended to." he instructed, and turned towards them as they neared.

"Well now, you're back early today." he noted, and Berin laughed.

"Thankfully, and we won't be returning again." he reported, and Raeghun passed a glance between them.

"Your training has ended?" and Falgon nodded.

"It has; with fine conclusion I am delighted to say." he added, bringing another smile from their lord.

"Good. Very good. I am pleased to hear it." he approved, and then his eyes went away from them.

"So, let us see the result of this secretive training." they looked back to see Edur smiling behind them, and Berin turned towards him.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, and Edur shrugged.

"Oh, why not? I haven't had a good spar in ages." he encouraged, and Berin looked back at Raeghun.

"I must confess I am quite curious myself." he chuckled, and glanced at Falgon whom then sighed and brought his attention to Berin.

"Well, try not to hurt anyone." he advised with a sure grin, making Berin laugh.

"Very well, if you wish." he agreed, and they started down the stairs towards the outer bailey where they took up a position in the centre of the area, and Edur drew his blade. Berin glanced at Falgon a final time, whom had come to oversee his teachings and then drew his own blade and prepared himself. Edur stood watching him with a smile.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and Berin breathed in calmly bringing a confident grin back to his opponent.

"Whenever you are." he said, receiving an approving nod. Edur moved forward into an attack, in an instant feeling the blade averted and the cold of steel resting against his neck. It was so fast, he didn't register the retaliation, and looked right to see Berin beside him smiling confidently. He laughed, and prepared for another strike. He studied Berin, noting the new air about him and then moved forward in a different motion; and again the sword cut through air and the blade rested against his back. He was unquestionably better than before, decidedly faster, by all odds more agile; and not once did he move back to parry the attacks that came towards him and he breathed as he watched the head of the sentinels' order. His body moved in ways he'd never seen before, while his feet remained rooted where they were when not moving forward... Only forward... He was undeniably more audacious as he stood smiling, and his green eyes glinting. _Once more..._ Edur moved, and steel found steel as he pushed forward, but his body was directed away with the motion of his attack, and in an instant the sword lay against his stomach. He laughed pleasantly and then eased, the men stepping away from one another and sheathing their swords.

"I'm impressed. Truly remarkable, my lord." he congratulated, extending a hand to Berin who took it in a happy gesture before glancing at Falgon, also smiling broadly in approval next to the lord of the hold. Then they approached them, sharing more contentment before heading back into the hold to enjoy the remainder of the day as the lords spent some time in the garden and their tall sentinel made his way to the lady's common room to rejoin their company until they were summoned to the feast hall for the evening banquet. Being in the gardens, the lords were seated at the high table expecting their wives while waiting to be served, passing the time on sweet mead and nuts and sharing idle conversation on training, the techniques that could be applied to the training of their guards, the state of their country; the Corridor's illustrious trade of honey, sheep herds, wool and mutton. The hall was quiet, with only a few serving girls still setting the tables while their members started to assemble at their tables, and then Raeghun's eyes lit up as the lady of the hold entered along with Milla and Mandeline at her sides, Bella in the arms of her nurse and her protector following before seeing her safely into the hall and taking his leave. Since nearly falling down the steps a time ago, her attendants were careful to assist her closely through the halls. He stared at her taking in her form, her tiny figure and the sure curve of her abdomen; how beautiful she was with their most precious within her. She was smiling, laughing as they made their way to the high table. They stood as the ladies reached them, and Claira's shining frost blue eyes met his, sparkling with excitement.

"Evening, my sweet." Raeghun greeted, holding his hand to help seat her at their table. She paused, running her hand over the swell and he slightly tensed feeling the same excitement he saw in her eyes kindling in his chest.

"Claira?" he turned further towards her, eager for a response and she blushed slightly through a stifled laugh.

"I've chosen a name." she announced, and the eager tingle in his body transformed to a thrilled blaze through his veins as he had to smother a laugh of his own.

"And?" he asked quickly, the anticipation enough to almost drive him mad as he took both of her hands. She glanced back at Milla behind her, smiling as she held her hands together in front of her face tensely. Maester Adlyn had put forth many unique names for a while, and she was appreciative for the honourable mentions, but she finally chose one that she found truly fitting and then her eyes came back to his, the soft glint of tears in her eyes.

"Rychon. His name is Rychon." she declared, the burn edging its way through him completely as his hand pressed against her stomach to feel a sure motion, and he released the blaze in a blissful utterance.

"Rychon... A good name, a strong name. It's perfect, I love it." he decided instantly, the name of his son as endearing as anything he'd ever heard, and his arms went around his wife to hold her against him.

"The names of our fathers, Rychard and Willmon..." she whispered against him, and his arms grew tighter around her shoulders. _Rychon... Lord Rychon Taugere, son of lord Raeghun and lady Claira Taugere, heir to the burning mountain, Mount Ardor and future warden of the Gold Fields of the Corridor..._ He couldn't refuse the thoughts, and it was left running through his mind for the rest of the night, during the merriment of their feast and even long after they retired to bed.

It was another cool day on the grounds of Mount Ardor when the ladies spent their time in the outside garden, exchanging the confines of the walls for the soft breeze and free air before enjoying their evening meal. While Milla oversaw the final preparations of the hall with the promise to join them as soon as everything has been set, Mandeline saw to Bella on the grass just a few feet away from the fountain where she was at practise taking small steps and the nurse generously rewarded her efforts to further motivate her; and Claira sat on the edge of the fountain amidst the shrubs and rose bushes and arches overlooking the Sunset Sea dressed in a thick powder blue gown with fur linings, and her hair held back with a jewelled pin before falling naturally down her back. Her hands worked on the frilled edge of a silk and woollen blanket, feeling joyful despite her cumbersome condition. Since the sudden racing growth of her son, it became difficult to move around as easily as she used to, and aches, pains, the occasional sleepless and breathlessness along with exhaustion was a regular occurrence; but she found comfort in that her family did everything they could to help her, especially in these last days; and it was nearing its end. In attendance as per his norm, Falgon stood nearby watching the sea gulls fly overhead and screech at each other for stealing scraps of food off the beach far below, wondering how far they went each day.

"Falgon." he heard her gentle voice, and his attention went to her instantly.

"Your grace?" he turned to face her.

"What has Jeody not graced us with in a while?" she asked, her eyes remaining on the blanket in her hands. He thought for a moment, trying to recall the activities of the hall and the passing conversations between the guards regarding their evenings in the feast hall.

"I believe that fish has not been served for a while now, your grace. For a fortnight, it has been poultry and game." He calculated, and she nodded.

"I'll have Jeody prepare seared trout with vegetables and potato for tomorrow evening. It might be a little bit late to have things changed now." She decided, and he nodded. She set the blanket down on her knees and looked up towards the edge of the world and breathed in, feeling the uncomfortable firmness to her hands and feet from the persistent swelling. But apart from that, and a few hard kicks every so often, she felt content and secure. _Just a little bit longer..._ Then she sat back and let her hands rest on her stomach, and she smiled.

"He's moving." She mentioned excitedly, and Falgon moved closer.

"He's a lively child; this is good." He said and she looked up, softly laughing at the tender movements through her.

"Rychon will be strong, and fearless like his father. He will be the lord of Mount Ardor, and he will be everything the world never expected." She said smiling, and then laughed again. She reached out to Falgon, and after a moment of hesitation he surrendered his hand which she took and brought to her stomach as he knelt beside her, for just an instant averting his eyes from hers. His hand rested on her while her hand seared over his, and he could feel yet another sensation of warmth move up his hand, his arm, and his shoulder as it spread throughout his body, and then he felt it. Soft and sure like the breeze as a tiny little foot slid from his palm to his fingertips and then vanished. He brought his other hand to his mouth; and for a time, he couldn't decide what it was he was feeling. _Is_ _this what it felt like to cry?_ Would this be what he would feel had things been different for him long ago? So many things he had lost, and now he found them again here within these walls. He could experience joy, serenity, hope, kindness, pride and friendship, but there were always the followers not far behind. The anxiety that she would be harmed, should he ever fail in his duty. And the unexplainable anger that lay dormant in the distant reaches of his consciousness. But he closed his eyes, vowing once again that until he lay broken and useless he would stand for them, in swirling snow or scorching sun he would remain and hold on to his words to defend them. All of them.

"Falgon?" he opened his eyes and smiled as his hand withdrew from her, and the incomprehensible heat from her touch faded away. Sometimes it was disquieting, but he didn't mind the burn any more. He breathed in deeply, looking at her momentarily troubled blue eyes but then smiled again, bringing ease to her.

"The word 'honoured' could not possibly begin to describe… How wonderful it is that you chose to share something this special with me, your grace. When needed, I will protect him, like he was my very own. Until the day, he has no further use of me." he promised, and she blushed.

"Thank you so much, my Falgon. That is a great comfort to me." she said softly, and he nodded in approval while he stood, just as a lovely figure in blush pink rounded the shrubs on the garden path.

"Everything is prepared. Cook Jeody has even mentioned we might be able to sup a bit earlier this evening." Milla said as she took a seat next to Claira on the edge of the fountain.

"That is fine news. I dare say I might enjoy an earlier evening." she agreed, and continued the work on the blanket while Milla watched her daughter while occasionally admiring the delicate stitching that would hold the frilled edge to the wool and blue silk blanket while they discussed the activities of the hold. Berin had discussed some of the easier techniques he learnt with Raeghun, and it was slowly applied to the guards of the castle's training, and they saw a fair deal of improvement. There was talk of several noble marriages within their domain, including that of lord Violet's daughter. The sun set over the rim of the world when they were summoned to the feast hall awaiting the feast to begin, and the ladies slowly made their way inside with Milla and Mandeline at Claira's sides, and Bella on her mother's hip as Falgon followed. The hall smelt of their cook's delicious creation, and the tables looked beautiful, decorated with silver and bright flowers while the light from the hearths glowed off the banners and garlands. Claira paused at the doorway, again taking in the high table looking over their hall from the dais in front of the Fervid hearth, smiling as her hand softly stroked the curve of her stomach. _One day, you will sit there at the head of our house;_ _strong, proud and brave. Respected... Beloved..._ The vision of a powerful man in their house colours entered her mind, seated at the head of their table alongside his father and mother, and all the rest of their people.

"Claira?" she turned, seeing Milla watching her and laughed.

"I'm sorry, Milla. I was dreaming again." then Milla smiled with her.

"It won't stay a dream for long, my dear friend." she said coming back, and admiring the round curve.

"It's so close... I can't wait." she sniggered softly, and they moved forward towards the table. Unexpectedly, a sudden hard kick to the left crest of her hip forced a painful cry from her chest, and strength from her legs. She heard Milla gasp next to her in fright as she sank, thinking she might fall; but felt a strong hand to her back and her weight mercifully resting something soft under her.

"Bring the maester!" Milla's voice called through the hall, but Claira raised her hand.

"No, don't bother him." she said quickly, and took a deep breath forcing the pain away, and then looked back to see Falgon next to her, kneeling at her side and only then realized that she was sitting on his thigh. In a moment, he offered himself as a chair as they were too far from the tables.

"Are you al right, your grace?" she blushed, secretly admiring his ability for instantaneous improvisations; again severely grateful for him. How he was always there, how he always knew what to do...

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." she assured, taking another deep breath as Milla and Mandeline stood by her side.

"Are you sure?" she asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes. By the stars, he's strong... He's so strong..." she laughed, looking down. Even so small, the Taugere power was obvious in him.

"Can you stand?" Mandeline asked, to a short pause and Claira still noticed the sensation to her legs.

"I think so..." she moved to stand and they carefully helped her up, for a moment she felt unstable while the powerful hands held her steady and her balance returned.

"I do believe that Rychon is feeling a bit tucked up." she joked, and they could share a small laugh as they looked up at the doorway to the Hall of Fire, seeing the lords enter and Raeghun's eyes set on them. Sensing something amiss, they hurried over to them.

"Did something happen? Are you al right?" he asked immediately, raising his hands to lay his right on her back and his right on her stomach.

"Just a kick, my Raeghun. I'm fine." she promised him, easing the concern in his burning eyes.

"It's getting close, you should be careful." he cautioned, and she acknowledged it with a nod.

"I will, I promise." he breathed out relieved, and brought her hand to his lips before leading their family to the high table to settle in for the banquet where they supped on boar stew, fresh bread, fine ale and berry press with a sweetness of cream tarts and grapes while discussing their days, and of course the much anticipated birth of the heir, which everyone looked forward to. Raeghun also mentioned that he had asked the carpenter's guild in Garde's Post to fashion a new baby's bed for them, and was assured that it will be delivered to their hold within a week. Every reference of preparations left them feeling elated, and the anticipation was as alarming as it was exciting. Finally the hall was cleared and their members returned to their chambers, and Claira tended to her bath with Raeghun at her side to help her. Washing had become rather challenging as her movements were restricted by her bearing stomach, but she was thankful for her husband's help while she stood feeling the mild water running down her arms and back as Raeghun spilled water over her skin with the silver pitcher, rinsing away the soap.

"There." he said softly, replacing the pitcher on the pillar's base and she turned, placing her arms around his neck and her abdomen rested against his.

"Thank you. You've been helping me so much." she smiled, and he leaned forward placing his lips against hers in a soft kiss.

"It is my pleasure. I enjoy it." a solid movement made him laugh, and his hands went to her stomach.

"I can't wait to meet him." he whispered softly, and she looked down laying her hands on his.

"Not much longer, my love." she assured, looking up at him again and he met her in a passionate kiss as his right hand came up into her hair, held up by her pin; and his other hand wound around her waist with hers circling his neck and they brought one another as close as it was physically possible. Then he drew back, breathing deeply and trying to stifle the burn through his veins as he lay his head against her brow.

"We should go to bed..." he whispered, and her arms tightened.

"I'm sorry." This was a strain as well; not to harm their son or bring discomfort to her, he had decided not to lay with her for the remainder of her expectancy, and to her great relief despite the barren stretch it caused it did not vex him.

"It's al right, I don't mind. Things will be back to normal soon enough." he said as he drew back, with a tolerant smile and his wonderful blue eyes bright. Her hands ran down his face, her fingers gentle on his brow, his cheeks and his jaw, registering the difference between skin and scar as she stared at him.

"I love you, Raeghun." he kissed her once more.

"I love you, Claira." then he led her from the bath to help her dry and dress before tending to himself, and they made their way up to the lord's chamber to surrender themselves to sleep; waking again at dawn and Raeghun saw to his morning routine before returning to their chamber to greet his wife, and again encouraged her to rest a bit longer, and then made his way down the halls. He wanted to do everything to comfort her, to bring ease to her. Bearing their child took a lot from her, and although she would not admit it, he could see how exhausted she was each day. After sparring in the bailey, they proceeded to the feast hall where the ladies of the hold joined them to break their fast on boiled eggs, flamed sausages, fresh fruit pieces and goat's milk before proceeding to matters of the hold. While in counsel in the Hollow, discussing more additions to the hall, the training of the guards, possible changes in routines and improvements to the nearby village a knock to the door drew their attention, and a pause of silence followed.

"Enter." Raeghun allowed, and a guardsman entered cautiously.

"My pardon for disturbing you, milord. A messenger sent by lord Rames requests an audience." he announced, and the lord glanced at Berin beside him.

"I will meet with him shortly, if he doesn't mind to wait." he decided,

"Thank you, milord." he issued a small bow before leaving them to finish their business, and then Raeghun made his way down to the Hall of Fire to meet with the messenger. Heading down the grand staircase he noticed the individual in the hall, a small weedy man with short brown hair and black eyes set in a thin withered face, the shield carried on his back adorned with the black rams-head on crimson red. He turned as Raeghun approached him, and bowed low to greet him.

"Good day, lord Taugere." his gruff voice sounded soft, barely more than a breath.

"Good day. My apologies for keeping you waiting, what may we do for you?" Raeghun pardoned, but the man smiled.

"It's no trouble, my lord. I bring you a message from lord Rames. He has requested that you please come to Hurlton Fortress to finalize the annual revenue and recompense affairs." he told, and Raeghun felt an uncharacteristic disposition.

"Lord Rames normally attends these matters here." he mentioned, and the messenger glanced away timidly.

"I'm afraid lord Rames has taken a bad fall during a hunt a few days ago, otherwise he would have, I'm sure." the messenger said, and Raeghun thought a moment.

"And his sons?" he asked, and the uneasiness in the messenger seemed to grow slightly.

"Regretfully, they've been sent to barter with White Harbour and Seagard. They cannot be present." he further added, increasing Raeghun's impediment.

"It is three days' ride to Hurlton, we'd be gone for at least a week. My wife is close to childbirth, it would be foolish to leave now." he informed, suppressing the disappointment in his gut.

"I do apologise for the timing, my lord. We might be able to postpone the completion-" then he cursed himself.

"No, then our people will have to wait." he looked at Berin, still in attendance.

"I'm sure it won't take long. The maester has said that it might still be a few more weeks." he forced composure into himself, and then looked back at the messenger.

"We will set out before dawn. You are welcome to the barracks and our tables until then." he invited, and the messenger bowed again.

"Thank you, my lord." he left to find himself a suitable space to rest until the journey back to Hurlton Fortress, and Raeghun sighed.

"The challenges fate throws at us..." he reflected, but heard Berin beside him.

"Don't worry. We'll be back before you know it." he assured, bringing the blue eyes to him with a uneager smile.

"I hope so. But anything could happen now." he breathed, and they returned the way they came heading up to the lady's common room where with a heavy heart Raeghun had to inform Claira of the unexpected summons.

"Raeghun... This is rather disheartening..." she said softly where he knelt at her side, his hand around hers.

"I'm sorry. But we'll be back as soon as we can, I promise." he soothed, and she forced a smile.

"It's al right, there's still time. You should go, take care of the affairs and come home." she said, and he smiled kissing her hand.

"Thank you, my Claira. If the gods are good, we'll be back within a week." he assured, running his hand over her stomach, and her hand rested on his.

"He's been quiet, I haven't felt him at all today." she mentioned softly, and he could instantly sense the uneasiness in her voice.

"I'm sure he's just sleeping. But, why don't you pay a visit to maester Adlyn?" he proposed, and she nodded.

"I will, a little bit later." she agreed, glancing at Milla and Mandeline, little Bella lying on the carpet with her dolls.

"Very well." he stood and lay his lips against her brow, before leaving the common room to tend to the remaining matters, and start preparations to travel to Hurlton Fortress while Claira's attention went back to the crochet in her hands. The blue phoenix was finished, and sown over the left breast of a sparkling blue dress, the long elegant tail feathers stretching over the bodice to the right hip; the only detail she still needed to finish was the silver sleeve and neckline details. This project became her favoured, and she compared it precisely to another comfortable dress, wanting it perfect to wear on the day of her son's presentation. Finally she looked up, seeing that the sun hung low over the ocean and looked at Milla, almost finished with her shawl.

"I'll rejoin you again soon." she said as she lay the dress down next to her and carefully stood.

"Shall we accompany you, my lady?" Milla asked, lowering her hands.

"No, don't trouble yourselves." she smiled and made her way to the door, where her sentinel stood at his post, bowing as she stepped out of the room. He followed, escorting her to the maester's chamber and then departed to await her again at the arch.

"What may I do for you, my lady?" Maester Adlyn asked eagerly, guiding her to the chairs by his hearth.

"Rychon has been quiet, I haven't felt him move at all today." she told, and he stared at her, examining the curve of her abdomen, to his eyes noticeably lower set than with her last visit.

"Do you have any pain, my lady?" he asked, bringing his eyes to hers.

"A little bit of discomfort to my back, but no. No real pain." she informed, and he moved slightly closer.

"I see. If I may, my lady. Shall I examine you?" he asked and she agreed, allowing his hands to run over her, before taking a copper tube from his drawer and placing one end to the curve and his ear to the other, listening in silence for a few moments before looking up with an easy smile.

"The heartbeat is still strong, I do not believe there is any reason for concern. But if there is no change by noon tomorrow, please come see me again. Or for any sudden change, seek me out immediately, my lady. And it may be wise to lay in up to a week earlier than initially planned." he requested, and she nodded in agreement, running her hand down the curve. _Thank goodness..._

"Thank you, maester. I will." she agreed, and started back the way she came to return to the common room before supper. Moving down the stairs with her hand against the wall, she found the great mass awaiting her yet again at the arch, and he looked up to meet her eyes.

"I hope everything is in order, your grace." he greeted.

"Yes, maester Adlyn has assured that there are no faults." she breathed out relieved, and he extended his hand to help her down the final few steps.

"I assume you will be laying in soon." he mentioned as she took his hand gratefully.

"Not for another fortnight. But I am looking forward to the relief. I feel fat. I must look the part of lord Foch's woolly mammoth." she pointed out, truly feeling so; but he smiled gently.

"No, your grace. You're beautiful. You're glowing." he soothed her, and a soft rose blush settled on her face as he brought her carefully down to the floor of the hallway.

"My dear Falgon, you always treat me so tenderly." she praised, and he attended her back to the common room, sparing a glance that might resemble puzzlement.

"How else would I treat you, your grace? You're a woman, the lady of Mount Ardor; and my queen on the burning mountain. Whatever a woman is given, she will take and make it greater. The world may have been quite a bit different if it was ruled by ladies instead of lords. Something my family was not altogether adverse to." he mentioned, and she recalled that he had referred to them previously, but rather vaguely.

"Oh yes, you've mentioned them before. And you had brothers and sisters?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yes. Two younger brothers, and twin baby sisters my father had with his second wife; a woman four years younger than myself." he commented, and she thought of them although not being able to bring them into her vision fully.

"They sound like wonderful people." Claira reflected, wishing she could have had that chance and heard him chuckle beside her.

"They were. But I dare say that my relationship with my father's second wife was not as wonderful." he said softly, and she felt the admiration enveloped by pity.

"I'm sorry, Falgon." once again he held his hand to help her up several narrow steps, his hold gentle but solid to support her.

"It's al right." he eased as they stepped up, and moved down the corridor to the door of the lady's common room where she was waited upon.

"Where is your family now?" she asked, looking up at him and noticed something in his eyes, something resembling a far off, forlorn albeit suppressed abjection.

"Departed, I'm afraid. I'm the only one left." he breathed slowly, and the pity became a deep sting of sorrow. To be alone... with no one in this world... and her hand came to her chest, feeling an intense series of beats to her ribs.

"I... I'm so sorry, Falgon." he turned back to her, his expression soft and kind as they reached the door to her common room.

"The world we live in is a cruel one, your grace..." he paused for a moment, resuming his post by the door and smiling at her.

"But things seem better now, than what it was then." he finished, making the uneasiness fade away, and she returned the small gesture.

"I am pleased, that you found happiness here with us." she told, and he bowed gracefully.

"So am I, your grace." he agreed.

"Ser Falgon! Lord Taugere demands your attendance in the Hollow!" they looked down the corridor to see a guardsman standing at the corner, and his attention returned to Claira.

"With your leave, your grace. I have been summoned." she nodded, approving his departure before returning to her favoured chair inside the room where she resumed work on her dress and he made his way down the long halls to the Hollow, finding the lord and his sentinels finalizing the morning departure, and then Raeghun's bright blue eyes came up to meet his as he stepped inside and bowed formally.

"You summoned me, sire?" he asked, awaiting his bidding.

"Yes. I must leave for Hurlton Fortress by Ramshorn before sunrise on the morn to meet with lord Rames. I take a party of guards with me." Raeghun explained as the tall sentinel rose up.

"Will I be accompanying you, sire?" he asked, and Raeghun shook his head.

"No. You will remain here, to watch over the lady as is your position. I have also given orders that the gate is sealed until our return, save for the acceptance of produce and whatever necessities are required here. Gavin will be in her attendance tomorrow, but I'd like you to see to the following days until our return." he instructed, and Falgon nodded, acknowledging his command.

"As you bid, sire." Raeghun looked over the other faces inside the Hollow, and then took a deep breath.

"Leave us!" he commanded, and the sentinels started to exit the Hollow. Raeghun glanced at Berin, lingering behind and nodded before he too, took his leave and closed the door behind him, leaving the lord of the burning mountain, and the trusted sentinel of the lady inside the chamber. Falgon watched as Raeghun rounded the table, and finally leaned against its edge in front of him, for a moment glancing at the stone floor before bringing his bright eyes to meet his.

"The first time you set yourself between my wife and danger, I promised that I will not forget your service to me. Since then you have provided lady Claira and others under my protection with refuge as well as comfort on many occasions." he started, and a short pause followed as he found his words.

"Yet, now I find myself asking more of you. You not only saved her life and those of others, but also mine although it was not your place, along with my sanity. Allow me to voice to you something, that I've not done to anyone, Falgon. My wife is everything to me, and now she carries my son inside her. I will give up everything if it meant that I may keep them safe. You understand the severity of what I'm asking of you? You are the strongest, and the most reliable of the lady's sentinels. There is no one in this castle to whom I would more trust my wife's safety." he told, and Falgon stared back at him in silence for a moment before casting his eyes to the floor discreetly. There was no need to voice it, to anyone with sight it was as clear as the sun setting on the horizon each day; something so rare, so pure... but he chose to entrust this to him.

"You honour me, sire." he praised softly, and Raeghun moved forward with a pleased smile.

"I must thank you. She trusts you, more than any other. Stay at her side always when I cannot be, keep her safe for me. I'll return as soon as I can." he assigned, and Falgon bowed in acceptance of his order.

"To the very best of my abilities, I will not fail you, sire." he promised, and then felt a warm, powerful hand to his shoulder before looking up at the burning eyes.

"Good. You may return to your routines." he allowed, and the sentinel courteously took his leave from the Hollow to revert to his post for the rest of the day, listening in silence to the soft voices discussing numerous topics from inside the chamber, to be collected by a serving girl from the kitchen much later to enjoy their evening meal of the promised seared trout, buttered potatoes, creamy spinach and sweetened carrots, along with ale and apple press; and stewed fruit with warm custard in the company of family, friends and the gentle melody of a flute before retiring to bed to take in the calm of night.

Raeghun woke to a black dawn, tearing himself away from the softness of the bed to start an early day while Claira still lay sleeping. Gathering up his clothing, he headed down to the bath chamber to cleanse and dress before returning and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. He gently ran a hand up her leg and back before bringing his touch down over her stomach, and leaned down to gently kiss her cheek.

"I love you, my Claira. I'll be back soon." he whispered, and as he drew back she looked up at him, her blue eyes still cloudy from sleep.

"I love you. Stay safe." she returned, then he stood and leaned down once more placing his lips against her brow.

"We will. Go back to sleep, its still dark." he urged, and she lowered her face to the pillows again, slipping back into slumber as he left the chamber, heading down to the Hall of Fire to find his company ready. Milla stood with Berin at the doorway to the feast hall, where he greeted them.

"Good morning, has everything been prepared?" he asked, looking at Berin.

"Of course, my lord. We may leave as soon as our company has broken their fast." he informed, and Raeghun nodded.

"Good to hear. How is little Bella?" he asked, turning his attention to Milla.

"Still asleep, I believe she enjoys having her own chamber. Mandeline is watching over her." she confirmed, it has been several weeks that she did not share the comforts of her parents' bedchamber any longer, with little trouble.

"Fine news. As long as everyone is comfortable..." Raeghun breathed with a smile, and then motioned to the inside of the hall where the company was assembling.

"Come, let us start this sojourn of ours." he urged, and they joined the handful of attendants to enjoy a very early meal of fresh fruit, grains, thick sweet cream and tea before leaving for the outer bailey, where the stable master had the horses saddled and waiting along with the cart harnessed to a brown gelding, and Berin spared a moment with his wife on the steps of the castle as his hand brushed tenderly against her cheek to her jaw, and he placed his lips against her brow.

"I will return to you." he gave her his promise, and she smiled.

"You always do." she whispered easily, this seemed such a small thing compared to the Rebellion and there was no fear tearing away at her heart. Then he turned and found his horse, mounting and taking his place beside Raeghun on his massive black warhorse. Moments later, with the Hurlton messenger to Raeghun's left side, torches lighting their way and the deep purple of morning on the rim of the world they moved through the gatehouse and across the bridge while Milla watched, issuing her silent prayer over them all for safety and swiftness before returning into the hold and back to their chambers for the remaining peace of the halls before sunrise. With orange light above the fields she rose again, heading to her daughter's chamber to tend to her morning feeding and then with her in her nurse's care, she went to the kitchens to discuss the morning meal of sweetened porridge, bacon rinds, broiled eggs, fresh bread and orange press for those left at the castle, and having the feast hall prepared, giving instructions for the scullions to clean the floor and tables, the handmaidens to supply fresh flowers, and the serving girls to lay the hall with feast ware while the young pages stocked the hearths with firewood. And then with all prepared, she recalled that she hadn't seen Claira come down yet, and decided to head up to the lord's wing. Passing through the many hallways, there were many others busy moving up and down to clean and stock the wings, and she found Gavin at the great doors shielding the lord's wing.

"Good morning, my lady." he issued her a small bow as she approached.

"Good morning, Gavin." she greeted, pausing with her hand against the door.

"You are in attendance today?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yes, my lady. Just for today, as instructed." he confirmed,

"Very well. We'll be down in just a while." she assured, opening the door and gracefully stepping through greeting two handmaidens busy with chores of the lord's hall, and they acknowledged her courteously.

"Has lady Claira risen yet?" she asked, and the girls glanced at one another.

"We're not sure, milady. We haven't been up to the lord's chamber yet, afraid we might wake her if she hasn't." one replied shyly, and Milla sighed.

"I see. Continue your duties, I will call you if needed." she allowed, and headed up the winding steps into the tower holding the many bed chambers of the noble family to the highest room where she softly entered, and smiled at her friend sitting on the edge of their wide bed.

"Good morning, Claira." she greeted stepping through and closing the door behind her, and the lady looked up with the same friendly gesture, but for the tiredness in her eyes.

"Good morning, Milla." she breathed, moving slowly back in an awkward motion as Milla moved towards her.

"Are you al right?" Claira's hand went to her back, and she sniggered.

"Yes, just a little bit sore. I don't I've had a good night's sleep in weeks." she joked as Milla sat down beside her.

"You don't need to come down today. I'll have you tended to here." Milla suggested, but Claira took a deep breath before bringing her eyes to her friend's.

"No, I should keep moving. Maester Adlyn said the effort is good, and will have been a great help for when my time comes. Besides, it may ease the ache." she insisted, having to note that the discomfort had worsened during the night, and then felt Milla gently taking her hand.

"Al right. Whenever you're ready, we can get you dressed." she agreed, then stood and went to the wardrobe, choosing a fleecy wide sleeved peach dress, with a gold ribbon waistband, adorned with a soft full length lace shawl; and her flat peach slippers, and helped her dress before brushing out her hair and braiding it, leaving it hanging down the length of her back, and hanging a gold necklace around her neck. Then they left the lord's chamber, carefully down the steps and further to the southern hall to join their people for their morning meal; and then tending to some small matters of the hold with Metron, who was eager to teach their lady, and generously praised her decisions. By noon, the ladies returned to her common room to resume their work, trying to pass the remainder of the day, but Claira struggled to find a comfortable position; if anything the unease had increased instead, and she still hadn't felt her son moving. She made the decision to return to maester Adlyn for any aid he could give, laying the dress she was almost done with down on the armrest of the chair, and looking at Milla holding Bella on her lap.

"Milla, I'm going to see the maester. I should be back shortly." she informed, and carefully stood.

"Shall I come with you?" she asked, looking up at her.

"You may. We won't be gone long." she agreed, and Mandeline stood to take Bella as they moved to the door, from where Gavin dutifully followed down the hall. Rounding the last bend towards the maester's tower, Claira suddenly stopped and Milla turned back, feeling a frigid sting spread across her face and down her neck. Her friend was mist white, and her eyes clear but vacant as she stared at the space in front of her.

"Claira?" she examined her, noting her hands against the base of her stomach.

"Claira?" she called to her again, and then the eyes came to her; and something took shape behind the frost blue, something Milla could only recognise as fright.

"Milla... Milla, find maester Adlyn for me." she suddenly pleaded, the words desperate but bereft of sound and Milla glanced down, suddenly bringing her hand to her mouth the instant she registered the pool under Claira's feet.

"I will." then she looked at Gavin, seeming equally stunned.

"Gavin, see lady Claira safely to the lord's wing. I will return there myself as soon as I can." she instructed, and he nodded moving forward and holding his arm out beside her for aid. Her hand went around his elbow, the trembling fingers firm around his muscles and he cautiously guided her forward as Milla turned and rushed to the maester's tower, hurrying up the steps as quickly as possible calling for him, and he suddenly appeared on the stairway eyes wide and startled.

"Lady Milla?" her hands went to his arms as she reached him.

"Come quickly, it's lady Claira." he nodded, and followed her down the stairs to the wing.

"Where is lord Raeghun?" he asked as they hurried down the halls, and she stopped turning to him.

"He rode to Ramshorn to meet with lord Rames. They left shortly before sunrise." she told, and he took her arm guiding her forward.

"He must return here. Send someone to find him." he instructed, entering into the wing as they passed the great doors while she passed down through the halls, wondering whom would be fastest. _Wymon... Renko..._ Then she passed through the doors into the bailey and relief washed over her the moment she noticed the man crossing the bailey on his way back to the hold, and she rushed down the steps.

"Falgon!" he looked up, instantly drawn by the tone of her voice.

"Lady Milla?" she stopped in front of him, close to breathless.

"It's the lady… she's in labour… Lord Taugere…" she started, and he turned to a couple of stable boys nearby.

"Bring out my horse!" he called, and one of them vanished into the stables as he returned his attention to Milla, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Stay with her, I'll find him." he assured, and then turned around heading to the structure that housed the steeds as she watched him. How easily he conformed. With a sense of ease she turned and rushed back into the hold as he looked up at the guards of the sentry towers.

"Open the gate!" he called, followed by the dull whine of steel chains straining against the weight of thick iron bars, hauling the heavy double gate from the earth. He approached the massive horse being led from the stables, with a swift movement mounting Galeo bareback as another boy came rushing over with the saddle.

"Your saddle, ser..." the boy breathed as Falgon took up the reins in his hands.

"Leave it, there's no time." he put his heels into the ribs, spurring Galeo forward into a canter through the gate, passing to a full gallop over the bridge and down the pathway east, following the trail of the party that left early this morning, not passing a thought for the faces staring as he raced by, but hoping that he may find them soon... Heavy hooves shook the earth, chipping away at cobblestones and tearing at the earth as he went, and the sun pulled mercilessly towards the earth; and with it glaring above the horizon he crossed a hill, spying a small party on the road on an easy trot heading east. His heels dug deeper into the sides of his horse, forcing the stallion forward and closing the distance between them. Some of the trailing guards turned, hearing the thundering of heavy falls on the earth, the curiosity of their faces melting into surprise as he ignored them, heading past to the front of the group, and bringing the party to a stunned halt; Raeghun's burning eyes meeting his in utter confusion.

"Sire, you are needed back at Mount Ardor. It is time." Falgon told, and the confusion altered to shock. _No..._ _No, it's too soon..._ _Much too soon..._ he moved his horse forward, turning it around and looked at Berin.

"Lord Berin, I name you my substitute. Give lord Rames my regards, and apologies that I did not attend personally; but given the circumstances I believe he will understand. See that his requirements are adequately met." he instructed, and Berin nodded.

"I will keep to your rulings as best I can, my lord." he promised, and proceeded to lead the party further down the road while Raeghun and Falgon made their way back to the burning mountain as quickly as their horses could ride, only arriving back at the hold late into the night with naught to go by but lights of passing farmsteads and what little moonlight was granted; finally passing under the gate and giving their horses to the care of the stable boys. While Raeghun hurried inside to the urges of those meeting him on the way, Falgon remained another small moment running his hand down the neck of his horse as the poor creature breathed hard.

"I'm sorry, my friend. But thank you, you've done well." he whispered, hearing Galeo snort. He brought his attention to a passing stable boy.

"Please see that my steed is properly walked down, and watered. Also, I'll beg for an extra helping of oats for his service today." he asked, and the boy smiled.

"Of course, ser." he agreed, taking the reins and leading the stallion away before Falgon made his way into the hold.

Raeghun rushed up the steps to the lord's chamber, discarding his cloak and doublet as he went without much thought and then passed through the door. The room was dark, only two candles burning in the space, Milla and three nurses in attendance along with maester Adlyn who sat on a small seat at the foot of the bed where his wife lay bare, her skin glowing in the soft light, and the maester held his fingers to her ankle, his crystal pendulum swinging above the leather scroll. Nearing the chamber he could hear her, and it tortured him. The maester looked up for a moment, nodding with a smile as he registered the lord, and he moved forward to take his place beside her.

"Claira." she reached for him, her breaths short and strained.

"Raeghun… Raeghun, I'm scared…" she pleaded desperately, and he took her hand feeling the tremor in her fingers as he lowered to his knees next to her and kissed the back of her hand as his free hand went to her face.

"It's al right, I'm here. I won't leave you." he promised, and the maester glanced back.

"Do not fear, my lady. You are doing very well. Just breathe." he advised soothingly, and her hand suddenly tightened in Raeghun's as she tried to suppress an agonized cry. The pain was excruciating, reaching through her like flaming hands and tearing away at her worn senses. But she forced deep breaths into her body as her husband tried to comfort her. The waves of hurt came and stayed more frequently, only granting but a few moments of relief between the sensations of her body being torn apart. Through the fogs that merged reality and agony, she heard the door of the chamber open and close, opening her eyes from an instant of disorientation.

"Raeghun..." his hands were still on her.

"I'm here. We've sent Milla down, she seems exhausted." he said softly, the tone of his voice soft and soothing.

"She's been a great help..." she breathed in a moment of relief. Her court maiden had stayed with her, offering what she could by walking with her around the room, and rubbing her back and legs. Another surge of pain brought a barely suppressed cry from her chest as her muscles tensed and constricted.

"Almost there, my lady. Just a little bit longer." the maester said, yet again. He'd been saying this for what seemed like hours, and the night dragged on through the sundering agony, when eventually all that was left was the crushing pressure. Adlyn stood from his seat, and took his position bringing his hands to her thighs.

"It is time. Now I need you to listen to me, Claira." he brought his eyes up.

"Three deep breaths, and push." he instructed, and through the torture she tried to obey by forcing air into herself and then strained hard in an effort to release her child from her body with a painful scream that echoed off the walls and travelled down the halls as her hand crushed into Raeghun's. But the pressure remained.

"Breathe, Claira." Raeghun reminded softly, and air reached her lungs again.

"Good, my lady. Try again, when you're ready." the maester instructed, and she did. Three breaths, and another scream emitted down the stones.

"Good. And again." Adlyn encouraged, and she breathed again. Three times, four times, five times, eventually she lost count, but the hurt endured. It did not seem to lessen at all, and just for an instant she wished for death before hearing the maester's voice again.

"Very good, Claira. Once more." she heard him through the throes, and forced air into her chest before straining intensely once more, a final scream tearing its way through the castle. A sharp breath stabbed into her lungs as the pain vanished, complete relief falling over her and a shrouded conciousness obscured her thoughts. She could hear voices, different voices muffled in the space; wordless but urgent over a dreadful silence, and her thoughts went to the baby. _Rychon... Rychon..._ The voices became harder, and the hazed hysteria made her force herself up to stand. _Rychon... Give him to me... Please give my son to me..._ A strong hand held her shoulder, preventing her from further movement and finally she heard the maester again, calling out a name... Her son's name and her heart stopped. _No... No... Oh, please... No..._ She shattered, her heart and soul splintering into a thousand sharp edges, new tears flooded her eyes, and the hard, desperate pressure of her husband's hand around hers. _No_ _, please... No..._ Then a stutter, a gasp, a cough and a wail. Beautiful, blissful bawling of a tiny voice, and the shards melted to reform anew as her own voice sounded in the room in elated cries while a small whimpering bundle was lay in her arms and brought to her breast. Little lord Rychon Taugere was gorgeous, with soft black hair, his warm body wrapped tightly in a fine ivory blanket, and his cheek against her breast as his cries faded to little more than soft whining. But she couldn't stop weeping, her arms around her son, and her husband's around them both, his face pressed softly against hers and the spell of the moment held her in blessed enchantment as the world faded away. Raeghun drew back as a nurse came to take Rychon for a thorough cleansing, and he looked at her, limp as a doll in his arms.

"Claira." there was no response, and sudden panic bit at his chest as he looked at the maester standing behind him.

"Maester." he saw him smile.

"She is exhausted, my lord. It has been a difficult day and night, but she'll be fine." he assured, and the uneasiness faded away as he glanced out the window, only now realizing the lightening sky. He breathed deeply as the sensation left him, and tried to drown a laugh.

"Thank you, maester. Thank you so much, for everything." he said, and felt the maester's hand softly on his shoulder.

"It is always my great pleasure, lord Raeghun. Is there anything you need?" he asked, and Raeghun paused a moment.

"No. No, I don't believe so." he returned, and the hand on his shoulder gave him a small pat.

"I will be back to tend to lady Claira shortly." he promised, and then made his way to the door giving his orders to the nurses who would remain in attendance constantly for the lady and her child's needs on their duties until told otherwise. Raeghun stood, slowly heading to the door, and assured the nurse that he will return shortly before heading down the stairway and through the hall, passing through the door to find an assembly of worried faces waiting in the hall, and Milla approached.

"How are they?" she asked, the urgency in her voice little less than a veil and he smiled through the weariness.

"They're fine. They're both fine. My wife is resting now..." for an instant, his mind went back to the bitter moments that the maester struggled with his son, frantically coercing the tiny limp body to breathe... and then the wonderful instant he started to cry. He looked up at those waiting in the hallway.

"Thank you all, for your commitment and bearing this with us. You may return to your apartments. I will bring you more news when all is rested." he informed, watching as the throng slowly departed, and then looked back at Milla.

"And thank you, Milla. For your involvement." she smiled under a soft blush.

"You are most welcome, lord Raeghun." she curtsied, and then headed back down the corridor with Falgon by her side while he went back into the wing, and to their chamber. Stepping through the door, the nurse approached him with Rychon, clean and calm as she gently handed him to his father who sat down on a chair by the hearth, gently rocking with his son in his arms while the nurses finished their task of carefully washing Claira and changed the sheets, laying a thick fleece beneath her for comfort and to capture what would discharge for the following few days, with the intention of having it replaced every few hours. He watched as the baby slept against him, loving him more than anything along with his wife. They meant more than anything this world could ever offer, and he found himself praying that he would always have the strength to protect them. He leaned down, placing his lips to the delicate skin as his arms tenderly tightened.

"My son..." he smiled, then leaned back still lightly rocking as he settled between sleep and conciousness, allowing his ravaged senses a few moments of peace and only bringing his awareness back to a soft fidgeting in his arms before hearing the soft whimpers. A nurse who remained behind came to him, raising her arms.

"With your permission my lord, I will teach lady Claira how to feed him." she offered, and he nodded gently releasing Rychon to her hands and she went to the bed to wake Claira. He remained in the chair, watching as his wife gingerly raised herself and the nurse positioned several pillows behind her back and to her sides for support before siting down on the edge of the bed, bringing Rychon to her. He watched as she brought their son's face to her breast, and the nurse taught her how to position him, how to guide him to suckle from her, how to hold him, and all that accompanied it in loving wonder. Then she glanced at him smiling, and he stood to make his way to the bed, joining her on the soft mattress and running his fingers over the soft black hair and the nurse smiled.

"You are doing very well, my lady." she praised, and then glanced at Raeghun.

"If you wish, we may ask the maids to prepare a different chamber for you, my lord?" she proposed, and he scoffed.

"I will share my wife's bed, as I always have." he assured, and the nurse smiled. Then a soft knock drew their attention.

"Enter." Raeghun allowed, supposing it may be the nurses; but then Milla's face appeared as the door opened.

"I apologise for disturbing you, my lord and lady." she said softly, carefully stepping inside but Claira looked up at her smiling.

"You're not, Milla. Come here." she invited, and she moved forward as the nurse stood.

"We'll be back in just a moment to clean the sheets, my lady." she assured, and then left the chamber as Milla sat on the seat next to the bed, taking in the vision in front of her. Not even the most distinguished work of art rivalled this in any way, the lord, his lady and their son.

"How are you feeling, my dear friend?" she asked, hearing Claira breathe deeply.

"I'm still painful, and tired. But I'm fine." she assured, bringing her eyes down to the baby at her breast.

"I'm just so happy he's finally here..." she laughed softly, and Milla examined him, her own smile brightening as her hand touched her mouth.

"He is so beautiful, my lady." her eyes went up to Raeghun.

"He looks just like his father." she praised, and they shared a happy laugh. Another gentle knock at the door took their attention.

"Enter." Raeghun allowed again, and maester Adlyn stepped through.

"Good morning, my lady." he greeted, and closed the door behind him before coming over to examine both Claira and Rychon; concluding that she was well apart from the rawness and fatigue, and was already improving, but advised that she continued to rest as much as she could; pent to bed for another two weeks at least. Further, despite coming into this world early, the heir was sound at seven and a half pounds, and nearly twenty three inches from crown to heel; and with a little extra care should be perfectly fine. To her bedside table he supplied a selection of mixtures to alleviate the discomfort, supplement her worn body and aid her maternal blossoming. Soon after the nurses returned to tend to their needs, and Rychon was again given to the care of his father while the nurses again proceeded to wash the lady and exchange the fleece for a new one while he escorted their maester and court maiden back to the lord's hall.

"Milla, would you care to tend to the kitchens and the halls for a while?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Of course, my lord. As long as it is needed. I'll have servings brought to lady Claira here until she is fit again." she accepted, and he thanked her gratefully before turning his attention to Adlyn.

"And you will tend to my wife every day, here?" the maester smiled.

"Certainly, my lord. The nurses will be in constant service, but if there is dire need for me, all you need is to summon me." he assured, and Raeghun looked down with a relieved sigh, at the blessing in his arms.

"Maester Adlyn..." he stopped and turned back to the lord before exiting the wing.

"Send ravens to all the reaches..." he instructed, bringing his eyes back to the smiling face in front of him, and he knew what would follow.

"Yes, my lord. May I suggest two months for the presentation?" he asked excitedly, and Raeghun nodded.

"Thank you, maester. Two months should be decent." he approved, and watched him leave the wing to perform his request. Milla remained behind a moment longer.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked, and he smiled softly.

"Not at the moment, Milla. You've done so much, thank you. You may go back to your day. Berin should return soon, and to give all in our hold equal opportunity to meet my son, he will remain here for the time being. But you are welcome for visits when you have the time." he said, and she nodded in agreement. After thanking him, she made her way down the halls while he returned to the chamber to join Claira again for a while before sharing this morning's meal in her company, and then tending to matters of the hold, and took a moment in the garden just rounding the trail and watching hundreds of black wings dotting the sky before returning into the castle back up to the lord's wing, finding Falgon on his way up the eastern stairway with a selection of books in his left hand.

"Falgon." the great man turned instantly, issuing a formal bow.

"How will I serve, sire?" he asked, and a moment of pause followed. He had left her side again, but he was infinitely grateful for it.

"I haven't spoken with you since you came for me. And I need to thank you, for bringing me back." he said, in earnest and saw the tall mass smile gently.

"She needed you, sire. I would have ridden to the rim of the world, to bring you back to her." he confessed, making Raeghun stare at him. Admiring him. Never had any man shown his level of devotion to anyone in the history of men...

"I am grateful for you. You have been an extraordinary gift to my house, enough for the belief that you were sent to us by the gods." he praised, and heard a soft flout from the sentinel.

"Of the gods I don't know, sire. But I may agree, that fate has determined this is where I belong." he complied, and turned to join the lord on his way back to their private wing.

"If I may ask, sire. How is her grace, and the little one?" he finally asked, truly involved and Raeghun laughed.

"You may, ser. They are both doing fine, and will remain in the lord's wing for several weeks while my wife heals, and our son grows stronger." he told, looking at the man next to him almost feeling the elation emit off him in small waves.

"That is wonderful news." he breathed softly.

"You will have the days to yourself, until otherwise notified. So, spend your days peacefully. Eat, drink, sleep in, read your books, train, visit the village, take your Galeo on long rides..." he started to tell, and then suddenly stopped looking back at the man staring at him completely stunned.

"Sire... My place is here..." he insisted softly, and then Raeghun approached him.

"It was only suggestions, my friend. But you deserve it." he smiled, and then Falgon slowly nodded.

"Thank you, sire. I will remain close." he assured, resuming the way up the incline where he parted from the lord and further headed to the maester's tower.

The weeks lingered by, each day following much the same routine as the last. As promised, Raeghun continued to share the lord's chamber with his wife and son, not minding the slightly increased activity of their private wing; and found that his sustained close presence brought comfort and peace to them; the best part of these days in particular were the mornings when he lay on the bed closely beside Claira with his left arm around her waist and his other resting on her thigh, while watching Rychon against her chest, confessing to himself that these moments were entrancing. After the feedings he would hold him, rocking him soothingly in his strong arms while the nurses cleaned the wing, helped Claira to wash and replace the fleece and sheets; and only after sharing their morning meal and all was comfortable he would tend to the matters of his hold. Not too long after, Berin returned from Hurlton, with the assurance that all matters were settled and approved for the following year, with fine acceptance. And having received the raven, lord Rames assured that they will attend the presentation of the heir. Claira healed and slowly started moving about the lord's wing while her body gradually returned to its former appearance, in the time that Rychon grew stronger, and the nurses kept to their duties to keep the lord's chamber and its inhabitants fresh and calm. And despite the second bedchamber having been prepared for Rychon with the arrival of the crib from the carpenters, a splendid creation of white wood and ebony with ivory and flame orange curtains hanging from a gently curved canopy, held by posts decorated in gold leaf along with the sidings, he continued to share the lord's bed for a number of weeks, safely in his mother's arms. Although Raeghun had thought it was reason for concern, it was not an irritation; but his wife was left worried that Rychon was not feeding well, inclined to fall asleep at her breast rather than nurse and it kept her from peaceful sleep and she woke the instant he stirred beside her. It was mid-morning when he ascended the winding steps to the lord's chamber after receiving a young woman from the village, with the offering to serve as a wet nurse if they desired. The girl was appealing, soft features with dark gold hair and bright grey eyes, and he felt hopeful for the assistance. He stepped through the doors, finding the nurse in attendance next to Claira as she continued to try and encourage her.

"Do not worry, my lady. He will suckle if he is hungry." she soothed, and Claira looked up at her, the red of her face hiding tears.

"He falls asleep because he is happy, that's all. You are doing well." she added, and Claira slowly nodded as Raeghun came to her side.

"I'd sleep my entire life away, if that is where I could rest my head." he tenderly teased, and to his relief it brought a smile to her face. Then he turned to the nurse.

"Would you mind giving me a moment with my wife?" she curtsied and left the room, and he sat down next to her.

"How are you feeling today, my sweet?" he asked, running his hand down her back.

"It's been getting better, but I can't help feeling hopeless." she said softly, and he looked down to the sleeping baby against her.

"It will be al right." he soothed, and then brought his eyes back to hers.

"We've received a girl from the village this morning. She has offered her service to you, as Rychon's wet nurse." her eyes grew suddenly frigid in their stare.

"No. No wet nurses. I can tend to him myself." she insisted.

"Claira, it's just to help you. We can restrict it to the nights." he suggested, and she looked down at Rychon.

"No." he stared at her, the hardness fading away into despair.

"He is my son. I've waited so long for this, Raeghun... Please, please don't take it away from me..." she begged, and his arm went around her shoulders to press her against him. He could understand, denying her anything would be cruel.

"He may have a nurse to tend to him, and to aid me. But if he needs to feed, I will do it myself." she persisted again, and he nodded. He imagined it to be just a passing state, but it was evidently clear that his wife was quite possessive of their child, and understandably so. _You've become stubborn, my Claira..._

"As you wish. Is there anyone in particular you want?" he asked, and her eyes came back to him with a questioning, but he smiled.

"Milla requested consent for her watcher from Citrine Arch to come to her side, so why not you? Anyone you trust, anyone you want." he allowed, and she smiled gratefully.

"Panora. She was my nurse at Pale Haven." she decided, and he nodded in agreement.

"I will have word sent to your father." he assured, and then stood holding his hands.

"Rest for a while, I will take him." he suggested, and she released their sleeping son to his father's hands before lowering herself onto the sheets.

"Don't go far with him, please." she asked, and he sighed.

"We won't leave the wing, I promise." he eased, and she closed her eyes to claim a few moments of peace; and Raeghun decided to head down to their private garden with its beautiful fountain, just for a little while. He sat down on the edge of the basin, gently rocking as his fingers stroked softly over the tiny black hairs.

"You are such a wonder, little one." he whispered, looking up at the face of the fountain staring back at him. _I wish you were here, father..._ Then he looked down at the baby again, his heart seizing in the moment. The little eyes watched him, calm and content in the frost blue of his mother; and Raeghun laughed bringing him up to his face, laying his mouth to the soft cheek... More time passed, and the presentation grew imminently closer. In the days leading up to the grand event, the burning mountain was swarmed with a horde of guests from every corner of the continent from as far north as Last Hearth to the southern reaches of Sunspear, the masses of attending guardsmen, servants and freeriders having to erect pavilions and camp sites stretching as far as a mile from the walls of the castle while family, close friends and honoured guests were accommodated inside the sunstone walls. The atmosphere was vigorous with excitement, some attendants raising temporary arenas and runways to host the resemblance of a tourney for entertainment, which Raeghun allowed in spite of his known irritation with tournaments, with the condition that any rewards that were offered to their champions, will not be provided by Mount Ardor's treasury but came from their own resources; and reluctantly agreed to. Nurse Panora, a full-figured elderly woman in her mid fifties with deep green eyes, light grey hair, a soft withered face and a uniquely motherly air about her, whom had arrived with the Tormonts of Pale Haven days before the flood of visitors, took to her new position as Rychon's personal caregiver eagerly and shared all she could with the lady; and things seemed to improve to the point when Claira finally allowed Rychon the delight of his own room with the terms that Panora remain with him during the nights, and strict orders to bring the baby to her immediately when he woke or if she ever had any concerns, albeit seven times each night. Accounting that for the time being, her duties will take place at night, Panora was given the days to herself for rest; and generally spent with the rest of the hold from late noon. The evening before the presentation, Claira stood in front of the hearth in the lord's hall with Rychon against her shoulder, settled against a fleecy towel with her hand softly petting his back, and Panora at her side, giving her small advices. Such as using cornflour for any rashes, and having lavender in his room for calmness. He had finally started feeding well, leaving her breasts sensitive, but she felt happy for it.

"Motherhood suits you well, my lady. You are trying so hard, and I am very proud of you. It was cruel of the gods to make you wait this long." Panora said softly, and Claira smiled softly.

"Oh, they had their reasons, I'm sure. Who are we, to question them?" she breathed, and then lay her lips to Rychon's brow. All the waiting didn't matter now, the years of wanting and loneliness were nothing when she had her son in her arms. Panora ran a finger gently down his back, bringing a tiny motion from the small sleeping body, smiling at the response. She did small things like these from time to time, his back, his little feet and tiny hands; ensuring that his perception was good and that he reacted to touch.

"If you believe so, my lady." she said softly, and then a knock at the door made Claira glance back for an instant before bringing her attention back to Panora.

"You may take him to his room. I will be up in a moment." she assured, and Panora carefully took him in her hands and headed up the winding stairway before the knock sounded again.

"Enter." she allowed, and the door opened for her mother to enter. She smiled brightly as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her again.

"You've been shy, we haven't seen you very often." she mentioned coming over to her.

"I'm sorry, I've been advised to keep to the wing for now." she pardoned as they shared a tender embrace, keeping to herself that this was not entirely the only reason for her persistent seclusion from the rest of the hold.

"Where is Rychon?" Alyssa asked, drawing back from her.

"He's asleep. Panora took him up to his room a little while ago." she told, and her mother's warm eyes went to the arch leading up to the bed chambers.

"We've been here for more than a week, and I still haven't met my grandson." she breathed sadly, and Claira glanced down.

"You will meet him tomorrow, mother. And you may be the first to hold him, I promise." she soothed, bringing a slight smile from her mother.

"I look forward to it." then she took Claira's hand in hers, feeling the cold of her fingers again.

"It's late, we'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night." she said, and then left the wing again. Claira remained in the hall staring at the door, feeling a strange disgust for her own unusual behaviour. She loved her family dearly, and they would never do anything to bring her heartache or misfortune, but she could not rid herself of the obsessive desire to shelter her son from others. To keep him here where no one would find him... To keep him safe... No one in the hold had seen him yet, save for their maester, Milla, Panora and the nurses temporarily presiding over the lord's wing. Not even Berin. Then the door opened again, startling her from the thoughts, but she eased seeing Raeghun step through. He smiled as he closed the door behind him, and then made his way to her.

"I hope you are ready for tomorrow. Everyone has been asking for you." he told, and she glanced away.

"I'm sorry, that you're left with their incessant notions." she said, secretly hoping the day would come and go, to be left with peace.

"It's not easy to answer all their questions, but the spiced wine distracts them after they've had enough." he gently took her face between his palms, and leaned down to kiss her.

"My mother came to see me earlier." she mentioned, and he drew slightly back as his hands lowered from her cheeks, resting on her shoulders.

"Did she meet our son?" he asked, and she sighed looking down at the floor.

"No. I sent Panora up with him." she confessed, and he stared at her in a moment of silence. She knew what he would think... what he would say...

"Claira, you can't hide him away forever." he watched her, and a burn stung at her eyes. She knew she couldn't hold him here, but the desire to do so clawed at her like a furious beast.

"I know. I just..." she looked at Raeghun, forcing a smile.

"I thought it might be wise, to wait until tomorrow. I promised her she could be the first to hold him." she said, and his face drew in an amused smile.

"You're a terrible liar, my dear wife." he teased as his arms slid over her shoulders to circle her back, and her arms went around his waist.

"And you can tell when I'm lying?" he laughed softly, bringing his lips to her brow.

"Of course I can." he breathed in deeply, his arms tightening gently.

"Everything will be al right." he soothed, and her face buried into his shoulder as they held each other in the light of the hearth-fire. She wanted it to be true, to cast away every fear that clung to her. Wanted to let go of her bothersome self, and enjoy the introduction of her son to the world so all would know who he was, and whom he would become.

"You're right. I shouldn't be this way." she confessed as she pulled back from him, and looked up at his burning blue eyes, finding warmth and comfort even there.

"Things start early tomorrow, we should try to get some rest." she urged, and together they headed up the stairway to their chamber, and they spared a moment in the second bed chamber with Rychon, Claira again insisting that Panora bring him to her whenever he woke, which she continued to believe must be more than twice before sunrise at least. The nurse agreed with a knowing smile, eventually having to insist that the lady tend to her own rest, with the assurance that should there be any concerns she will be notified immediately; and they left the chamber finally finding the safety of their bed.

The sun rose in heated crimson the morning Claira stood in the lord's chamber, dressed in the blue silk dress with the phoenix gliding over the bodice, and a sapphire and pearl string around her neck. Raeghun had already departed the lord's wing to meet with their guests, and she was now waiting as Milla stood behind her also dressed in an elegant purple court dress, brushing out the long locks of midnight and starlight, wondrous in their glinting contrasts. She tended to Rychon before Panora returned him to his own chamber, assuring that she will have him presentable when she comes down, but she couldn't rid herself of the anxiety.

"How is our hall?" she asked softly, and Milla glanced at her.

"Cleaned, and hung with garlands along with the drapings, the torches are burning brightly, the great hearth glows in all of its splendour." she reported, and Claira looked back.

"And the guests?" Milla smiled.

"All well, and severely excited for this morning." she added, and Claira nodded, feeling her friend bringing her hair to hold it together with a jewelled pin.

"I hear we have quite a variety of visitors." she pried slightly, hearing Milla laughed.

"Yes, my lady. From north to south, many have come." she agreed, and then lowered her hands stepping around to add a silver and moonstone circlet to her brow before stepping back to examine her work, staring in silence and the frost blue eyes became mazed.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, and Milla smiled.

"No. You're beautiful, Claira." she assured, staring a moment longer and then motioned to the door.

"Shall we? It's almost time." she softly urged, and Claira forced her way forward, leaving the lord's chamber down the stairway, and she entered Rychon's room, finding Panora busy packing away sheets and blankets into a drawer, and arranging bottles of oils and linen wraps on its surface.

"Panora, is my son ready?" Claira asked, and the nurse turned back with a kind gesture.

"Yes, my lady. He is in his crib, I'll just be a moment longer." she said, and Claira nodded heading over to the crib while his nurse finished storing his necessities away; and her heart stopped again as tears bit at her cheeks. Over her son lay the exquisite black silk blanket, with the phoenix in all its rich colours adorned on its centre.

"A gift, for Rychon's presentation." she heard the voice behind her and turned to meet her friend's beautiful smile.

"I... I thought you made this for Bella..." she breathed, and Milla blushed.

"No. I made it for you. I lied, but because I didn't want to dishearten you." she confessed, and Claira moved forward wrapping her arms around her friend's shoulders. _You never gave up hope... Even long after I did... You kept believing..._

"Thank you..." she drew back, laughing as she swept away a tear, and then returned to the crib to collect her son, suitably wrapped in his house colours and they made their way down the steps and from the wing, down to the Hall of Fire where the masses gathered. Raeghun awaited them near the entrance to the Hollow, dressed strikingly in black boots and breeches, a white tunic and flame orange doublet under his black cloak, secured to his shoulders with the phoenix pin, and Milla and Panora made their way further down to join the others while the lord and lady lingered behind for a few moments before he started leading them down. She could hear the throngs of people, after a short while the conversing voices died down under the ascent of singing voices, a host of sounds rising through the walls to the sure rhythm of a drum, endearing, loving, soothing... drawing... and her heart started to race. Fear entangled her as her arms grew tighter around Rychon, and she fought an urge to turn and run, to flee back to the safety of the lord's wing and shut them in. She stopped, and saw Raeghun turn to look at her, and she stared at him.

"Is this really necessary? Everyone will see him, everyone will know him... What if..." she started, not understanding the uneasiness; but he smiled as he came back to her.

"My Claira, what are you afraid of?" he asked softly, and she felt the shiver course through her.

"I... I don't know..." her eyes left his, going to the light at the end of the incline where everyone waited anxiously, and she wanted to scream. Scream the dread away, to make it scatter like a flock of birds, then felt her husband's strong hands on her shoulders.

"Look at him." he told, and her eyes came back to his, burning beside her.

"Look at him." he said again, and she did. At the tiny child in her arms, so small, so frail... so helpless...

"He is our son. This is not a dream, the pain you endured to bring him into this world was real. He is healthy, and he is safe. No one will ever take him away from us." So small... _He will grow..._ So frail... _He will become strong..._ So helpless... _He will be protected..._ Their son, Rychon Taugere, a lord of the burning mountain. The darkness dissolved, and she smiled looking up at Raeghun.

"Thank you, my love..." he turned again, laying his hand on her back.

"Come, everyone is waiting." he urged, and they started forward again, finally stepping through the arch and entering the Hall of Fire, seething with people, faces both familiar and foreign staring from the stairways to as far back the far wall. Their strongest vassals, Fochs, Rames's, Violets, lesser vassals from the Corridor, Haslingers, De Veaux's, Garreners, Reubels, and Seigres. From afar, the Tormonts, Baratheons, Starks, Lannisters, Arryns, Umbers, Tully's, Karstarks, Tyrells, Hightowers, Freys, Martells... Redwynes, Hornwoods, Mallisters, Scharers, Manderlys, even Mormonts, and many more. But Vega did not come. Coder did not come. Greyjoy did not come. Bolton did not come. Glover did not come. Royce did not come... Yet, it paled in comparison. The sentinels stood lined against he rounded wall of the third level, swords drawn and their hands settled on the pommels as the tips rested on the stone floor, Berin and Falgon centred amidst the ten. Claira and Raeghun approached the septon, a small man they did not recognise, having stepped in on rather short notice as their customary septon suddenly suffered fever; he was dressed in gold and ivory. Maester Adlyn stood to his left, a dormant golden torch held in his hands, and Milla to the septon's right holding a small urn with bright coral... sand? As they joined them, the song faded away and the septon looked up, revealing that he was blind. His eyes the flawless white of the clouds, but Claira couldn't help but stare. Eyes she had seen before...

"What a joyous day this is, my lord and lady." he breathed slowly, and then held his hand up to guide them to the stone railing where he could address the waiting guests. His hand reached out, touching the stone as they reached the border, and she looked over the hall, the warm smiling faces looking up at them as the septon started to speak, and rather than feel timid and fearful, the sensation of pride filled her, honoured that so many had come so far to see him. That they travelled for weeks, some for months, simply for this day.

"Welcome, lords and ladies, and thank you for sharing this marvellous day." The septon called out, and despite being a small, frail man with a soft voice, his words reached all and even beyond. Every stare was fixed on him, an irrefutable draw to him. He spoke wonderfully, immersing their attention in wonder as he introduced the heir of Mount Ardor, lord Rychon Taugere, the miracle that was so long waited for and now finally here. The merging of Frost and Flame, the kindling of Bright Fire. And for some reason, there was not much mention of either religion in particular... Maester Adlyn and Milla approached with the items, and the septon stepped slowly back. Raeghun took the torch from the maester, and Milla presented the urn to Claira.

"Take some granules, and cast it into the core of the torch." she whispered softly, and Claira brought her left hand over the small bowl while her right arm still held Rychon securely to her chest, taking up several grains of the sand between her fingers, and dropped it into the torch, which after a moment started to flicker, and flame and burn white and blue as she realized. Not sand... Fire Salts... Raeghun wound his arm around her waist, drawing her softly closer to rest her and their son against his powerful frame as he held the torch above him, displaying it with pride to all and the hall thundered deafeningly with voices of elation and commendation. Then he turned and headed to the wall where the sentinels were waiting moments ago, now positioned to create a path with their swords raised and angled, the tips touching above the lord moving through beneath them. He paused a moment, and then mounted the torch on the wall, leaving it to burn as he returned to the railing and the sentinels joined them along the stone, Berin to Raeghun's right and Falgon to Claira's left, the rest of their order positioned down the length of the railings.

" _We serve the sons of Flame. We heed the heirs of Fire. With strength and courage we stand, by honour and loyalty we are bound._ _In peace and war we stay, our lives for theirs will fall._ " they sounded, all as one powerful voice in the space. Raeghun looked up, his eyes going over those in the hall.

"Let it be known to everyone, he is my son. He is my heir. His is the line of the Lords of Flame." he declared, to another surge of elated voices, and the ceremony was finally done. Guests assembled to see Rychon, and Claira's mother approached excitedly with her arms raised. _You promised..._ she reminded herself, and carefully released him to her hands as she stared, watching as she brought him gently to her chest and her father looking on in wonder. Then he glanced at her, his silver-blue eyes glinting before he brought them back to the child, and brought his hand up softly running his fingers over the delicate skin. She laughed looking at them, happier than she had ever seen. More visitors came, the king and his queen; the wardens of the realms and other curious faces, all in awe of the little one. The day seeped on that they shared this with their families, hosting a phenomenal feast of roast game, vegetable pots and multiple varieties of berry pies along with wines and meads, sharing the high table with family and honoured guests where Claira sat next to her mother, still with Rychon in her arms; and Dyana to her left side. She took to holding her nephew Williame on her lap, almost at age with Bella, currently in Mandeline's care. A stout boy with dark hair and light eyes, a striking resemblance to his father Gerald, who sat on the other side next to her husband and father, sharing their thoughts and happiness. Then she glanced down the table, to Mae sitting nearby; also with a nearly year-old daughter she chose to name Chloe that looked just like her. She smiled, finding bliss in this day, being surrounded by family from all corners of their world, as well as close friends, whose children were given freedom of the gardens. Those who did not attend, did not matter. The king and queen were seated opposite from them, next to the wardens of the north to their left, and lord Tywin and Tyrion to their right, merrily enjoying the selection of wines while conversing with those around them. And to Claira's great relief her mother was severely reluctant to release her grandson to the care of another, looking up as he started to fidget and whimper in her hands. She looked up at Claira, with an eager smile.

"I believe he's hungry." she said softly, and Claira nodded as she stood heading over to Dyana.

"Would you mind taking Williame? It is time for Rychon's feeding." he said, and the opaque eyes smiled back at her.

"Of course, we'll come with you." she offered as she stood, holding out her arms for her son. She turned to Alyssa standing behind her, carefully taking Rychon from her and holding him against her. Sensing their intention, Mae, Milla, Carissa and other close women stood as well to join them, and Claira glanced at Cersei.

"Would you please excuse us, your grace? We will return shortly." Milla asked, and the queen nodded curtly.

"You are welcome to join us, your grace." Claira invited, and seeing a small smile from the graceful woman with golden hair and emerald eyes, she stood and joined the group of ladies heading down the hall, and towards the sun tower to the safety of Claira's common room, while still sharing soft conversation, finding the calm of the chamber high in the tower, away from others. The ladies settled in the comfortable chairs, Claira resting herself in her favoured chair while her mother stood next to her, shielding her momentarily from the others while she helped her open the left side of her breast, bringing Rychon to nurse, and draping his exquisite blanket over them for shelter, then she moved away claiming a chair next to her as the baby suckled in moments of tender draws from her mound.

"Your son does not have a wet nurse?" Catelyn asked, and Claira looked up with a smile.

"No, my lady. Only his nursemaid, I tend to him myself." she told.

"It must leave you exhausted." Mae mentioned, and their eyes met.

"Not at all. Everyone in my hold is eager to help whenever they can." she said, and shared with them her experiences; including the day she nearly fell down the steps. The sun dragged low as the merriment continued, and the ladies prepared to return to the feast hall to rejoin their people, and the queen approached Claira.

"May I hold him?" she asked suddenly, stunning Claira for a moment and she glanced at Milla waiting at the door for her as the others already started their way down. She nodded, allowing her to follow while they lingered behind.

"Certainly..." she agreed, and released Rychon to her, watching as she held him close to her for an instant, and then looked at him. The expression on her lovely face was torn between sorrow and longing.

"He looks so much like my first... Such a precious little thing..." she breathed, and then looked up bringing him closer to her shoulder.

"All your children resemble you, your grace." Claira recalled, all of them having the same golden hair and emerald green eyes.

"Not all of them. My first was like his father, with black hair just as his." she told, and Claira felt the same sorrow, and Cersei looked at her.

"He was taken from me, he hadn't seen his third moon. Fever claimed him, and I never saw him again... Never mentioned him again..." she revealed.

"I am so sorry, your grace." Claira could imagine it, the pain of losing something so precious. She couldn't bear the thought of losing her own son.

"Time heals the wounds, but the scars remain however light they become." the queen tried to ease, and then led the way down from the common room with Rychon still against her.

"I will confess I was rather surprised to receive the raven, but I am happy for you, lady Claira. You did keep the promise of your house." she said, and Claira looked down modestly.

"Thank you, your grace." they headed down the halls, again entering the Hall of Fire, and Cersei stopped on the second level next to the throne.

"Thank you for this opportunity. I believe that he will uphold your grand legacy." she said, and then carefully handed Rychon back to his mother, who took him securely and brought him to her chest.

"Thank you for sharing it with us, your grace." she returned, and proceeded down the grand staircase, noticing the tall mass enter from outside.

"Would grant me just a moment, please?" Claira asked, and Cersei nodded as Claira approached her sentinel.

"Ser Falgon?" he bowed to her.

"How will I serve, your elegance?" she paused, he changed his words in the presence of visiting houses. Both to uphold his formality, and avoid offence; most not familiar with his aged vocabulary.

"Did something happen?" she asked, wondering at the sounds from outside.

"Just a small disturbance, outside the castle walls. It has been addressed." he assured, and she eased. "Oh, good. Thank you." she looked down at Rychon against her, grateful for them.

"The peace and order of the hold is important for this day. We will see that it is kept." he said, and she looked up at him again, smiling as he stared at the child in her arms and she noticed something close to infatuation in the gaze. She lowered him slightly to reveal him to her most trusted, hearing him laugh.

"I have no doubt, that he will do great things. A bright future awaits him." he predicted, and Claira pressed the little body closer again.

"Yes. He is his father's son, after all." she agreed, and looked to the hall.

"You may return to your activities, we will meet again later." she allowed, seeing him bow again.

"Thank you, your elegance." she turned to retake her place in the hall, while Cersei lingered.

"You're still here, you must be happy." she said softly, looking back at Falgon.

"Very much so, highness." he agreed, and she smiled.

"My father believed you would have a better position under him." she mentioned.

"I serve whom I choose to serve, highness. And I will never find anywhere else, what I have found here." he told, and she sighed looking away at the activity in the hall.

"Wealth and glory?" he remained placid.

"Family." he corrected, bringing her eyes back to him.

"Well, that is something special." she said softly.

"It is the truest lasting form of wealth, and all that is needed." then he bowed to her.

"Please pardon me, highness. There are duties awaiting me." then he moved off, away from her as she stared at him. Perhaps she could find it in herself, not to entirely hate who was her own baby brother. Then she returned to the hall to retake her seat where the day passed away to the dark of night, and the Taugere's were showered with gifts in honour of Rychon. Pelts and blankets and toys and oils and treasures and books and hundreds of other items, and the affair only ended late into the evening when all was sated and some drunk, gingerly sauntering back to the comfort of their apartments. Panora took a sleeping baby back to his room for the night while Claira and Raeghun returned to theirs, discarding their clothing and settling on their bed. Claira lay staring at her husband, lying on his back and watching the canopy of their bed. Her finger ran gently down his chest and stomach, rising his skin in reflex to her touch and he looked at her.

"Thank you." she whispered, and he turned lifting himself on his left arm.

"For what?" she brought her eyes away from his for a moment, relishing the strength she found in him.

"For everything. This day started rather difficult for me, I don't know what I would have done if it was not for you." she said, and his hand touched her face.

"And thank you, for giving me a beautiful, strong son." he returned, and she blushed.

"You gave him to me." she corrected, and he smiled bringing himself closer to her.

"Well, we gave him to each other. And perhaps, he may be the first of several." he hoped as his fingers wove into her hair, and her arms wound around his shoulders.

"I could enjoy that." she thought of it, of having a full wing. Sons and daughters, the happy laughter of their children around them. Then he leaned down, placing his lips to hers in a deep kiss, and her arms tightened around him, wanting him and he moved forward settling himself between her thighs. His mouth moved to her neck, slowly down her throat to her chest as his touch burned through her, the sensation tingling over her skin and her knees gently pressing into his sides. His lips closed softly over the mound of her right breast, and she felt him gently draw from her, kindling her senses and she quietly moaned. A moment longer's delay in his release made her snigger, and he looked up bringing his face to hers.

"Don't be greedy. That is Rychon's food." she teased, and he smiled.

"He could learn to share." he returned, and she laughed bringing her hands to his face.

"I love you, my Raeghun. I love you so much..." she breathed, feeling his fingers to her hip.

"I love you, my Claira." she stared at him, at the ardent blue of his eyes.

"Still the same?" his eyes were soft, and loving, and true.

"Even more. I promised, that nothing would ever change us, no matter what the world throws at us." and he lowered to find her lips again, drowning in the depth of their passionate kiss. Her arms tightened around him, bringing him closer as he started to move gently into her, bringing painless if yet sensitive gasps and slight whimpers from her chest, once again free to love her fully with no restrictions...


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16 – THE DESCENT

It was a warm sunlit day, with the bright light on the lands of the Corridor. And by the time that the sun touched its highest point in the sky, Milla had joined Claira in the lady's common room in the sun tower while Gavin had asked Mandeline for another short walk in their garden. She felt positive that more and more wondrous things were blooming all over their home. She glanced up at her daughter whom was now just a couple of weeks from her very first name day, where she sat playing with a set of wooden blocks that maester Adlyn had provided, and a young handmaiden of perhaps ten and two years assigned to her care as her watcher sat at her side. She smiled secretly, hoping to discuss the possibility of hosting the event in their feast hall with a fine feast, and asking Jeody for a baked cake, remembering his wonderful creation with their wedding; then she breathed in savouring their home. Its people, its calmness, its warmth and the happiness she had here with all of them; wishing that she would never need to leave this place. She looked up at her friend, lost in the moment where she and Claira sat on the soft fur covered chairs, little Rychon wrapped in a light blanket, sleeping in her arms at nearly three months old as she rocked with him, watching him as she mostly did. He was a rather quiet baby, and was only occasionally heard whimpering instead of complete bawling, which was quickly tended to; but even now, she rarely let go of him unless needed, and apart from Raeghun, it was only to her and Panora; but she granted her that. This deep, magical, unequivocal love. The last of the guests attending his presentation left Mount Ardor a fortnight past, and the hold returned to peace. She smiled leaning back in her chair, and brought a deep breath into herself, invigorating her senses and her eyes cast at the window, only slightly open to reveal the vast green of their country, and deep blue of the sky outside.

"What a beautiful day, my lady. Our lives truly come to colour on days like these." Milla breathed smiling, admiring her friend and how well she conformed to motherhood, and Claira sat back in the chair.

"Yes, we must appreciate days like these more." she agreed, but her mind was wandering. She had been experiencing pain in her back for the past two days, at first waking just past midnight to an agonising pulse next to her spine. She sought out Maester Adlyn, who had given her drops, but it did little to relieve the pain; and since this morning she felt strange. Faint, unsettled and discomposed... The disquieting sensation of prickling throughout her body made it difficult to ease, and even her favoured chair with its many furs and pillows felt hard and uncomfortable. A serving girl brought a tray with fresh tea from the kitchens along with a plate of crispels, and left it on the low table before departing again. Milla stood to pour the tea, and brought a cup over to the lady, placing it on the table next to her and admiring the little boy yet again, and she softly brought her fingertips to him, stroking the dark hair on his brow.

"I wish my Bella slept like that." she mentioned, bringing back many times that she found sleep too bothersome and would rather spend her time fidgeting and frolicking, and Claira smiled at that.

"Oh, it's only until sunset; then he's as awake as you can find." she chuckled, but then winced at the pain in her back, the stabbing to her nerves. Milla's eyes went to her face instantly.

"Are you al right, my lady?" she asked as Claira breathed in and exhaled, she moved slightly trying to find a better position; but still the pain would not fade. If anything, it seemed worse now. But she brushed it off, only believing that it must have been a compressed nerve or a pulled muscle, and it would disappear in a few days.

"Yes, I must influence my lord husband to acquire us a new mattress." she tried to dismiss it, and reached for the cup next to her. Her finger slid through the handle, and she lifted the cup from the table, ignoring the numbness in her limbs. As it moved over the edge, it slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, the dark liquid spilling across the carpet and wood boards and Claira shot forward through a small grimace, both painful and frustrated.

"I'm sorry, Milla. I don't know what's wrong with me today, I'm so clumsy." she scolded herself, but Milla's hand lay on her shoulder.

"It's al right, my lady. It's just tea." She eased, feeling concerned that something was not normal. Then turned to see a group of girls passing the door, and called to one of them.

"Please have cook Jeody send a scullion to us." she instructed, and the girl acknowledged her order with a slight curtsy and left. Milla's eyes went back to the lady, and she paused for a moment, examining her closely. She seemed paler than usual, her skin emitting a strange grey.

"Are you sure you're al right?" she enquired again, and Claira looked up at her, once more bringing a deep breath into her dolorous body.

"Yes. I believe I could do with some fresh air." she said and forced herself to her feet to go to the window, intent on opening it wide for more air with little Rychon still in her arms, and Milla's gaze followed her. But three steps away, on the dark blue carpet that covered her common room, she suddenly stopped, taking another deep breath that was unsteady and also alarming before turning to her friend, eyes wide and afraid.

"Milla, take my baby." she instructed, and in an instant Milla moved forward raising her arms to take Rychon from her, then brought him to her chest and held him gently against her, all while watching the lady of their hold; unexpectedly Claira seemed distressed as she stared at her hands, flexing the fingers before making fists and opening her hands again. Milla felt the unease fill her and instinctively her arms grew slightly tighter around Rychon.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and Claira looked up at her, the blue eyes shimmering.

"My hands..." suddenly she sank to the floor as an abrupt weakness claimed her legs, and Milla felt her nerves erupt in terror.

"Falgon!" Milla called, almost screamed in her sudden irrefutable panic, startling the child in her arms, and her eyes went to him as he started to whimper softly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. It's al right..." she held him close, rocking from side to side, as she did her best to soothe him through her own trembling voice; while Falgon entered form his post at the door rushing to Claira on the carpet and kneeling beside her.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Claira looked up at him, distraught and confused.

"I can't feel my hands..." she whispered, and his hand closed over hers, he felt the fingers cold as ice burning in his. And then his left arm wrapped around her back as he smiled calmly.

"It will be al right." he assured, and looked up at Milla.

"Lady Milla, if you'd be so kind, please find maester Adlyn." he asked, and she left the room with Rychon clutched in her arms. He looked back at Claira.

"Your grace, can you stand?" he asked, and she looked down to the floor.

"I'll try." she said, feeling the sensation of prickles racing through the muscles. She brought her hand up and took hold of his shoulder, grateful for the support of his arm around her back and moved forward. With some exertion she managed to get to her feet, the pain in her back now a throbbing that stretched to her right shoulder and croup, and the same numbness in her hands stretching up to her knees from her ankles. She looked at the young handmaiden, who'd taken Bella close to her displaying a brightly coloured toy to shield her from the unnerving activities, but she'd been staring at them since the weakness dragged the lady to the carpet; fear and disarray in her eyes. Claira smiled at her, trying to bring ease and comfort back to her.

"I'm fine, Lani. I just feel a bit strange, that's all." she assured, and the girl nodded as a bit of colour returned to her panic-struck cheeks, and Claira looked at Falgon who stood supporting her. He nodded, waiting to escort her safely to the lord's wing. She took another breath, preparing herself to endure the throbbing to her back through the steps. _Oh, please don't fall..._ she drew her knee slowly up and moved forward, but as she stepped down the floor vanished from beneath her and gravity pulled her down. Her muscles tensed painfully as she expected the contact with the wood boards, but another strong arm caught behind her knees and hauled her high up from the floor, and she rested against Falgon's chest, the unique smell emitting from him floating around her. She blushed slightly, and smiled even through the pain passing over her spine.

"You really need to stop doing that." she said softly, and he regarded her calmly.

"Doing what, your grace?" he asked innocently.

"Catching me." she said as she looked up, trying to distinguish the unequalled colour of his dark eyes above her, and he smiled back at her.

"I will never let you fall." he assured her, and then looked at the young maiden.

"Please be so kind as to see to it that little lady Bella is taken care of until lady Milla or nurse Mandeline comes for her." he asked, and the girl nodded. He left the common room then with his queen in his arms, heading for the lord's wing and sending a page passing by to find Raeghun immediately.

By evenfall, a severe illness had taken hold of the lady. Raeghun returned to the lord's wing from the village where he discussed steel and iron supplies with the smith, the moment he received word of her fall. They did what they could to comfort her, pillows arranged under her back, neck and head for support, more around her, and beneath her legs. Maester Adlyn spent the afternoon in the lord's wing doing whatever he could, but her body refused everything that was administered, and not even water was welcome to her stomach, and by night Raeghun stood with maester Adlyn at the door leading into their chamber.

"You have to do something!" he pleaded, having watched his wife worsen and weaken rapidly over the course of the late afternoon until now, and maester Adlyn spared a glance at the figure laying in the bed, rummaging through his mind, his thoughts gliding over the books in his cases for something... anything that he hasn't applied already. It was worrying, that none of his aids brought her any relief.

"I'm trying, my lord. But her body is rejecting everything that is given. I've never seen anything like this." he said dourly, and Raeghun's powerful hands took hold of the maester's robe, unintentionally harshly.

"Save her! Whatever it takes, save her!" he ordered, and then lowered his head, the anger melting away into desperation.

"Please..." he begged, and the maester's hands found his gently, compassionately as the deep brown eyes took him in.

"I will do everything that I can, I swear." he promised. Then Raeghun's eyes returned to his.

"Return to your books, find something. Send out riders to find whatever you need..." he paused, lowering his voice in the space that surrounded them.

"Please... I can't..." he trailed off, and then the maester's hand went to his shoulder.

"If it is in my power, I will bring her back from this, my lord." he said, and then Raeghun's hands left him. Maester Adlyn bowed to the lord, and then departed the lord's wing to return to his tower and continue his search. Raeghun breathed deeply, and then turned to enter the chamber, making his way to the bed and sat down next to her on a chair that was brought closer from their hearth, his hands wrapping around her cold fingers. Her eyes opened slowly and she looked at him.

"I'm so sorry. You have so many responsibilities, and now I lay this on you as well." she breathed, and he smiled. None of that mattered, the only thing that did now was her.

"Don't worry about that now, focus on getting better." he encouraged her, and her cold hand went to his face, the icy quiver evident against his skin.

"I love you..." she whispered, and his hand closed over hers while the fingers of his left hand touched her cheek. _What should I do?_

"And I love you." he kissed her hand, and then laid the palm back against his cheek, the cold driving away the sting of the heat to his face. _What can I do?_

"Take care of our son..." he heard her voice softly, and his fingers tensed around hers.

"Don't talk like that. You'll be fine, maester Adlyn will find something." he reassured her, and she eased back into the pillows. He believed it, he had to. He had to believe that their maester will find a cure for whatever illness suddenly struck her down so severely.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so tired." she breathed wearily, and then suddenly shot up through the pain with her hand pressed over her mouth. He quickly brought a pail up to her, positioning it in front of her and then watched sympathetically while her fingers strained white against the wood as she gasped and retched, his free hand rubbing her back. There was nothing left, so her body resorted to exhuming a white foam. Again, he felt helpless, powerless, useless. _I wish I knew..._ She finally breathed again, and he replaced the pail next to the table before he helped her ease back into the pillows, wishing he could do more.

"Try to sleep." he urged, and then he resumed his place on the chair next to her as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the mattress at her side and holding his clasped hands over his mouth as he watched her where she lay breathing, the breaths sounding dense and strained as she slowly drifted off to something resembling sleep. _I wish I knew..._ A soft knock at the door drew his attention.

"Enter." the door slowly opened, and a serving girl entered carrying a tray.

"Lady Milla advised that milord and lady will not be joining the rest of the household for supper." she said as she came over. The tray held a plate stocked with glazed chicken breast, cream and cheese stripped vegetable casserole, and pumpkin fritters, a tall goblet of sweet ale, a bowl of light soup, a heel of bread and another chalice of pressed grape juice. She set it down on a dresser.

"Thank you. Has my son been tended to?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, milord. Nurse Panora took him this afternoon, and I believe she's been trying to feed him. She has asked for goat's milk." she confirmed, and he felt eased that Rychon was already safely in his room with his nurse, but there was still decisions to be made and he had to choose the best option, for everyone. After a moment, he turned towards her.

"Thank you. Please summon lord Berin and lady Milla to me." he instructed, and she left them. He remained sitting there as he did, contemplating the choices but had to admit that there were not many options open to him, and it tore at him knowing Claira might not forgive him. But they didn't know what was wrong, they didn't know what this was, and if there was any risk it could be too great. He glanced at the food left for them on the dresser, in all honesty having no desire to eat. But decided he would try to have something once he returned, and perhaps encourage his wife to eat as well, albeit a spoonful of the light soup. Shadows grew longer, and then another knock at the door sounded before he allowed entry to the same serving girl.

"They await you in your hall, milord." she informed, and he stood up turning to make his way down to the lord's hall.

"Thank you. You may retire if you wish." he said, sounding suddenly tired.

"Thank you, milord. I... I wish you a good... a pleasant..." she started, but her courtesies did not fit the situation. Then she breathed, trying to find some kind of composure.

"Sleep well." Raeghun returned, and he eyes lightened.

"I hope our lady recovers soon." she curtsied slightly, and left the wing. Raeghun breathed in deeply, and then descended the steps to the hall where Berin and Milla awaited him, little Bella on her father's arm resting her head on his shoulder, half asleep. He approached them, and then paused, regarding them as they bowed their heads to him.

"You summoned us, my lord?" Milla asked, watching the burning blue eyes on them, wrought with concern.

"I did. This has been a dreadful day, and now I find myself asking more of you." he said softly, almost guiltily as he glanced at the hearth.

"I request that you, and your daughter occupy the lord's wing with us, for the time being." he said, and they looked at each other in surprise.

"Raeghun, we're not Taugere's..." Berin started as he looked back at him.

"That really couldn't bother me, right now. Understand that I ask this of you, not as retainers to the Taugere name, but as my family; and I came to this conclusion rationally." he determined as he looked at Berin.

"You grew up with me, in these halls. To me, you are as much a Taugere as I am; if my father had the mind for it, he would have named you one of us. But you remember what he told us, about the difference between family and _family_." Berin glanced down, recalling the words of their father.

"Of course." And then Raeghun looked at Milla, apology edged over his features.

"It pains me to ask this of you, Milla. Claira has always refused the service of a wet nurse, but she trusts you; and in the state that my wife is in right now, she will not be able to care for our son. We don't know the extent of the illness, so nursing from his mother could be a risk to my son. But it remains imperative that he stays close to her. Panora has been trying to feed him, but I'm not aware on its success..." he explained, and she understood what it was that he meant.

"My lord, I would gladly surrogate your heir, until it is no longer needed." she accepted, and Raeghun smiled, relieved at the eagerness to her eyes; then she looked up at Berin, who glanced at her and then back at the lord, a soft smile on his face.

"Lord Raeghun, this is an honour that we will never be able to equal. But we will do everything we can to help you, and lady Claira." he promised, and Raeghun nodded.

"Shall I tend to Rychon now?" Milla asked.

"I would be grateful. Thank you, Milla." he breathed, and she passed to the stairway up to the second chamber while Berin remained with Raeghun in the hall.

"No change?" he asked, and Raeghun shook his head slowly.

"Only worse. Her body refuses any supplements or aids, she can't keep anything down... she can barely lift her head from the pillows..." he told, the bitterness in the words cutting through his gut.

"She's becoming weaker and weaker, and I can't do anything to help her..." he felt a hand to his shoulder.

"She will draw her strength from you, Raeghun. Support her, comfort her, she will recover. I'm sure of it." Berin assured, and the blue eyes met his.

"Thank you, for everything. You may have your preparations made." he allowed, and Berin nodded before leaving the wing then. He remained there for another few moments, watching the shadows created by the fire as they danced across the walls. Then he made his way back to the chamber.

Falgon ascended the stairs to the maester's chamber to return the books he'd borrowed, and perhaps search for new ones. He found the maester sitting between his clutter of books and scrolls, paging through a heavy leather-bound tome.

"My apologies for disturbing you, maester." he pardoned as he stepped through the doorway, and the maester looked up at him.

"No, not at all ser Falgon. Help yourself, you know where they are." he said, motioning to his many wide bookcases and then returned his attention to the book in his hands. Falgon crossed the room and replaced the books, then pored over the shelves.

"I don't think I've ever met a man who reads as much as you do. You've already gone through five of my bookcases and half of that shelf." the maester mentioned, and Falgon smiled softly not turning away from the bookcase.

"I enjoy reading. It's an easy way to pass the nights when sleep evades me, instead of just staring at the cap of a chamber all night." he said, and the maester glanced at him as he took a book off the shelf and examined the title: _Seven Souls_. Even in the midst of this discord, he was calm and collected, and still kept to his normal routine. It was almost reassuring in the chaos. A serving girl entered the chamber with another tray holding a bowl of nuts and a goblet of sweet red and placed it on a clear corner of the littered table, and the maester reached over to claim a hand full of nuts.

"Thank you, my dear." he said, and she remained standing there for a moment longer.

"The lady won't... leave us, will she?" she asked softly, her voice tender with emotion; and the maester's attention went back to her; and he sighed heavily.

"I don't know, I can't tell you 'yes' or 'no'. But should the gods grant me the wisdom and strength to do so, I will find a way to help her." he vowed once again, ans the girl cast her eyes down as she nodded.

"Good night, maester." she greeted and then turned to leave. Falgon had seized three books from the shelf, and then turned back to the maester.

"Thank you, maester. I will return them to you." he thanked, and then saw the maester's shoulders sagging as he looked up and through the window, staring at the deep black sky with its many glinting stars.

"They call me 'the healer'. Such a joke." he said softly, his words laced with resentment; and Falgon approached him.

"You've done what others could not, maester." he said trying to encourage him, and then the maester looked back at him.

"And in times when it really mattered, I couldn't do anything. When lord Vicon fell from his horse as a boy, I couldn't do anything. When the pox fell on lady Maryne as a girl, I couldn't do anything. When the poisonous infection of the wound to lord Rychard's knee spread and fever took him as a man, I couldn't do anything... Right now, I... I can't do anything..." he said bitterly, but Falgon smiled at him.

"Do not doubt yourself, maester. All the silver links to your chain, you've earned because of your determination. You'll find a way. I know you will. You use wild herbs, berries, grass, even bark and other items in ways that no other could think of." he assured with confidence, and then bowed to him slightly.

"Good night, maester." he greeted, and then left. Maester Adlyn remained staring through the little window at the stars, _wild herbs, berries,_ _grass, even bark_ and then suddenly returned his attention to the tome, turning a handful of pages as he scoured through the book. He searched through the night, and finally by morning he shoved a leather satchel and a scribbled note into a rider's hands and sent him with a party of five into the countryside. As they waited anxiously for the riders' return, the lady forced a spoonful of sweetened porridge into her system, which also did not stay and her strength waned as the day dragged on into noon. Again Raeghun sat at her side holding her hand in his, leaving much of the matters to his court master. The wing was active, castle hands moving some of the Trentin's belongings into the fourth bed chamber.

"Maester Adlyn sent riders out this morning, they'll return soon." he encouraged as his hand tightened slightly around hers, the chill of her skin seeping into his. Her eyes remained on the canopy of the bed, tracing the lines of the carvings to keep her mind from leaving her as well, and trying to distract herself from her body that was now a single throbbing mass from her neck down to her ankles, like hammers pounding away at every muscle, the endless maddening shiver through her, and the constant wretched nausea that left her stomach painful from the heaving.

"I'm cold..." she whispered, and he stood to cover her with the thick feathered quilt that stretched over the foot of the bed. Apart from the furs, this was their warmest blanket, and despite sunlight spilling through windows and an open door facing the west, he confessed that there was a coolness in the air that would not subside. He studied her, the pale skin that now seemed to almost give off a hue of blue, her lips were chapped from the dehydration and a darkness was set on her features. He cast a glance through the door, open to the east. _Please hurry..._

"Where is Rychon?" she enquired, and he looked back at her.

"Milla is watching over him. She will bring him to see you before sunset, I promise." he eased, and could make out a weak smile. She asked for him continuously, but all he could do was to reassure her.

"I'm sorry, my love. All of my obligations are neglected while I lay here... Especially him... He... He must be so hungry by now... And I can't see him..." she breathed as she dissolved into tears, and his hand went to her face to calm her, the skin cold to his touch.

"Claira, he's fine. He's perfectly fine. Don't worry about that now, you must get better first." he soothed, and her eyes closed as she breathed deeply, allowing some easiness to come back to her.

"I wish it didn't have to be like this, but I'm so tired..." he stood, and lowered himself to press his lips to her brow, the only part of her being that felt warm from fever.

"Try to sleep. Everything will be al right." he continued to encourage her, and she turned her head slightly as he turned away from her, slipping into slumber.

"I will return to you shortly." he whispered, and then left to evaluate the state of Mount Ardor as best he could. Most of life continued as it did every other day, but there was an iniquity over an ominous silence throughout the halls. The guards came and went as they exchanged posts, castle hands, scullions and serving girls prepared the southern hall for the evening meal, others cleaned and prepared the wings of the castle, the smell of searing meat drifted from the kitchen. He found Falgon standing in front of the great hearth staring at the flames, and he approached him.

"Ser Falgon." the sentinel turned and bowed, the light from the flames brightening the edges of the pin fastened to his cloak.

"How will I serve, sire?" he asked before straightening again.

"I appreciate your devotion, but you are not confined to the hold. You may fill your time with the others." he said.

"Thank you, sire. But I will remain." he insisted, and Raeghun nodded.

"How is she?" he asked suddenly, and Raeghun stared at him. _What do I say? How do I explain this..?_ He turned his eyes to the light of the great hearth in silence, again expanding his chest in a bitter, almost hollow breath.

"She's ill, Falgon. She's gravely ill. She may be dying, and the maester doesn't know what is wrong..." It left a stab to his chest, even the thought was heartbreaking.

"He will find something, soon. He's been working relentlessly. But you should return to her, she needs you." Falgon bowed his head, and returned his attention to the flames. After seeing to what he could, he returned to the lord's wing and resumed his place next to her, placing his hand on her; feeling her shudder.

"I can't... seem to... get warm..." she whispered through the strain to her body, and looked towards him, new tears to her stricken eyes.

"I'm so tired... but everything hurts..." he thought for a moment, and then stood stripping off his clothing. He could do this little bit to help her, he's always been warmer than she was. He went around to the other side of the bed and joined her under the thick blankets, wrapping his left arm around her waist while the right closed over her arm and shoulders, his right leg covered her hip and thigh and he felt her tremble against him, the chill coming off her like steam would rise from a warm surface.

"Does this help?" he breathed against her, the warm air flowing down her neck, and she eased slightly into him.

"Yes... Thank you... my love..." the quiver slowly faded away as he held her, passing the warmth from his body to hers, and he thought she could sleep then as he listened to the shallow pulsing breaths become steady and even. He looked up to see the orange light of dusk, and long shadows against the wall. _Please... Please hurry..._

Maester Adlyn paced his tower gathering up bowls, bottles and boilers while Berin stood watching the waters through the tower window, seeing the last of the sun's glow disappear over the edge of the Sunset Sea, wondering on the circumstances. Why was this happening? How could they not know, what the cause of this was? What could they do, to make anything better for them? Milla was happy to care for Rychon, but the air around the castle was morbid and strained.

"Have you found anything?" he asked, and heard the maester sigh.

"Nothing for certain yet, but I will continue my search until I do. Hopefully, the items I've sent for will give me time, if nothing else." he said, recalling the note he'd written early this morning. Aids for pain, for fever, for nausea, for weakness, for calmness, and for breathlessness. Books lay scattered all around his chamber, stacked open on each other and scrolls littered all over his wide desk where he arranged the bowls, bottles and boilers.

"She's so young, this shouldn't have happened to her." Berin breathed, looking back at the maester.

"No, it shouldn't have. Fate is cruel, and it often strikes at the righteous; but I will not allow her to be stolen away from us if there is anything I can do." the maester determined, and turned to Berin.

"I will keep trying..." he said again softly, and Berin's stare went back to the blue of the ocean under the orange glow of twilight on the horizon. He found some comfort in the maester's confidence, not too long ago he seemed at a loss. And now, he was intent on on finding a way... of finding a cure. Suddenly, a face appeared in the doorway, a young boy leaning against the arch panting but the eyes wide and enthusiastic.

"Maester Adlyn, the riders!" they passed a quick glance between each other, and then rushed down to the Hall of Fire to find the group waiting at the base of the grand staircase, and the first rider handed the satchel to the maester. He opened it quickly to examine the contents, and smiled brightly. Everything he'd sent for was there.

"Yes. Yes, this is perfect." he turned, hurrying back up the stairways to start work on the items held in the leather satchel; for pain Goldlace, for nausea Mistveil, for fever Fireberries, for weakness Deeproot, for calmness Starstem and for breathlessness Lightleaf. In the confines of his chamber he boiled and pressed and ground and mashed until all was prepared, and then rushed to the lord's wing with liquids and ointments and powders to apply his aids, finding Raeghun on the chair next to the bed clothed only in breeches, with his hand around Claira's where she lay sleeping.

"My lord." he greeted as he entered the chamber, and Raeghun looked up at him.

"Evening maester." he returned softly as the maester made his way to his side.

"She's finally sleeping. Perhaps we shouldn't wake her, just yet. Let her rest..." his blue eyes returned to her face, peaceful and without pain.

"Just a little bit longer..."

Claira woke to an empty chamber, only the light from the wall torches and the crackling of the fireplace broke the silence. Slowly she sat up, finding that the pain and the cold was gone, and she looked down to see a dress of white velvet with black ribbon seams. Her attention went to the open door facing the west, registering that it was deep night as the stars glowed brightly in the black sky.

"Raeghun?" her voice drifted through the halls, and she could hear it echo in the stillness, an unnatural eerie calm to the air around her. She then lowered her feet to the floor where warm wooden boards met her, and stood feeling oddly stronger now. _What happened?_ Barefoot she left the chamber to search for her people and made her way down the winding staircase that passed the bed chambers of the Taugere family, each of them vacant. She emerged through the arched doorway into the lord's hall; it too was deserted, with the only form of life the flames dancing in the hearth. _Of course, the maidens had already retired. Raeghun must be in the Hollow with Berin and the others._ _But... Where is Panora, and Rychon?_ She moved forward to the door where she departed the lord's wing, and descended the pathway around the sun tower towards the Hollow, where the lord held counsel with his sentinels, vassals and banner-men. She stopped at the door and looked inside,

"Berin?" an empty chamber greeted her, still only the lights from the torches on the wall. _Perhaps the southern hall, then._ She continued down and came into the bare Hall of Fire with its many torches and burning fires, rounding the edge of the east staircase she glimpsed the great hearth glowing in all its rightful splendour. It gnawed at her, the uncharacteristic silence of her home, the absence of life...

"Milla?" her voice carried through the space, coming off the far walls and sounding too loud in this atmosphere. The light of fires glowed in every doorway and she moved forward, but as she passed the great hearth, she paused. Yes, their great hearth burned passionately; but there was no heat coming from the flames. Cautiously she stepped closer, and reached towards the fire, it licked at her hands, the flames sparking on her skin; and then she drew back and stared as the red glow left her fingertips. No burns, no flush to her skin, not even the heat she expected. _How is this possible?_

"Here..." a voice drew her attention, little more than a whisper. She turned and scanned the hall, but saw no one, only the contrasts of light and shadow.

"Raeghun?" she left the light of the hearth and descended the wide stairway of the hall, looking around.

"Falgon?" she searched every doorway. _Where is everyone?_

"Come..." the same whisper called to her, and she turned, her eyes resting on the way leading down to the depths of Mount Ardor. _The vaults?_

"Come..." the voice beckoned her. _The tombs?_ She walked forward, drawn by the imitation of life that called to her and passed through the door, following the many steps down into humid air.

"Berin?" the flickering lights from the torches did little to discard the darkness, but forward she moved, irrespective of the unaccustomed path that led through the vaults rather than passing by them. She passed through the dungeon, the cells empty and undisturbed.

"Here..." the whisper called, and she walked again. Through another door, more steps led her down to the Ardent Tombs and warm currents enveloped her. More torches burnt on the walls as rows and rows upon rows of grave arches spanned the wide walls, and every statue had her husband's face.

"Raeghun?" she searched them, but nothing moved.

"Come..." the voice said, seeming closer now and she ran forward, passing countless torches, arches and the staring but unseeing faces. Finally, she reached another high door; old and cracked. She paused, staring at the wood that was blackened and brittle, then carefully took the old iron handle, that was moist to her touch. She pulled the heavy door, and it slowly edged open, revealing a narrow passage leading further down into the earth. _Where does this lead?_

"Falgon?" A strip of light lined the right side of the wall, leading away and into the darkness far beyond. For an instant she hesitated, taking a single step back to return the way she came, but then the voice called to her again.

"Here..." it came from the darkness. She glanced back at the space behind her, giving a final moment to the firelight and then walked again, forward into the darkness. The tunnel seemed endless as it wound down further and deeper into the earth. _This can't possibly exist. No tunnel could stretch this far..._ Then she paused _But I've been wrong before..._ Then she moved forward again, far into the darkness as it curved and wound and descended down and away from everything. At some point, after what seemed like hours of walking with nothing in the narrow space but the shadows and the little bit of light off the band between the stones of the wall, she started to consider turning around and heading back, but then as she rounded a curve a door came into view; deep blue-purple light spilling through it. Hopeful, she hurried forward and emerged through the black arch, gasping in astonishment before taking another few steps forward. She stood on a flat stone level, from where she examined what lay before her as her hands went rose up to cover her mouth. An endless city built of black stone stretched to the horizon, smoke blue mist hung between the shapes of buildings where pathways might be. To the right of the city stretched a sea of dark purple water, and the only light in this boundless expanse was a white glowing star above what might have been a small island off in the distance; and the sky was a terrifying sheen of blood behind black clouds. _Where am I? I have to go back._ She turned, and the door was gone. What remained was a wall of slick black stones. She breathed in deeply, and turned back towards the city before walking forward and standing on the edge of the level, with nothing but the dark endless range under miserable screaming and wailing voices, save for a slight degree of light emitting from the white strands in her hair.

Milla made her way up the grand staircase with Bella on her hip, and Mandeline at her side from the southern hall after ensuring that it was cleared for the evening. She'd seen to Rychon's feeding before coming down, and found ease in that Bella seemed to enjoy Jeody's servings as much as the rest of the hold. Berin left a few moments ago with the assurance to return to the lord's wing as soon as every thing was in order, and was still outside with instructions to the sentry towers and their rounds. She paused on the steps feeling drained, both physically and emotionally. Life itself seemed harder now, with almost no joy to be heard of, apart from their children who were still so small, with not yet the capability to understand.

"Are you al right, my lady?" she glanced at Mandeline, seeming just as tired as she was.

"I'll be fine." she said, trying to convince her and then looked down the hall, seeing the light of the hearth spilling from the guard's hall onto the stones. _I haven't seen him at all, today..._ She wondered, and then turned to Mandeline again.

"Would you take Bella up for me, I'll just be a moment." she asked, and Mandeline took Bella into her arms before slowly continuing on her way up into the castle as Milla turned and headed back down the steps, across the Hall of Fire and took a quick look through the arch, where she found Falgon at his usual place in front of the hearth with a book in his hands. _Reading, again..._ She took a step inside, watching him.

"Good evening, ser." he looked up, closing the book.

"Good evening, my lady." he returned, as she studied him.

"We haven't seen you all day, are you al right?" she asked, and he smiled.

"I'm fine, thank you. There's no need to concern yourself over me." he assured, and she sighed admiring his solidity.

"You're so calm. You must be the calmest one here, everyone else is anxious." she breathed as she slowly came closer, recalling the many faces, whispers, the questions and doubts, the fear and the sorrow that held their home. He looked away from her, casting his eyes at the shadows dancing under the long tables of the guard's hall where the members of the barracks gathered to share meals, entertainments, discussions and instructions from the heads of their order. He had been assigned as her protector, but in the midst of this he was left powerless; if there was anything left, he had to hold to patience.

"It has been three days that her grace has not woken. If she has entered the void, there is nothing to do but wait. The decision to return, or to go will be hers alone." he said softly, then turned away from her facing the hearth again, but did not open the book in his hands and stared at the flames.

"What is 'the void'?" Milla had never heard of it before, it sounded so empty, so lonely... so lifeless. Then saw his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

"It is a place; where the soul goes before finally leaving this world." he explained, and it tore at her heart. She didn't want something as dreadful as that, to be true.

"Falgon, do you really think that..." she couldn't continue, the thought was too terrible to grasp.

"I don't want to. But there is no other way to bring any sense to the circumstances." he told, and she glanced away from him. His answers were too blunt, almost too sure...

"You talk like you know it." she mentioned, finding it strange.

"The Void, The Planes of Twilight, No-man's Land, the City of the Dead, the Black Kingdom, the Shadow Holds; different people have different names for it. But it is always the same place... Some times, you will hear those who have been to the edge of death speak of it. To them, that world is as real as this castle. And only a handful, have returned from there." he said, and her hands went to her face to cover the tears. _This can't be... It can't... Why? Why her? Why now? It's so cruel..._ She could no longer withhold the sobs, and she broke under the crushing weight of the darkness that took their halls, wishing that it could be different. She had prayed to all she knew for days, and nothing seemed to improve, not even the temperaments of their members. Their gods seemed distant, careless... brutal. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, gentle and comforting; and she knew he stood with her.

"I'm so scared, I don't know what to do. She's my best friend... How can I help her through this?" she sighed through the tears, and looked up at his dark eyes watching her compassionately, hers searching his desperately for reassurance.

"What must I do, Falgon? Tell me..." she begged, and he answered her grief with a soft smile that was calm and soothing.

"Believe. We must. All of us." she looked down again, pressing her palms into her face to stop the tears, and felt his arms around her shoulders as he held her for just a moment.

"Believe..." she absorbed his tranquillity, and somewhere found faith that somehow things will be al right. Some way, they would make it through this.

"Milla?" she looked back as he released her, and saw Berin standing in the arch watching them as Falgon stepped back.

"Go on now, it's late." he urged, and she looked up at him.

"Thank you." she whispered, and then turned to join her husband who spared a final glance at the tall sentinel before accompanying her back through the Hall of Fire.

"What were you doing?" he suddenly asked, and she looked at him.

"Nothing." he stared at her.

"I knew he was close to Claira, but I wasn't aware that you shared the disposition." he said, and she looked away as they ascended the steps of the grand staircase.

"I was just wondering how he was, he's been reclusive for a while." she mentioned softly.

"Why are you worried about him, when she's the one that is ill? When Raeghun is the one that needs our support?" he demanded, and she stopped feeling the sting of acid on her cheeks.

"Why are you angry at me?" he looked back, no kindness in his features.

"He doesn't need your comfort." it burnt, the flames stretching down to her throat.

"If you didn't notice, it was the other way around." she corrected him, and then started walking forward to pass him.

"And you sought him out, for what? His calmness? This magical 'ease' he brings?" his hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her closer.

"He is a part of our family, Berin. How many times have you told me the same thing? And yes, I do find relief in him, as do many others. Not too long ago, you were one of them." she reminded, and he pulled her even closer against him, and her hands pressed against his chest.

"What is wrong with you?" his arms went around her, and she felt him breathe in deeply to calm the muscles; she eased slowly feeling the tremor through him as he breathed into her hair.

"I'm sorry. It's been awful, and there is still no change. Maester Adlyn still doesn't know what's wrong." he whispered, and her arms wound around his waist as he pulled back.

"He is family, and of course you should go to him if you need to. I just..." he trailed off, and she lay her brow against his cheek.

"It will be al right." she whispered, and his arms tightened.

"I've been distracted, and frustrated. I shouldn't take it out on you." he said, making an apology of it.

"We've all been. But we have to hold on... We have to believe..." she said pulling back, and he released her. Then she turned, taking his hand.

"Come. Perhaps tomorrow we will see improvement." she hoped, and he glanced away at the arch to the guard's hall, noticing the great dark mass in the light of the fire. He pushed away the annoyance, and raised his hand to the figure; and in an instant the darkness vanished and light returned to the hall as the sentinel returned to his seat. Then they made their way up the stairways to the lord's wing where a single candle burnt in the lord's chamber along with the light of the hearth, and Raeghun sat at Claira's side, his hands closed around hers as he watched her in her slumber, and cursing all, from the world and its selfish gods to the simple whims of fate. Three days ago, she fell asleep peacefully and did not wake again. There was no response from her no matter how many times he called to her, how many times he tried to bring her back. The nurses applied oils and ointments to her skin, hoping that she may absorb the nutrients it offered, and every so often they would trickle drops of honeyed milk or water into her mouth. But there was nothing else to do, and he watched her wither slowly like a winter rose in the blaze of the sun; fearing that if something was not discovered soon, she may perish. Maester Adlyn stood at his side, whom devotedly continued his care of her, bringing more advices whenever he found them. One of which was that Raeghun draw from her at intervals for two reasons; to relieve any pain or discomfort from full breasts, although they didn't know if she could feel anything at all; and to try and continue stimulating her lest she could no longer continue her beloved care of Rychon once she recovered, and hoping it would survive this, to which he agreed. But today there was nothing.

"My lord, it horrifies me to suggest this... We may need to consider sending a raven to Pale Haven." Maester Adlyn said softly as he lay a hand on Raeghun's shoulder, who did not turn to acknowledge him, but lowered his head as his eyes met the wood boards of the floor.

"I know... But having to consider it, makes it so much more... real. So much more painful..." he sighed bitterly, and then brought his attention back to her as his right hand left hers to a small dish on the table beside them, dipping his middle finger into the aloe serum to apply it gently to her cracked lips. It was habit by now, doing it every hour.

"My lord..." the maester tried for his attention again, and Raeghun breathed slowly, extending the silence in the chamber as he gathered himself. _Dark wings... Dark words..._

"If there is no change on the second sunrise from now... let the raven fly..."

Claira had made her way down a set of narrow steps into the city hours ago, wandering the pathways between black stone buildings, the light from her hair revealing glossy surfaces as she continued on listening to the voices around her. Now, she found herself in what seemed to resemble a marketplace, shadows that merely imitated any form of natural existence passing here and there on some kind of business as they swept past, their touch cold and clammy as they brushed by her. She looked around searching her surroundings, enclosed by the blackness under a blood sky, the once screaming voices now a series of humming murmurs in the stir of this place. _What am I doing here? What is it that I'm waiting for? Who is it that I'm supposed to find?_ She continued to regard the world around her, no faces only shapes that passed by before a whisper startled her.

" _Light_ _…"_ She turned to face a stand of dark grey, dead wood; cracking and splintering at the edges as a shadow presented some kind of fruit to her, dark and round; a deep shade of purple. She took it slowly, it felt heavy, cold and rough in her hand. Then she looked back at the shadow, motionless as if it were expecting something.

"I have nothing to give to you in return." She said, her words sounded loud, hollow and broken as it echoed off the walls around them. The shadow slowly moved, the black mass extending into what must have been an arm, and a hand with long sharp fingers as it pointed at her hair, to the light emitting from the white strands. _No, I can't give you this. I'll be left in darkness…_ She replaced the fruit on the surface of the table in front of the shadow.

"I'm sorry..." she moved away, further down the dark path through the city, to a different area where the sorrowful moans met her again. She wandered for yet another stretch of time, feeling the heaviness of the dark around her and sat down on something that might have been a high step or a low crate. She wasn't particularly tired, or hungry; but felt incredibly lonely and lost in this desolate world without knowing where to go. There was no one here, but the shadows. Slowly she lowered her head and pressed her hands to her face as tears trailed down her cheeks, missing home. _Rychon... Raeghun... Milla... Berin..._ _Bella..._ The soft light from her hair covered her, and she drowned a sob. _Falgon..._ A scratchy rustling brought her attention up, at something moving down the pathway towards her, slow and awkwardly with unnatural movements, some too slow and the next too fast. It was unnerving, and she decided to move on, up a set of narrow steps deeper into the city hoping it would not follow. She passed more black stone buildings, with narrow spaces between them, just walking forward endlessly, at some point she looked up at the sky that was still its deep crimson. There was no night or day, it was always the same here, and these pathways stretched on eternally. _Where must I go?_ A soft whimper made her stop, and she looked left down a small passage where something lay on the ground. _A dog?_ It moved forward slowly, almost shyly as she took a step to her side, fearing the sudden interest the creatures found in her. She walked forward, faster than before, again hoping it would not follow. _Where must I go?_ A moan paused her, as something wrapped around her ankle, and she looked down where something lay on the ground. She pulled away forcefully, the grip leaving a cold vile feeling to her leg. It rose up as she walked past, hurrying on as she glanced back, a mass of shadows behind her and fear enclosed her. Another sound startled her, something like a bark as a shadow swept by her, icy tentacles coiling around her arms. For a moment she struggled to free herself from the grasp that held her, and then ran forward, passing more buildings and shadows, each reaching out to her and the touch left brittle stings to her skin. Again she looked back, the horde of shadows trailing in queer frightening urgency as her heart pounded mercilessly against her chest and the air burnt in her lungs. Tears trailed down her face in frigid tracks as she bound forward, searching for something, for some way out and the creatures pursued her. _Someone, help me please! Anyone..._

Another night had come when Raeghun sat at her side, watching as she still slept with her hand in his, the fingers thin and ever cold. She was so small, her eyes set deeper and her cheek and jawbones more prominent that her body was deprived of sufficient nutrients that the many oils, ointments, honey, milk and water could not offer. The only signs of life was her steady breaths, and a slow paced heartbeat that the maester confirmed every few hours. It felt hopeless, he felt helpless and the oppression was endless. Again he applied the aloe serum to her lips, staring as the candlelight danced off her features before bringing his hand back to hers, his thumb gently stroking the slender fingers. _If I could take you away from this, I would. If I could take your place, I would. I would trade a million lifetimes in darkness just to see the blue of your eyes again…_ His head lowered, his face resting against the cool of her hand, and the burn in his cheeks rose to his closed eyes. _Please... Please come back to us. Please come back. I can't do this alone... I need you..._ A soft knock at the door drew his attention vaguely, and he looked up as the heat faded away from him.

"Enter..." the door slowly opened, and lord Willmon stepped through closing the door behind him again as Raeghun's eyes went back to Claira. Despite the devastation that struck them, Raeghun felt glad for them. He and Gerald arrived at Mount Ardor shortly after the raven had been sent to Pale Have, having ridden through several nights; and the wheelhouse pulled through the gate some days after with Rhegard at its head. The Tormonts had taken up residence in the east wing, and were given complete freedom of the hold, and offered their help in any way they could. Ladies Alyssa, Carissa and Dyana took to sharing obligations with Milla, overseeing the kitchens, halls, and watching over Rychon, giving her some relief, while the lords tended to matters of the hold itself and its rounds. He listened to the footsteps approaching, and then a short silence. He could almost feel the silvery-blue eyes stare at him, cutting into his back.

"Raeghun, you haven't eaten anything in days, you hardly sleep, you've barely left this room. You're not taking care of yourself." Willmon mentioned calmly, and Raeghun forced a weak smile.

"Funny you should say that… My father used to tell me all the time, that if I don't take care of myself, how could I take care of anyone else? But now I find myself asking, how could I give that much attention to myself while she lies here? How could I continue with my life like I must, when she is not at my side?" he breathed, the broken bitterness sounding off the walls as his head lowered again, and he felt a tender hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, my son. There is nothing you can do now. While the current situation might not call for your valour in battle, it does require both strength and bravery; and patience." Willmon said, applying gentle pressure to Raeghun's shoulder, attempting to soothe his battered spirit as he rounded the chair.

"Go, get some rest. I will watch over her. If there is any change, I will have you called." he urged, waiting to claim the chair by the bedside.

"I can't. I have to be here... I have to stay with her..." he rejected it, his fingers gently tightening around hers. If these could be their last moments, he wouldn't waste it on sleep. But then felt hands pull him up, surprisingly powerful for the aged lord.

"It will be al right. Eat something, sleep for a while and come back when you're rested." he advised once again, guiding Raeghun carefully to the door. He too, seemed anaemic and insentient as the situation overwhelmed him completely.

"I won't leave until you return." Willmon promised, watching sympathetically as he slowly started down the stairs to find whatever peace he could, and then made his way back to take his place on the chair next to the bed to watch over his daughter. Gently his hands went around hers, and his weight rested on his arms by her side as he examined her lean hand, and his thoughts went back to the baby lying on the altar amidst the standing stones, now a woman but somehow still just as small, just as frail... _You are not weak, my winter rose._ _You must find your way._ _You can live..._ The sages could not help now, so he held to the hope that the maester would be successful in his still dire search where he was scouring his chamber for every book, scroll, parchment and piece related to healing having cleared out almost every book in his cases, a page trying his best to keep the order by gathering and stacking the books, retrieving and rolling the scrolls and parchments and keeping an eye on the candles while maester Adlyn rummaged through every possible item, and Rhegard helping him.

"No! No, this won't help at all!" Adlyn called as he threw a book down on the table, and continued to the next one. Five more followed, with the same result and then he sat down on a chair, exhausted and clearly frustrated.

"Maester, we have to keep looking." Rhegard encouraged, still with a book in his hand.

"I've gone through everything, I've thought of everything, I've tried everything." he breathed miserably, and then felt a hand to his arm.

"Not everything, there's still a couple of books left." Rhegard corrected, glancing at the final bookshelf still holding a few tomes, and the maester smiled. His eagerness was almost refreshing.

"Very well. Please give me a moment." he reached for a chalice on the table, bringing it to his mouth and drinking thirstily as the cool water revitalized him, and his aid moved to the shelf.

"You are called 'The Healer', aren't you?" Rhegard enquired as he scanned the books strewn about the chamber as the boy still gathered up what he could.

"I've held that mark for a while, yes." he confirmed, drinking from the chalice again.

"And you have five silver links?" Rhegard continued.

"Seven." Adlyn corrected, and Rhegard glanced back.

"Seven silver links. It must have taken years." the young lord reflected, and the maester stood to join him.

"You learn quickly when you're eager, and passionate of something. On the odd occasion approval is favoured by hard work, more than a noble name." he mentioned, and then paused to look over the books himself.

"I was born in Flea Bottom, my father was a leech collector and what he earned he squandered on ale rather than our home, so my mother would spin when she was well enough to sit up, and send me to sell what she made to buy food for our hovel. If my father found out about the money, he would beat either me, or my mother..." he recalled vague memories.

"My mother was passionate, despite being afflicted all of her life. And I wanted to help her. I wanted to help people. I wanted to make it better..." then he looked back.

"She passed from this world when I was ten and two, and I left for the Citadel shortly after that. I never saw my father again, never wanted to. I worked hard, I pushed myself, I submerged myself in every knowledge there was of healing, bettering myself until there was nothing more that books and scrolls could tell me. When my chain was finished, I was ordained to Mount Ardor, the legendary Burning Mountain under service to lord Varin Taugere, and ever since then these people have been good to me. They became the family I was bereft of, and I will serve them until the Stranger comes for me. I will keep searching until then." he decided, and Rhegard smiled warmly back at him, the maester only now realizing his intent; making him remember why he was what he was, and laughed.

"What an interesting strategy, lord Tormont." he praised, and the youngster shared his laugh.

"And it's effective. Come, our search continues." he goaded, and a sudden loud clutter of books falling drew their attention as the boy looked up sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry, maester. I'll pick them up right away." he assured quickly as his hands went to the tomes, and a sudden glimpse made the maester's eyes stare. A bright red tome with a silver impression fashioned on the surface.

"Wait. What is that?" he asked pointing at the book, and the boy looked down.

"I don't know, maester. It looks like a hand." he told, as Rhegard moved forward.

"I can see it's a hand, boy! The title! I want the name!" Adlyn called out, an instant before remembering that the boy could not read. Rhegard took up the book and stared at it as he turned.

"The title is ' _Resplendent Palms'_ by Archmaester Ebrose." he told, and the maester's mind ran. _Resplendent Palms? What is that? Resplendent_ \- Blazing? Flaming? Brilliant? Glittering? Shining? _Palms –_ Crown? Brush? Caress? Cover? Fist? _Archmaester Ebrose –_ The mage? The stargazer? The historian? The raven? Then his mind stopped racing. Archmaester Ebrose, the Healer. Resplendent Palms, Silver Hands.

"That is a healing book!" he moved forward suddenly.

"Give it to me." Rhegard handed it to him quickly and he paged through the tome, feeling revived at a small glimmer of new hope. Somehow, he had forgotten he had this book, if he was ever aware of having it at all...

Raeghun sat on a chair in the second bedchamber, holding Rychon in his arms as he slowly rocked, having given Panora the night to herself. He felt tired, but not enough to sleep. He felt hungry, but a tightness to his body kept him from eating. Everything had stopped for him, and he could only watch as pieces of his life fell away. But then he looked down, at the child sleeping peacefully against his chest, blissfully oblivious to his surroundings.

"I'm sorry for neglecting you. Things have been difficult, and the strain doesn't ease." he told, imagining that he could understand.

"Mommy is sleeping, too. I don't know when she will wake up, but I promise she will hold you again as soon as she does." he added, lifting the little body up and holding him against his shoulder. It was unimaginable, that this tiny baby could be all he would have left of her. All he would have for the rest of his days, as he would never take a wife again. He listened to the small breaths, even and shallow, but soft and comforting and warm, warmer than he'd felt in days as his arms gently tightened. Slowly, soothing sleep took him into a dreamless slumber, only waking to a soft stirring in his arms as Rychon sought his morning feeding.

"It's al right. I'm sure she'll be up soon." Raeghun whispered, looking through the window to the pink of dawn. _I should get back..._ he stood, making his way to the door when it suddenly creaked open and Milla stepped inside, looking up and gasping in surprise.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were here." she said quickly, but he smiled.

"Don't worry. I was on my way out." he eased, and her arms lifted to take a softly mewling child.

"Panora usually brings him to me when he wakes." she explained.

"I said, it's al right. Don't batter yourself." she brought him carefully to her chest.

"I'll take the children to the garden this morning, for some fresh air." she mentioned, and he nodded.

"That sounds like a fine idea. If you need any help-" her startling green eyes met his.

"I know who to ask. Don't worry about us, we'll be fine. Focus on yourself, and on Claira." she said, and he sighed looking down.

"Thank you, Milla. You've been a great help." he breathed, and she moved past him.

"It's my pleasure, Raeghun. Go on." she urged, and he moved through the doorway closing it behind him. He lingered a moment, debating on whether to visit the bath before he heard footsteps coming down towards him, and looked up to see Alyssa with a selection of garments in her hands.

"Morning, Raeghun. I was just on my way to bring these to you." she said as she presented the clothing to him.

"Thank you. But I should head up." he decided, as she stared at him.

"Her father is still with her, there's no change. You can take some time-" she started as his eyes went up to the shadows of the tower.

"Still. I need to be there." he insisted, and she stared at him.

"Have you slept?" she asked, and he tried to recall.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps, a little." she took his arm and gently started leading him down the stairs.

"Good. Tend to your bath first, then you can return to the chamber. I will have Jeody send a serving girl to you with this morning's serving." she advised as she took him down the steps.

"I am grateful for your help, but your concern for me-" he started and she turned to him raising her hand.

"I had two sons, Raeghun. Now I have three, I care about them all equally by blood or bond. And if I have to run three houses then so be it. This is family." she told, and he stared back in silence. _Family..._

"Thank you." he whispered, and she smiled.

"You are most welcome. Go on, now." she motioned to a door and he looked back, having missed the point they moved through the lord's hall. He nodded, and sauntered off to tend to himself while she stood a moment, admiring him. Years ago, when her husband returned from the rebellion and informed her that he had promised their daughter to the liege of the Corridor's son, she was resistant to the proposal, having wished for a match closer to their home. It was dubious to think her Willmon, whom loved his daughter as much as he did, would allow a union with a man who's family was oft times portrayed as harsh, unkind and even cruel... but only to their enemies. Upon meeting the boy, she instantly became fond of him. Of his courtesy, his honesty, his gentleness and his beautiful burning eyes. In time, she became more taken with his resolve, his bravery, his strength, and his determination to protect his people, and even more so those he loved. She smiled softly, proud to name him one of her sons. Still so young, yet an honoured lord among all nobles; and she could see why. Beloved and respected by his people, he kept these lands in a delicate balance; but with this he was distracted. He loved his wife more than anything, more than everything his family had achieved over thousands of years, and she secretly worshipped him for that. Whatever it took, they would do all they could to help him. Then she turned and made her way down to the kitchens while Raeghun finished cleansing himself and returned to the lord's chamber to resume his place and Milla left the dark confines of the hold for the outside garden where she allowed Bella to wander around with Williame a bit, and Rychon lay on his blanket on the grass, under a tree taking in the morning sun and cool air. Dyana and Mandeline shared the bench with her between the hydrangea shrubs, sharing their concerns, mostly on the lady's condition. It was a joyless time, and by merely coming up with situations they could grasp, could they alleviate the crushing tension that held them. They named illnesses they knew, and perhaps came up with some new ones to put a name to what was happening; but in the end nothing would drive away the sorrow, and the only thing they could do was to leave the situation for the maester, and believe that the lord's strength was enough to carry them both through this harrowing time. Then Dyana looked up, searching the area around them.

"The children are gone." she suddenly stood.

"Oh, they're on the path somewhere, they couldn't have gone far. The gardens are considerably safe, but I'll help you look for them." Mandeline told as she stood, looking back at Milla who remained on the bench.

"I'll wait here. Rychon seems to enjoy the grass." she declined, watching as his hands fumbled with the green shards in front of him, having somehow pulled the blanket down to his chest.

"Very well. We'll be back in a moment." Dyana assured as they moved away, following the path that led around the garden and Milla watched as they disappeared around the brush. She lowered her head, placing her palm to her face; she felt drained, as if life was slowly pulled from her. Bella's name day would be upon them in just a few days, but given the circumstances it didn't feel right asking for a celebration. So instead, she would have Jeody prepare something small and special for her, along with a small yellow dress that awaited completion on the armrest of her chair in the common room. She wished she knew what to do. Wished she knew how to breathe light back into the walls of the burning mountain, but it remained shadowed under the dread. _Believe..._ she reminded herself.

"Good morning, my lady." she heard a voice next to her, and looked up to see the stern features of the lady's sentinel beside her.

"Morning, ser Falgon. What brings you to the garden?" she greeted, finding it to smile.

"I believe I've been sitting still for too long. I needed the movement." he said, and her attention went back to Rychon.

"It does bring a little bit of ease..." she agreed, and then a serving girl appeared behind him.

"My pardon for interrupting your morning, milady. May we ask your advice? It will only be a moment." she asked, and Milla looked down.

"Al right..." she breathed, then stood and moved forward to take Rychon.

"Go on, I'll watch over him." Falgon offered, and she looked at him.

"You really don't mind?" he smiled.

"Of course not." he assured, and she turned.

"Thank you, I'll be back soon." she promised, and quickly followed the serving girl to the southern hall, and Falgon sat down under the tree next to Rychon, just watching as he played with the grass between his fingers as his thoughts roamed in different directions. The halls were quiet, apart from muffled whispers here and there. The sentinels kept themselves busy with sparring and visiting Garde's Post in the evenings, but he remained. He couldn't protect her where she was now, but still felt the need to stay close. He listened in the night to the conversations of the guards exchanging rounds, passing their thoughts and concerns about. How long could she last if nothing was found? What would happen if the unspoken came to pass? More members started to lose hope as the days passed with no improvement, and it started to seem bleak. But he held on... Until he was told otherwise. _She will recover..._ he watched as Rychon rolled over on his back, the bright frost blue eyes regarding him intently.

"You believe it too, don't you?" Falgon asked with a soft smile as he extended his hand, running his fingers down the small warm body. The baby just stared at him for a moment longer, and then reached towards him, the little eyes expectant as he softly whined. Falgon reached forward, his hands gently wrapping around him and picked him up, lowering his right leg to hold Rychon against him, the blue eyes still fixed on him; and Falgon sighed.

"Don't be angry at your father. He's worried, and this has worn him out. But he is trying very hard to stay strong, for everyone. Especially your mother." he told, then felt a small hand against his face.

"And you can be strong as well." he predicted, taking the tiny fingers in his; for a moment reflecting on his fortune, not being fully capable of understanding the current state they found themselves in. Then he looked up to see Bella and Williame toddling over from the brush next to the bench, smiling and giggling. Bella stopped in front of him, her little eyes bright as she held her hand out to him, and he raised his. Into his hand she dropped a tiny black stone, picked up somewhere under the trees.

"Thank you, little Bluebell. Your gesture is very kind." he said, smiling as he watched Williame sit down on the grass with a yawn. The gardens at Pale Haven were not as extensive as here, and he was likely tired. Falgon looked around, not seeing anyone nearby. Bella doddered back, taking Williame's hand and trying to pull him up to come closer, and Falgon regarded her early intelligence. With some effort, she managed to help him another few steps closer where they sat down on the grass in the shade, amid the tall sentinel's legs, and she stared at Falgon expectantly. _Story time, eh?_ He thought for a moment, and then told them a risible story, of a tiny little pony on a grain farm that gave three thieves the run-about, which they seemed to enjoy quite a bit. Then Dyana and Mandeline reappeared from the garden path, coming over to him.

"Williame, there you are!" Dyana breathed relived, and bent over to pick him up, her eyes meeting those of the sentinel, and she blushed.

"I'm sorry, ser." she said shyly, regarding the handsome man.

"They were no trouble, my lady. And there is no need to refer to me as 'ser'." he returned as Mandeline looked around.

"Where is lady Milla?" she asked.

"Called inside for a moment, she'll be back shortly." he returned, and then heard footsteps approaching from the back and Milla rejoined them.

"Thank you." she rose her hands to take Rychon from him, and he carefully released him to her care, noticing another face beside her. It was Wymon, looking anxious.

"Falgon, our order has been summoned to the Hollow." he informed, and Falgon stood before issuing a formal bow to the ladies, and followed Wymon into the hold as the ladies watched them move away.

"He is very good with children. He is one of your faith guards, isn't he?" Dyana enquired, and Milla smiled.

"He is lady Claira's Sentinel of Flame. And yes, he has rather diverse talents." she told.

"Is he a noble from your country?" Dyana asked, and Milla sighed.

"No. He was a mercenary." she revealed, and both Dyana and Mandeline stared at her.

"A mercenary?" Mandeline struggled to connect the roles.

"It's a long story. One for another time." Milla said, not having the energy to retell the course of events, then looked back at them.

"Come, let's head inside. Cook Jeody will serve soon." she suggested, and they proceeded inside with the children, waiting in the hall while Maester Aldyn now stood at Berin's side, addressing their order.

"You are all aware of the situation, and we are running out of time. If something is not found soon, lady Claira could... She could..." he tried, but it was too hard to say it; then he took a deep breath as Gerald moved forward to his aid.

"Maester Adlyn has searched intensely, and has found something he believes could be the cure that is needed." he looked back at the maester, allowing him his opportunity, and he stepped forward.

"You must all go out, everyone save for those needed here; which lord Berin will assign. You will be looking for a plant, called the Mirriam, some have also known it as _Last Hope_ , or... or..." he struggled for an instant to recall the final name, and then heard a deep voice from further to the back.

" _The Hand of Mercy_." his eyes came up to Falgon, and smiled. _He knows it..._

"Yes. Yes, that's the one. It consists of three long, leafless stalks, to each end is a round seed which could be either the colours of copper, silver or gold. Each seed holds a bright red syrup, which is a powerful healing ingredient, that could be used as an ointment, or taken by mouth. It has been described to have the capability to cure any ailment, from a minor cold or headache, to severe wounds, and even Pox and the feared Grey Scale." he told, looking over them.

"I have sent ravens to our vassals before dawn, to aid in our search. While this plant is exceptional, it is extremely rare. You must be thorough in your search." he instructed, and then saw Gavin smiling from the group.

"Don't worry, maester. If it is anywhere in the Corridor, we will find it." he assured, and then Berin spoke again.

"You will be divided into groups of three. Every guard, squire and rider will be included in this task. We set out after meeting in the southern hall." he told, and then dismissed them to head down to the southern hall where they broke their fast, and then proceeded to the outer bailey to find their mounts. Berin stood with Milla in the archway to the southern hall, holding her hands in his.

"We have to leave. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone. But if by some miracle this works, we'll be home soon." he told, as she stared at the floor beneath them and felt her heart break away into small pieces.

"What will happen? What will happen to us? To Raeghun? To little Rychon?" she breathed, drowning a light sob and his arms went around her shoulders, pressing her against him securely.

"I don't know. Raeghun is very strong, but I've never seen him like this…" he breathed softly, secretly trying to steady his own nerves. He'd never seen his friend, fallen this far from his natural composure. He even looked different now. Then he pulled back, looking up at the third level, where by now was a considerable assemblage of wishes and prayers for lady Claira's recovery, in the forms of flowers; orange, pink and blood-red roses, carnations in white and lilies of blue, some simple wild blossoms in all colours picked off the fields; candles, some small, lean and delicate, others as long and thick as a man's arm with intricate carvings, all burning in their solemn silence as they wept. Gifts that created a wide shrine along the rounded wall, brought by countrymen and kin, and more sent with messengers from vassals and farther friends. _We have to hurry... We have to find it..._

"You have to watch over them. I know you can." he encouraged, and she forced a soft smile.

"I'll try." then he pressed his lips gently to her brow.

"I will return to you." he gave her his promise, and her hands wrapped around his wrists.

"You always do..." then he was gone from her, making his way into the light of the outer bailey to claim his steed, and moments later small parties passed through the gatehouse and over the bridge, scattering over the countryside. Assigned in one of the first groups to leave the grounds Berin, Falgon and Gerald spurred their horses west, away from the burning mountain.

 _Someone, help me please! Anyone..._ _Please!_ Claira ran through the city, with no concept of the time that passed while the screeching, barking shadows hunted her. _Anyone!_ She crossed a small bridge onto what could have been docks, vacant quays stretching into the purple water. Glancing back, they were still there, urgent and savage as they barrelled forward unnaturally. _Someone..._ She suddenly pitched forward as something cold and hard wrapped around her ankle, and she fell on the hard stone, her hands slamming onto the surface. There was no pain, just a dull sense edging up her wrists. She looked down, at a shadow reaching for her; kicking and writhing she wrenched herself free, then hauled herself up to run once more, slipping on the glossy level she fell, and icy hands again found both of her legs. Over she struggled, unable to escape the brutal grasp and the shadow dragged itself closer, its coldness rushing up her skin.

"Let me go!" its arms wrapped around her thighs, and more pressure bound down on her feet as the dark forms descended upon her.

"Get away from me!" the darkness pulled closer, and she gasped at the sight now brought to form by the light in her hair. Great black eyes leered at her selfishly from a decayed lead grey face under slick dishevelled black hair, and a mouth too big for the face hung agape with wide chipped teeth.

"Leave me alone!" its wretchedness engulfed her, and more hands caught around her arms, pulling relentlessly. The foul touch spread around her waist, into her thighs, over her breasts and into her shoulders.

"NO!" long bony fingers wove into her hair as a thick tongue snaked from the open mouth, dragging down her face and feasting on her tears before slipping viciously around her throat and the creature released a terrible, hungry wail. _Someone... Anyone... Please... Please help me..._ She cried, but it was a hollow, soundless echo into the darkness. _Please..._ The pressure that held her increased, suffocating as it drank from her and the light slowly started to diminish. _Anyone... Please..._ A flash of bright crimson brought her back, and the pressure vanished. Free, she breathed deeply and then opened her eyes to something over her. A shadow stood by her, different from the others, it was not black but a deep red. It just lingered there, motionless as she brought movement back to herself. Cautiously she sat up, still feeling the quiver to her body, watching as the shape moved slightly away, and it changed; taking on the form of a man. A tall man...

"Did you save me?" she asked, and the highest point moved slightly down and up, almost like a nod.

"Thank you." the shadow lowered, seeming as if to bow, and then slowly started to fade away in ripples; and terror flamed in her again.

"Wait! Please wait!" The ripples dissolved, and the shadow took a solid mass, its colour brightening to a dry scarlet.

"I'm lost. I don't know where to go. Please... Please will you help me?" she pleaded, and the shadow remained motionless.

"Please..." she begged, and it moved, startling her. She watched as it stood for a moment, then moved forward again, towards her. Then back again to where it was, and she rose to her feet. _Follow..._ She decided, and stepped towards it as it moved again, trailing as the form led her away further down the roads of the city, deeper into the dark world surrounded by the endless screams and cries that were all mournful, enraged and aghast. But, somehow it was reassuring, to have company that was not altogether frightening.

It was another evening that Raeghun sat in the third bed chamber that was prepared for him while constant vigil would be held over his wife. The greatest part of their guards, and every sentinel had been gone for days except for a few pages that held order in the hold and the twenty guards the held the gate; it was raining, and loud thunder would tug at his ravaged nerves often, moments after silver light lit the darkness. Once again, Willmon sent him away to rest, but peaceful sleep would not come. When he slept he dreamed, and when his eyes opened the joy would vanish, like a deer from a wayward arrow. Panora insisted that he leave Rychon's care to her tonight, giving him the night for whatever state would come to him, but it was only torment that he suffered. A soft knock at the door drew his attention momentarily, and he allowed entry to a serving girl that stepped through.

"I've brought you supper, milord." she indicated, and he nodded as she moved forward to a low table alongside a chair to leave the tray for him.

"Thank you. You may leave." he said as she turned to face him.

"I am sorry, about your lady wife, milord." she tried to console as she slowly approached him, and he looked up, only now truly seeing the girl. She was new, a skinny little thing with long black curls hanging past her shoulders and warm caramel eyes set in a soft lengthened face, light freckles spread across her nose and cheeks.

"She'll wake up. I must believe that she will…" he said, for just an instant feeling stronger.

"It must be hard." she breathed, standing next to him, the smell of honey and firewood coming off her as he breathed deeply.

"The hardest I've ever faced, was not a battle. It is watching her, and not being able to do anything for her." he revealed, and she took another small tentative step towards him. He stared at her, deciding that her behaviour was odd.

"I am sorry. So much weight lays on you, and there is little relief. Perhaps... Some I may offer you." she suggested in a whisper, and he scoffed at that as he looked away.

"What relief could I get?" It was a cruel jape; there was no relief while the days dragged on each as before with nothing but concern and the intolerable cling to some kind of hope. A loud strike from outside lashed at his senses, and his body strained for an instant; then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You are tense, milord. Taut like bow string. Of course, a man has needs." she whispered, the fingers gliding across the painful muscles and down his back.

"I would like to to help you." she proposed, and he suddenly stood moving to the window.

"How could you help? If you had some kind of magical ability that would bring her back, I would be grateful." he mocked her, again feeling the burning sting to his throat and face.

"No, milord. But I am a woman. I have comforts to offer." her hands were on him again, sliding up his sides; leaving a repellent sensation behind, and he turned to face her.

"Comforts?" he challenged, the ardent blue burning into her eyes.

"Yes, milord." _How dare you!_ It burnt through him, a foul maddening annoyance that was unnatural to him.

"My wife has not woken in over two weeks, and this is why you come to me?" he demanded as he moved forward, driving her back and her hands came up, touching his stomach.

"Milord, It's just a release for your tenseness." she further tried to persuade him, as her other hand came up to his face, the fingers only touching his cheek before his hand wrapped harshly around her wrist.

"Go." he commanded, starting to guide her away from him while she still stared at him.

"None needs to know. You are the lord, after all-" she started, and the sudden rage swallowed him.

"I said get out!" his voice shattered off the walls, and she suddenly fled like the frightened little fox she was as he moved back, resting his weight against the cool of the wall and the heat left him. Panicked she rushed down the steps, suddenly stopping to find the court maiden on her way up hearing the deafening voice. Milla looked up at the bewildered eyes, the girl pale as a sheet.

"What happened?" she asked, and the girl shook her head.

"N... Nothing, milady. Just a... a misunderstanding, is all." she quickly reported, and Milla glanced up. _A misunderstanding, over food? Usually, he'd just leave it if he doesn't eat it..._

"Over what?" the girl looked away.

"Nothing to trouble yourself about, milady. Just something simple." she again said, _Raeghun wouldn't react that way to something plain..._ Then her eyes came back to the girl, the loosely fitting dress and the low set shoulders, the fabric just thick enough not to be completely offensive; and the sickening revulsion struck her stomach. She knew the situation, and in his state she tried to take advantage. Enraged, Milla's hand came up and she struck the girl, hard enough to stagger her.

"Gather up what you have, I want you out of Mount Ardor by dawn! If you are seen on our grounds by morning, you will be vaulted." she told, and the girl looked up.

"I... I meant no harm-" she stammered.

"Get out! Now!" she stood and moved away, off to find her belongings while Milla rushed up the steps to the third chamber and softly knocked, followed by silence. She knocked again, her nerves pulling in different directions.

"Raeghun?" she carefully edged the door open and glanced inside, finding the chamber vacant.

"Raeghun?" she called to him, cautiously stepping inside.

"I'm fine, Milla. You may leave me." she heard him, from somewhere she couldn't see.

"Where are you?" she moved forward despite his request, relief washing over her when she found him on the floor against the wall under the window where the wind brought cool air and the spray of water from outside, his head resting on his arms supported on his knees.

"You may go Milla. I'm al right." he said again, and she knelt beside him, placing her hand on his arm.

"No. No, you're not. I'm so sorry, I wish there was more I could do." she regarded him, suddenly seeming so small, as opposed to the bright and burning man she knew.

"You're doing a lot. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be like this." he breathed slowly.

"I must be strong. I am the lord of this hold..." he reminded himself, and the pressure on his arm gently increased.

"Berin once told me, that you don't get scared. But, being the lord, doesn't mean you can't be human. I understand, and I will help you." she assured, and his head lowered.

"I am scared, Milla. What will I do? What if she does not wake? How could I continue?" he whimpered, and she broke for him, moving forward and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"It will be al right. We will see this through, somehow. We must believe..." she soothed, and then felt his arms coil around her waist, the shudder through his muscles evident against her.

"We cannot give up our hope. We must believe..." she encouraged again through tears of her own, falling into silence as they sat on the floor together, just holding onto one another, desperate for something. For anything. _Believe..._ Suddenly his grip constricted around her, leaving her breathless as the air left her lungs. Even now, he was immensely strong. _This will not break you..._

"Thank you, Milla." then he looked up as he released her, the blue eyes clear and hopeful once again.

"You should get some sleep. It's been a long day." he urged as his arms came away from her.

"You should try to sleep as well. I could ask the maester to give you Nightshade-" he looked away from her.

"No. No essence. If I'm called, I should be able to wake instantly." he declined immediately, and she sighed.

"Very well. Good night." she stood to leave, and heard him softly behind her.

"Sleep well..." She left the room, and he remained where he was listening to the rain bearing down on his home, wondering if someone out there in his fields had any favour in their search. Somehow it was soothing, but it left the world dark and heavy, only the occasional light from the heavens bringing to life what his being once was... What it should have been...

Claira continued to follow the red shape through the city, as more and more shadows gathered and slowly trailed behind, watching and waiting while they ambled forward. The world still had not altered from its darkness, and she looked up at the sky, ever red behind the black clouds drifting aimlessly past. _How long has it been? This feels so... infinite..._ Regret pulled at her, and the sting of tears burnt her eyes. _I should not have come here... How do I go home...?_ She looked up at the shadow leading the way, to somewhere... Then glanced back, noticing the barking, wailing horde that followed before slightly quickening her pace, having no desire to face the terrifying dead faces again; but continued to feel uneasy. The mass was growing, while not a single other entity seemed like the one she followed over the stones that bordered the black city along the sickly purple sea. She looked over the water, noticing that the island seemed closer now, the single star in the sky burning brightly just above it. They climbed a set of steps onto another flat expanse, and the shadow stopped, seeming to look back as she passed it. It stood silently, as she paused looking at it. Slowly something extended from the figure, something like an arm pointing to the distance where a solitary tower loomed over the waters from the edge of the shore. A whisper urged her onward, and she continued while the red shape now followed, edging closer as if to indicate its sudden urgency and again she looked back, watching the black shadows flood up the stairs behind them. Again the whisper pushed her on, harder than before and she ran again, with the red figure behind her, and a flood of howling black following, suddenly furiously closing the distance. The figure thrust her forward abruptly, the whisper now a voice that closed over her frantically. _Go... Run... Run..._ It ordered, and she bound forward racing for the tower. A final time she glanced back, watching as the crimson shape turned to face the black monster that hunted her, arms extending from its sides, one arm severely long seeming to hold a weapon... too big and distorted to be a sword as it stood in the face of this being. It moved forward, red beams slicing through the black mist releasing torturous wails into the endless sky. She took in how this being fought against the mass for her, and then to her horror how the red was consumed by the darkness, and it bound forward with yet another enraged howl, ravenous and violent it coursed after her unrelentingly as she sprinted for the tower, helpless and terrified that her only companion in this dread was now gone, and all that was left was her echoing footsteps off the slick stones and the tormenting angry shrieking from the behemoth behind. But forward she ran, a still aching heartbeat against her ribs and the air sour in her chest as the tower slowly converged, the form enlarging in her haste over the expanse. Then she stopped, with no further way to go as the level ended and she faced the deep purple waters, the shadow of the tower looming from a base in the water. _No... No!_ Defeat stripped her of the despair, of hope, of helplessness, of desperation, even of fear and nothing was left but deep frustration. _NO!_ She looked back as the mass descending on her again, but rather than the fear she expected she was enraged. This thing had been following her since... Since when? She was trailed, sought, and hunted for something. Something that was not theirs to have. A dark bony hand reached for her, and the repulsion burnt through her.

"No!" An unexpected burst of light shoved it back with a painful screech as the brightness flashed white over the rotten face, blinding the black eyes, and she stepped forward towards it.

"You will not touch me!" she commanded, the light from her hair brightening into brilliant glowing wisps that shoved the closest creatures further back, leaving them whimpering like whipped dogs, slowly slinking back into the shadows that were left. Others rushed forward, eager tentacles reaching for her.

"You will not touch me!" The light flared again, searing the fingers and the creatures jumped back with agonised howls, and angry hisses. _I am not yours!_ They lingered there in the darkness bordering the light around her, watching and deciding how to proceed. A swirling rushing from the water behind, caught her attention and she turned as a massive shadow rose from the sea; great, long and slender with eyes like the lights of candles in windows amidst the black shape, that gradually took form as the mouth opened revealing long jagged teeth. It let out a cry, deep and loud and gurgling, more terrifying than anything she'd heard in her life as she stared at it, oblivious to the fading light. _This can't be..._ _It can't..._ The creature lowered as she looked back, just as another shadow leapt for her, appendages stretched out for her throat. In reflex her hands rose in defence as she stepped back, gasping the instant the long piercing teeth closed around the shadow and the monster behind her brought it away, rising into the sky and devouring the body as it screamed. She sank to the ground, overwhelmed by the sight, the light dimming to little more than a soft glow and her hands pressed over her face. _This can't be..._ Her eyes came down, watching as the shadows moved forward to feast on what was left of her. _Raeghun..._ an enormous mass crashed down on the creatures, shattering the stone beneath them and she watched as they fell away into the water, the incessant wailing fading away and dying into silence. She sat there, breathing and shivering, without a thought of what may come next, endless in this stretch. Then looked up, at the bright eyes still watching her, motionless as if it were waiting... expecting. She stood, forcing more acid sour breaths into her chest.

"Will you take me to the island?" it moved forward, bringing its head down as a deep rumbling came from its throat, much like the sound of a cat and she reached out towards it. Nearing the light, she saw the white of bone on its face, now on the stone next to her. It seemed to have a mane, and long curled horns. It came forward still, pressing its shoulder against the stone of the level she stood on, and a massive clawed paw hanging from the edge, then it rested on the surface, again waiting. She moved forward, stepping onto the skin that was warm and rough, managing to haul herself onto the creature's back. Once securely mounted, it rose away from the land, her hands mangled into the thick hairs of a bristly mane and it turned, venturing into the water, making its way through the waves towards the light that hung over the island shadow.

A camp fire burnt brightly in the night, three fish caught from a nearby stream suspended over the heat. Berin shoved the tip of a branch into the fire to scatter and open the embers, allowing more warmth to scorch the meat. Gerald sat to his right next to the fire, watching the flames, and Falgon against a tree opposite from him. They'd been searching for days with no fortune, and were nearing the Flint Cliffs. They passed Earndale some time ago, meeting several other search parties on their journey, one having been Garrett Foch and his company of three heading north-east, also with little luck but promised to continue their task until otherwise notified. The days dragged on as they scoured the country from dawn until dusk, and hope seemed to creep away from them. It was easy to look for, having an exactly unique appearance, what made it hard was that they couldn't find it... anywhere. _This really is our last hope, isn't it?_

"We'll find it." he looked up at Gerald who was staring at him, and forced a smile.

"He have to. But I'm afraid that our time is fading." he breathed, and Gerald's eyes went back to the fire.

"Claira will hold on until we do. We cannot give up." he encouraged, and Berin scoffed.

"How do you know?" then the bright eyes came back to him.

"Because she's my sister. And she has survived something much like this, once before." he told, the eyes glinting with determination; not only for himself but for her.

"Even if it is here somewhere, I've never seen it before. I haven't even heard of it before the maester named it." then he looked at Falgon, silent in the shadows. _The Mirriam... Last Hope..._

"How do you know it?" he called over, and the dark eyes rose slowly.

"My people, knew it as _The Hand of Mercy._ And I've only heard of it, I've never seen it. I can't imagine I will." he said, sounding more resigned than was normal for him. Then he moved slightly, sitting forward.

"It was said, that it is a grace-gift to those in desperate search for those they love." he further added, and Berin and Gerald passed a glance at one another.

"Why would that be a difficulty for you?" Gerald asked as his eyes came back to the sentinel, apart from them.

"Because grace-gifts only come from the gods. And while I care about her dearly, and will search to the ends of the world, I will not be able to find it." he explained, the light of the fire slightly brightening the darkness in his eyes.

"You don't believe in anything?" Gerald asked softly remembering the time they spent in Pale Haven for his wedding, and he sighed.

"I've lost my faith long ago. But for the time being, I trust in the resolve of people. In that which binds a family." he decided, watching as Berin took the fish from the fire, and handing one to Gerald as he stood and came over with another.

"Eat something." he urged, holding the meat out to his friend.

"I might have something later." he declined, glancing away and Berin sighed.

"Al right, I won't pester you tonight." he moved away, retaking his seat on the other side of the fire, trying to enjoy what they could while the night crawled by. Later, having elected to take watch Falgon still sat where he did against the tree, allowing his companions the sleep they needed as he stared at the sky, the deep black of midnight and starlight; the dazzling lights spanning the sky in sparkles of green, blue, red and brilliant white. _This cannot be the end... If you leave, my existence will end... Every day I spent in this world, every year I wandered aimlessly in search of some meaning, will vanish... All I_ _was made_ _to bear, will mean nothing..._ _Who then will I follow? Who then will I defend?_ Then his eyes cast down, at the forms next to the smouldering ashes of a once living fire. _You must find it... You must..._ Gradually, the darkness left the lands and the purple of dawn rose on the horizon, and Gerald was the first to wake while Berin soon followed. Gathering what they could, and discarding the camp site, they set off in further search of the miracle they needed even before the sun rose from the earth, further east. They rode for hours, inspecting the forms of every shrub they passed, fanning out over large areas and meeting up again when the investigation of the area was complete. The sun sat high in a clear sky, close to its highest point when Berin paused. It felt so hopeless, they'd gone so far and still nothing to have of it. Then he looked back at Gerald not far behind him.

"Perhaps we should head north, see if luck favours us that way." he suggested, watching as he looked around.

"We haven't searched the entire cliff side yet." he said, and Berin sighed.

"There's not a whole lot left. We could do better further up." he further goaded, and then looked at Falgon, trailing behind. His horse was grazing on the grass while he stared out over the water of the sea, motionless as if in a dream.

"Falgon! We're heading up!" he called, but there was no response, and he called to him again. Deciding that the wind might be disrupting his voice, he turned his horse around and headed back.

"Falgon!" he tried again, and his friend suddenly raised his hand, followed by a short silence.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and the dark eyes came to him.

"Listen." the reply was curt, but soft, and another silence followed as he took in the ambience. There was not much, save for the whistle of the wind and the rush of the waves far below the cliffs.

"I don't hear anything." he replied.

"Listen!" there was more urgency now, and he tried again. The whistle of the wind, the rush of the waves, the birds in the trees, and the crickets in the grass. Then he glanced back at Gerald who joined them.

"What is going on?" he asked, looking at them in utter puzzlement.

"Listen, don't you hear that?" Falgon asked, seeming equally stunned; and there was another silence, tense and deliberate, and Berin closed his eyes focusing on the sounds. The whistle of the wind, the rush of the waves, the birds in the trees, and the crickets in the grass... and something else. High, pitched ringing. Shards of glass brushing against each other in the wind... Delicate wind chimes in the breeze.

"I hear it." Gerald confirmed, and they looked at each other.

"There's nothing here that would make that sound." Berin said looking around. There was nothing, no buildings, no ruins, not even a trail that would indicate life.

"Help me look for it." Gerald said, and they dismounted leaving the horses to graze while they searched the area, again going over every plant, shrub and flower in sight for near to an hour as the ringing sounded in their presence; sometimes near, sometimes far. Berin searched a berry shrub, pushing away leaves and branches and twigs to find a selection of bright red and purple flowers, but nothing else. _Fuck! What is that? Where is it?_ It was frustrating, to the point he felt like tearing the bush from the ground roots and all. _Where is it?!_ and then a voice startled him, urgent and fevered of excitement.

"I see it! I see it! The Mirriam, I found it!" it was Gerald, lying on his stomach and hanging almost recklessly over the edge of the cliff as Berin hurried over.

"Where is it?" he asked as Gerald stood.

"Several feet below, on the cliff wall. Give me a rope." he quickly told, and then saw Falgon beside him already with a rope in his hand. In an instant, Berin took one end and started wrapping it around his waist before tying it securely.

"Tie the other end to something." he instructed, already heading for the edge as Gerald followed.

"Berin-" he turned back,

"There's no time to debate this." he told, seeing the light eyes stare at him for a moment.

"Be careful." Gerald said, and he softened. The situation left him irritable, fearing that they might not make it, then he put a hand to his shoulder.

"I will." he glanced back, noting that his friend tied the other end of the rope to the pommel of Galeo's saddle; then started making his way over the edge down the cliff, following the gentle chiming. Carefully he climbed the precarious wall of earth, glancing down every so often to plan his path as Gerald watched from above; then he stopped, hanging from his hold on the wall and listening as the chiming sounded somewhere just below him. _Just a bit more..._ His hand moved down, taking hold of another protruding surface as he attempted to go further down, then as he searched for footing the earth broke away and he fell; he gasped, free in the air for a moment as fear cut through him, and the air was forced from his chest in a strained grunt with a painful stab, and he found that the blow to his senses was the sudden force of the rope gouging into his ribs. Taking several unsteady breaths he heard a voice from above calling to him, then looked up.

"I'm al right." Gathering himself from his momentary daze he looked around, searching for the sound, and finally saw it. Three beautiful bright golden globes hanging from from the end of each stalk chiming as they brushed against one another in the breeze, perched precariously on a tiny ledge above him to the right, just out of reach. Slowly he started to move, rocking from side to side to bring himself closer, each time reaching for the plant, nearer and nearer with each sway until his fingertips just touched the small leaves of the base. _Once more..._ Finding sure footing on the cliff wall he pushed himself forward, reaching for the plant; and finally his hand wrapped around the stalks, pulling it free easily as the small ledge crumbled and fell away to the water far below, and he had to smother a laugh as he looked up.

"I have it!" he quickly shoved the roots and stems halfway through his belt on his side.

"Pull me up!" he started to move up slowly as he climbed, aided by the straining rope against gravity that drew him, inch by inch back the way he came while Falgon led Galeo slowly further inland to bring his friend up; and Gerald still kept watch over the edge, now noticing that the rope was grazed almost through where it brushed over the cliff.

"You al right down there?" he called down.

"I'm good." the voice came back.

"The rope is grazed, be careful." Gerald advised, glancing back at the rope as it moved slowly.

"I'm almost there..." he was assured, then a rasp followed by a startled grunt as the rope abruptly jerked; and the heart-stopping snap of the rope as it snaked away and vanished over the edge while Falgon called out for his friend. Gerald stood stunned as the world stopped, only catching the figure moving past him like a gust of mist; but then reality returned to him as Falgon knelt and stretched out his hand over the edge, and he moved forward glimpsing Berin hanging from the edge. They both reached down, taking hold of his wrists and hauled him up over the cliff and a few feet in to safety, releasing him as he fell down, taking several deep breaths where he lay on his back.

"Fuck, that was close..." he sighed, and then smiled sitting up and Gerald watched him anxiously.

"Do you have it? Where is it?" he asked eagerly, and Berin reached back. Feeling around his belt, a frigid wave struck him, like a thousand wasp stings. _No..._ It was gone. Where he shoved the roots and stems through the belt, was empty. It was gone... _No!_ He stood, staggering to the edge where he fell down on his knees looking over, cursing the rush below.

"No... No!" It must have fallen when he slipped again.

"NO! Fuck!" hands rested on his shoulders.

"We had it! We had it!" Weeks of despair, and days of searching went to waste; and the crushing sorrow dug into him like burning claws as he cursed into the wind again.

"Berin." he turned back, staring through emotions that battled each other like hounds in the pits. Falgon stood behind him and Gerald, two stalks in his hand held delicately between his fingers.

"Is this it?" he asked, and Berin stood glaring at the bright globes.

"Yes... Yes." he came closer holding out his hands and Falgon gave it to him gently, staring at the plant, and Gerald joined him as he watched the tall sentinel, his eyes fixed on the stalks.

"You... You can't see it, can you?" he asked, and he looked at him.

"It just looks like Dandelions to me. Really big Dandelions." he mentioned, and they glanced at each other in utter puzzlement. How could he not see?

"But, you heard it first." Berin reminded.

"I thought I heard something..." he started, pausing.

"You heard it." he held up the stalks, and the dark eyes watched it again, for a moment confused before the bafflement faded and the eyes lightened.

"I... I see it..." he watched in wonder as the round yellow seeds of the great dandelions changed and transformed into bright golden orbs, shining in the light of the sun.

"I can see it." he smiled, then looked up at them.

"Hurry, we have to get back." he urged, and they returned to their horses, wrapping the Mirriam in a woollen cloth and binding the seeds with leather twine before placing it carefully into the saddle bag of Gerald's horse, and they raced back to Mount Ardor. In their rush, they stopped late into the night exhausted without being able to continue, retaking their flight before daybreak, elated that in each stride they came closer to home... And finally the sunstone walls appeared over the horizon as they rushed on over the fields, following the road that led them to the burning mountain as Berin took a shepherd's horn from the saddlebag behind him like others distributed to each of the search parties, and brought it to his mouth, blowing frantically. _Ring the bells! Ring the bells! RING THE BELLS YOU USELESS F-_ And then it sounded over the lands around them, the enchanting rhythmic tolling of Mount Ardor's sentry tower bells, like a magical lullaby that echoed off the copper dusk lit fields until after they passed under the portcullis where a host awaited them, their maester rushing down the steps.

"Did you find it?" he asked quickly in his descent, and the men dismounted leaving their steeds to the stable boys. Gerald quickly took the wool covering they used as protection for the seeds from the saddle bag and brought it over to him.

"Yes, maester. We found it." They untied the leather threads and unrolled the fleece eagerly, to be struck with a horrible, almost sickening crimson stain soaking the fleece as they stared, yet another blow to them. The cruel jokes of fate... the sick humour of the gods... the broken shards of the seeds drenched in the blood-like liquid.

"NO! Fuck, no!" it was Gerald's voice that echoed within the walls of the bailey, his hands releasing the wool to the maester as he turned, taken aback by the devastating fortune.

"No!" It must have broken in their haste to reach home, becoming brittle and fragile with no water or sunlight to feed the sprout. He wanted to scream, to throw his fists at the walls, had he little less self-control he would have taken the dirk at his side and plunged it into his own gut.

"My lords..." Their attention came back to the maester, holding a single intact seed in his hand, still the shining gold but the surface seemed like an apprentice smith had chiselled and hammered away at it. Berin stepped forward.

"Will it be enough?" he asked anxiously, and the maester smiled gratefully as his hand closed protectively around the sphere.

"It will be enough." he assured, and then turned to make his way up to the lord's wing, where as always Raeghun sat at the bedside next to Claira. Having sent Willmon to rest like he'd done so many times, he was now the only one at her side. In the ruin his life had become, he held a knife in his hand, inspecting the length and sharpness of the edge, taken off the tray that the serving girl brought. It could cut deep enough to reach his heart, if the force was sufficient. He spared a quick glance at a letter shoved under the sconce that held a candle on the bedside table, reflecting on the orders he'd written down. If she left this night like was predicted, he would follow; and Berin and Milla would have reign over Mount Ardor and its domain in his stead. They would raise Rychon well, they would tell him everything he would need to be whom he was meant to while Falgon remained as his protector; and when he came of age he would assume his rightful place as the lord of the burning mountain. He looked up at the figure on the bed, tiny and emaciated, little more than a barely breathing corpse... yet, still beautiful. Endless in her wonder with porcelain skin, and hair of sparkling black marble. He could smile gently as his hand closed over hers. _I will find you..._ he looked down at the blade held in his other hand. _I will find you..._ His hand moved up as he positioned the tip of the knife to his chest, and his hand softly tightened. _I will..._ Without warning the door burst open and he stood abruptly, inconsiderate of the glinting steel still in his hand as he stared at the faces in the doorway, eyes wide and shocked in the moment before they stormed at him, seizing him frantically and knocking the knife from his hand.

"What are you doing? Let go of me!" he demanded, and the deep green eyes bore into his own.

"This is not over, do you hear me? It's not!" Berin told him, both him and Gerald struggling to hold his battling mass against the wall.

"Let go of me!" he ordered again, and in a daze watched as maester Adlyn followed with a bright seed in his hand making his way to the bed while Willmon approached him, the silvery-blue eyes staring at him intently.

"After everything, this is how you want to end it? Your men, your people, your family spent days in the countryside searching for a cure while you lost your hope. But now that we have it, I am sure you may find it again." he assured, the calmness of his voice bringing relief as they watched the maester carefully break open the golden seed, and bring it to Claira's mouth, allowing the deep red elixir to pass into her mouth, coating the inside and gently spreading into her throat and into her body as they looked on, waiting for a change... Any change... _Please... Please don't be too late..._

She made her way up a series of steps circling the island as she listened to the water around her, hearing a slowly disappearing rush of waves onto fine stone and sand. The beast had carried her away from the screaming shadows of the city, here across the waves; and finally left her on a dark stony shore before leaving her again to find her own way. There was grass here, shadowed shards lining the path she took hoping to find the light as she moved forward and up. Again, she looked at the sky where there was still no change. She could have been in this place for a couple of hours, to a couple of months; there was no way to tell. The light became brighter as she moved forward, in time reaching the top of the island where she stood on another flat level, faced by two doors; and the star... a brightly burning light just above the arches where someone stood, waiting for her. A tall man, cloaked and hooded entirely in black with a thick wood staff in his left hand. He looked up, noticing her as she approached him, the only barely visible grey mouth under the shadows drawn in a satisfied smile.

"You came. They are drawn to you." he mentioned softly, his deep voice sounding off the stones around them, and she remembered the dark creatures that hunted her throughout the black city.

"Why?" she asked, and he glanced away looking at the shadow of the structures under the red sky.

"Some are drawn to strength, some are drawn to life. The latter are reluctant to allow the departure of those not as they are." he told, and she looked down at the stone beneath them.

"Not as they are?" then he looked back.

"You do know. They have not been allowed to leave this place, and continue to search; taking whatever they may find from others for themselves, although it will never alter them. And I dare say, you were quite unmistakable to them." he raised his hand, indicating the white in her hair, the gentle light surrounding her.

"I am not meant to be here. Can I leave? Is there any way?" she asked, bringing her attention back to the man in front of her.

"Of course. Three doors before you, of two paths you may choose as one door is shut. One will lead you to peace, joy and serenity, and the other to severe suffering, brutal wars and endless sorrow. But, whichever you decide, you will leave someone behind." he told as he motioned to the arch to his left, that started to blur and brighten as a landscape appeared and she stared. Beautiful, endless fields of summer green, dotted with bright flowers under a deep blue sky, white clouds drifting past here and there. She took a step closer to see, where three children laughed and played under the shade of a great tree that held round garnet-red apples from the branches. She saw two boys and a girl, all with onyx black hair, perhaps ages nine, eight and six years old. She watched as the boys chased each other around the wide trunk while the little girl watched from where she sat against the wood on the grass, smiling brightly. Claira took a sudden deep breath, her heart aching and the girl looked up at her bringing the attention of the boys to her as well. They had familiar, burning blue eyes, except for the girl that displayed enchanting violet eyes. They were all still smiling, while her heart broke and tears streamed down her face realising, and it tore her apart as her right hand clasped over her mouth to stop the cries from escaping her tortured state. Two boys, Vaeghard and Balendin and a girl... A girl she would have named Clariscia. The little girl waved at her, bringing her pacing heart to a sudden murderous stop as she slowly waved wistfully back.

"Do... Do they know me?" she asked, and the man nodded.

"They know you." he assured, and her heart broke even more. She wanted to step through, to hold them, and kiss them, and tell them how much she loved them, but...

"Are they..." she asked, finding it too hard as she trembled, trying to drive away the tears that ripped away at her.

"They know no hardships. And they are not alone." he assured once again, and she turned to face the other door as he remained waiting patiently. The arch was dormant, the black shadowy landscape visible far behind it.

"You said two paths, one door is shut." she enquired again.

"Yes." his answer was curt, and she looked at the other door once again, at the beautiful fields, and the beautiful children who resumed their activity. _T_ _hree doors, t_ _wo paths, but o_ _ne stands shut_ _..._ Her eyes came back to the empty arch. _Two paths, but only one door..._ And then back at the fields _Two paths, one a door... One not a door..._ She looked up at the light above them, and again at the children as the image slowly started to fade away, and her final vision placed her heart at rest. A man she knew, beloved the patriarch of their family, rich in the colours of their house from where he watched them play. _I love you... All of you..._ She wiped away the tears, one by one piecing together a broken heart and then looked at the man who nodded slowly. She found comfort that they were safe, that they were happy, that they were at peace and always will be; and that she had this moment that would be in her heart forever. Then looked up at the light, reaching for it as she felt herself being lifted up into the air, away from the darkness, breathless and tranquil as the brightness enveloped her completely. Taken, heedless into beautiful, peaceful, blissful... endless, painless light...


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17 – THE RISE

The world was drenched in a silent darkness, all of her senses feeling heavy and uncaring, but the pain was gone. _Wake up…_ Shadow and light slowly altered, making its presence known all around her, and the nausea was gone. _Wake up…_ There was a distant humming, or drumming, or stirring, the occasional deep echoing rumbling of a vague memory, and the cool scent of summer rain over the ocean, but the severe cold was gone. _Wake up..._ Shapes of something she had once known weaved in and out of consciousness, and the fever was gone. _Wake up…_ Dreams in the fog became clear for but a moment before darkness fell over her again, but the weakness remained. _Wake up…_ And then her eyes opened, taking in the intricate scene of the canopy above their bed, and everything returned to her. It was light, surely some time past noon as the winds swept a thunderous storm over their hold, the rain bearing down and soaking the sunstone keep. She blinked, feeling the sting of sleep in her sight; and then looked down at a man sitting at her side, his head resting on his arm on the mattress at her side while a warm, powerful hand lay clasped around hers. A thirst greater than anything she had ever known burned down her throat. She tried to move, but nothing had the strength to answer to the commands. She tried to call to him, but his name was little more than a breath across her lips; not even her voice would respond. She tried again, the sudden rumble of thunder drowning the hardly discernible call for his attention. Her eyes closed for a moment, it was strangely draining, this tiny effort. But she tried again, parting her dry lips and forcing a breath through a torrid mouth, that escaped in but a slight high pitched whimper. And then he looked up, turning her way.

"I'm here..." had she the breath for it, she would have gasped at the sight. A full beard spread across a withered, gaunt face, and dark rings were etched under lethargic eyes. He looked thin and haggard, like he'd seen a hundred wars.

"I'm here..." He said again as he stared at her, his eyes cloudy as if in a dream. _My Raeghun..._ She blinked, finding that she had no tears to shed for him in this state, but then the eyes cleared, suddenly returning to their bright and burning blue as he stood.

"Claira?" again she closed her eyes, cursing her body and her voice for not heeding her. _Why can't I move? Why can't I speak? Why can't I do anything...?_ They opened, to see him standing over her, the eyes watching her intently both in disbelief and utter relief then he turned back, calling to someone in the hall.

"Find the maester! Find him now!" then his attention came back to her, his left hand coming up to her face and the fingers gently running into her hair as he lowered.

"Claira..." he still stared at her, and then smiled as the vision became his reality and he lowered still, his head resting beside hers on the pillow with his cheek against hers, where she felt him tremble as a warm moisture soaked into her thirsty skin, and her thoughts screamed that she could not cry... that she could not hold him. How was this possible? How could this have happened in... a day? Two? Moments later he slowly pulled back from her, his withered cheeks flustered and his eyes glimmering through tears.

"Good morning, my sweet." he softly jested, still attempting to smother his emotions.

"I'm... thirsty..." she forced through her parched lips, and he quickly reached for a chalice on the table beside the bed, carefully sliding his arm behind her shoulders to bring her up, allowing her head to rest against his arm as he brought the chalice to her mouth; but for all her thirst she couldn't manage more than a small taste to wet her tongue, finding it hard to swallow and forcing her to cough through a ragged breath as some of the moisture was left running down her jaw to her throat. As he brought the rim away, he gently eased her back onto the pillows.

"Where... Where is Rychon? Where... is he?" she breathed softly as he retook his seat at her side, her thoughts going back to the children she'd seen.

"He's with Milla." he assured, and she tried to raise herself to sit up; but completely paralysed she once again screamed at herself for not being able to move at all.

"I want him... Bring him to me... Please..." she begged, and his hand came back to her face, the warm fingers gently running over her cheek.

"I will. I promise, I will. But... not right away." a figure entered the room, dressed in silver-grey and the maester rushed over, his chain jingling in motion; then Raeghun stood and moved away, allowing him to pass. As he smiled in alleviation, his left hand closed over hers while his right came to her face, gently resting the back of his hand against her brow.

"My lady, are you in any pain?" he asked attentively as his deep brown eyes examined her.

"No..." the soundless whisper came across her lips, and he brought his hand away, satisfied that the fever was passed.

"Good. Very good." he glanced back at Raeghun with a slight nod, and then took the seat at her side as her husband left the room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and a short pause followed as she breathed.

"I... I can't move... My... my voice..." she couldn't bring herself to understand this unnatural state, but his hand hadn't left hers, his eyes still on her compassionately.

"I don't mean to alarm you, Claira. You've been gravely ill, and asleep for... a long time, the weakness is because your body is severely malnourished." she stared at him, the frost blue eyes still dazed.

"How... how long?" there was a short silence as he thought. How is this explained? How do you tell someone that they were gone for as long as she was? How does one react to being told, that you were asleep for an extent near to three weeks?

"Several days, my lady." he returned, deciding that he would treat the situation slowly, and with caution, and advise others to do the same; then he smiled warmly.

"But our prayers had been answered, and you have woken. You may recover completely, but this will take time, to find your strength. Please, please try to be patient." he explained, and she closed her eyes in a mental nod of acceptance. _So, that's why..._ _But..._

"Raeghun..." why was he? The maester's hand gently tightened around hers.

"He has barely left your side. Your condition has struck him very hard. But, I trust that now you will both mend from this." He sat forward, preparing to inform her on their work going forward in her healing process.

"I will have lady Milla give particular instructions to our cook as to your needs, starting with water and light soups until you feel better. Gradually we may move to something more substantial, like fruit extracts, tea, milk, fuller soups and custard. And of course, you need ample rest." he told, and she looked at him.

"My son... I want to see him. Please..." he nodded, glancing away for a moment as a nurse entered the chamber to offer her help.

"We will find a way for you to see him." he promised again, and a contented breath filled her chest as she thought of him, where he might be while Milla was busy in the southern hall as girls rehung the washed drapings and banners against the walls and positioned feast ware amidst the flowers on the tables while Bella followed some of them around dressed in her yellow frock and Mandeline shadowing attentively. For now, the Tormonts were seated at the high table where Alyssa held Rychon on her knees and he grasped a rather large burly form of a stuffed animal in his hands given by the baker's wife, the ear of the creature in his mouth. With the storm confining their members to their hold, most were ambling about lost in the ambience. A bard had come from the village before the rain started, hoping to present one of his songs to the lords of the keep, and he now waited off to one side, engaged in conversation with two of their sentinels. A moment later, the elderly nurse entered from the kitchens heading over to lady Alyssa, laying a soft hand on her arm and bringing her attention to the motherly face behind her as Panora smiled gently, having just rejoined the activities of the castle.

"I'll take him for now, my lady. You must be tired." she offered, and Alyssa released the child to her care, thanking her. Milla still oversaw the preparations as a sudden strike of thunder startled her, but she quickly eased taking a deep breath. She felt grateful for all of the help, thinking that if she was left with these tasks to her own, her condition might have been quite a bit more worn than what it was at present. She felt tired, and sad; but hopeful and optimistic at the same time. There was still no change since the men returned, but that their lady did not pass was a sign of promise; and for another two days they prayed. She looked up at Berin entering the feast hall with some of the other members following him as he came over to her while the rest spread out into the space, awaiting this evening's feast or for the storm to pass; whichever came first. He gently smiled as he leaned down to kiss her as her hand went around his side.

"Any word?" she whispered, and he sighed.

"Nothing yet; either way. I'm not sure what to make of that, though." he said softly, and then looked up at yet another figure entering the hall, and a sudden silence fell over them like the world was drowned out; and nothing was left but the hum of the rain on the stones and the chatter of the logs splitting in the fires of the hearths. He looked over all of them silently, expressionless with only the eyes bright and Milla felt her heart pound against her chest several times before she approached him cautiously while others also carefully gathered.

"My lord?" his attention came to her suddenly, the burning blue glistening in the light of fire and cloudy shadows.

"It's lady Claira…" he started slowly, and the pounding stopped in a frigid sting to her stomach as her hands unconsciously came to her chest to drive away the cold, and tears rose in her eyes.

"Oh, please don't tell us that… that she…" thousands of stabs assaulted her, from her cheeks down to her ankles as the inevitable shock struck her... this was what they all awaited, the final word. But then through the daze she saw him smile.

"No. She's awake. She's weak, but she's awake. Maester Adlyn is with her." he informed, and the venom left her in a rise of elated tingling, she wanted to scream and laugh as she heard more relieved voices sounding around them, travelling back through their people like ripples in a pond. A warm hand rested on her back and she looked up at Berin beside her.

"This is wonderful news." he sighed as the corners of his mouth drew up softly, then looked at the man in front of them, whom still seemed to be somehow hesitant.

"Am I dreaming? I've dreamed of this so many times..." he whispered, passing a glance between Milla and Berin.

"Is this a dream?" he asked again softly, hiding the desperation under the tone of his voice. Then Berin moved forward, raising his hands and taking hold of his shoulders.

"If it is, we're all dreaming with you." he jested, and slowly there was laughter. Cautious and reserved at first, but then easy, sincere and happy it was shared with all, like hundreds of candles lit from a single flame and spread through their halls, the light returned to their lives. Then he started to turn.

"I have to get back. I will return with more tidings later this evening." he decided, and then looked to his left to meet the silver-blue eyes beside him.

"May we see her?" Willmon asked eagerly, and Raeghun nodded.

"Of course. But, we must try not to overwhelm her; I don't believe she's aware of the time that has passed. It may be wise to consult with maester Adlyn first, on how to proceed." he mentioned, and then searched around for Panora, noticing her moving forward through the mass of people with Rychon against her.

"Panora, I will have you called to bring my son to the lord's chamber, for my wife to see him." he instructed, and she acknowledged him with a sure nod. Then he turned, heading back to the lord's wing along with Willmon and Alyssa while her siblings lingered behind to meet with her later, and the others remained in the southern hall, sharing the newly found happiness with each other. Milla turned, placing her arms around Berin's shoulders as his went around her waist, and they laughed. Still she wanted to scream, to throw off the sensations that left her body pulsing with vigorous excitement. _She's awake... She's awake... This is amazing..._ Then she looked up at her husband, also smiling brightly.

"Thank you. You saved her." she breathed, and his arms tightened.

"We all did." then he looked up, over their people.

"No one did anything alone. We all hoped, and believed, and prayed. We all shared obligations, and we searched our books and lands. We all supported each other, we held to hope and we kept each other strong." then he looked back at her.

"We all saved her." they shared another laugh, and then she looked around, searching for a face absent from their hall.

"Falgon doesn't know, yet." she realized, and his arms left her.

"Then you should go tell him." Berin suggested, and her eyes came back to his smiling face. Every frustration, annoyance and anxiety vanished in the light, and her hands touched his face.

"You are astounding." she whispered, but he just smiled leaning down to kiss her, placing his lips against hers in a gentle touch before she felt a soft pull on the skirt of her dress. Then she looked down to see Bella next to her, her arms stretched out for her.

"Mama." she waited expectantly, and Milla picked her up, placing her on her hip.

"Do you want to come with me?" the question was answered with a sure mumble, and she sniggered.

"Of course you do." then she looked back at Berin.

"We'll be back soon." she promised, and then left to the guards hall where she found the tall sentinel, as by now she knew she would.

"Falgon." he stood, and turned to face her with a formal bow.

"How will I serve, my lady?" he asked, and she smiled.

"It's lady Claira." she started, and the dark eyes stared at her, the anticipation behind the clear eyes more explicit than even his concrete composure.

"She has woken. Lord Raeghun has come to inform us just a short while ago." she told, and finally saw him smile again as his eyes glanced past her; the easy, honest vision they all found so enchanting, and once again he was blissful and unstrained as well.

"That is marvellous. I am greatly pleased that she is feeling better." he breathed, and somehow it seemed to grow slightly lighter around them; by just a small degree. His attention came back to her.

"Thank you, for sharing this word with me. I trust that the hold will be blessed with peace and betterment." he said, and she nodded, sharing his positivity.

"Lord Raeghun might consider allowing members to visit her, in a few days." she mentioned, and he took that in silently.

"I'm sure she will enjoy that. But I will see her again when she is strong enough." she admired him again, his unyielding courtesy.

"I envy your patience. I can't wait to go up and see her again." she laughed, looking at the child on her hip bubbling along.

"And I'm sure Bella is just as keen." answered with an eager chirp as Bella looked at Falgon, extending a hand.

"Fal!" again he laughed, amused by her eager attempt at his given name as he took her fingers in his.

"Close, little Bluebell. You learn quickly." he encouraged, and then looked at Milla.

"If I may, please do give my wishes to her grace once you see her." he requested politely, and she smiled back.

"Certainly." another sudden strike of thunder startled her again, and her arms tightened around Bella. She'd forgotten about the rain pounding on their walls, but then breathed out in a soft laugh. Life will progress again, and it will become easier, every storm passes to see clear days once again. There was hope again; this storm that had thrown their lives into chaos had finally passed, and there was light again.

"Good afternoon to you, ser." she greeted, and he bowed his head.

"And to you, my lady." she left the hall as he retook his seat, watching the flames as he smiled softly, feeling almost light-headed from the ease and elation; the relief was energising to the point he could imagine himself running, simply bounding freely to the Bite and back to release the emotions. But he was content to wait, until she needed him again. She came back to them, and he could remain at her side. Whom he had prayed to for the first time since leaving what used to be his home, had listened for once. Then he looked up, at the wood of the floors above him as his thoughts went to her, where she lay in her bed and Raeghun retook his place beside her while maester Adlyn conferred with with the Tormonts on how might be best to approach, before he would meet with Milla as well to discuss their lady's nourishment. Raeghun looked at her, she was still very lean with highly defined features, but to his gratitude the deathly grey-blue colour of her skin vanished, returning to its former gentle pale and a soft rose blush had found its way back to her cheeks. He'd raised her so the nurse could position more pillows behind her, giving her some height and allowing her to rest in an almost sitting orientation for a while.

"Claira." her eyes slowly opened, looking at him.

"We have a small present for you." he told, and she stared at him; a moment before a soft knock sounded at their door, and Raeghun allowed the visitor entry. Her eyes gleamed, registering the faces that came through, smiling warmly as they came over and Raeghun stood, allowing them to pass.

"Adah..." again, just a breath from her lips as she managed a weak smile and he leaned forward, placing his arms around her and a kiss to her bony cheek.

"My sweet rose." he held her tightly for a moment, and then drew back.

"It is so good to see you awake." then he moved away, allowing his wife to greet their daughter as well. They took seats on the bed beside her, while Raeghun retook his on the chair; and they spent the remainder of the day conversing on lighter subjects after informing her that they received the raven from maester Adlyn, sent just the day after she'd fallen ill, and decided to come back to offer their aid, and had only been there for a couple of days. The day passed into night under the song of the rain, while Milla also came for a short visit; and the evening's servings were sent to the lord and lady of the hold in their wing while the others gathered in the southern hall, feasting on a fine selection of goose and creamed country greens with lard potatoes and pumpkin cakes; along with spiced wine they had brought out to celebrate the lady's awakening. Some members were not at all shy of proposing yet another lavish feast once she was healthy enough to join them here, but that would be left for later. After their own festivities, and a cleared hall, peace and silence flowing into their halls, Panora carefully made her way up to the lord's chamber with a sleeping boy in her arms. She paused, gently knocking on the door and then entered after hearing the lord's voice from inside. She greeted them with a soft whisper, witnessing how Claira's eyes started to sparkle at seeing her son. Again she tried to sit forward, she wanted to raise her arms to take him, to hold him against her chest and have him nurse from her, but deliberately her body refused to respond, and a wayward tear escaped the corner of her eye. As Raeghun held her, Panora positioned the pillows over again, creating a comfortable nook where Claira could rest serenely and she lay Rychon down next to his mother much as the weeks following his birth, and gently placed her hand on him. He seemed bigger than what she remembered, but to her relief he appeared healthy and calm. Panora took a seat on the chair next to the bed while Raeghun assumed a place next to her on the bed, softly running his hand over her arm, and in hushed voices they discussed the activities of the castle, and their plans going forward, while Claira mostly only listened, eventually drifting off to sleep still with Rychon asleep against her. Only after determining that she was completely at rest, Panora carefully took him up in her arms again before bringing her attention to Raeghun.

"Sleep well, my lord. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call me." he smiled softly, still watching his wife.

"Thank you, Panora. Good evening to you." he greeted, and she left the chamber in silence to return to Rychon's room. He sat another moment, unimaginably grateful for his family who had gone to such great lengths, and for their fortune. Everything was restored the moment she woke, his strength, his courage, his sanity... his faith, even his very will to live; and he hoped that this was the final hardship they would be made to endure. Then he stood, removed his clothing and joined her on their bed, wrapping his right arm around her waist and gently hugged her tiny form to his.

"I love you. Everything will be al right..." He brought himself forward, branding a soft kiss on her neck before settling on the pillows, and for the first time in weeks found peaceful sleep until the blush of morning woke him again. He rose to start his day, retrieving a selection of garments from the dresser before heading down to the bath chamber to cleanse, and feeling the blanket of whiskers covering his cheeks and jaw, decided to have that tended to this morning. Then he returned to the chamber, finding Claira awake to his joy as he made his way to the bed and sat down next to her.

"Good morning." he smiled as he leaned down to kiss her, and she returned his greeting faintly, then she stared at him with a questioning in her eyes.

"I... I need to know..." she asked, and he could feel a guilty sting to his chest.

"Did Rychon... Did he nurse... From me?" he looked down, having known this would come.

"No." he said softly, feeling the blue eyes stare.

"I... said no nurses..." he heard her softly next to him, for a moment thankful that she hadn't the strength yet to yell at him. But she was angry, just as he knew she would be.

"How... could you...? This was... the one joy I had...!" she sobbed, but still just as confrontational as the argument he expected.

"I didn't ask a wet nurse. I asked Milla to tend to him, because I knew you would trust something like that, only to her." he explained, and she looked away from him.

"He is my son... mine. Someone else... shouldn't need to..." then he stood, lowering himself to kiss her cheek.

"I won't fight with you over it Claira. I will return to you later." he decided, and brushed his lips gently against her skin before leaving, listening to her strained breaths behind him. It broke his heart, but perhaps some time would mend it. He descended the stairway, coming into the lord's hall to find Alyssa just stepping through the door, and she smiled as she looked up at him.

"Good morning, Raeghun." she greeted warmly, and he sighed.

"Good morning, my lady." she came over to him, and examined him for an instant.

"Are you al right?" he forced a smile, casting a quick glance back at the arch leading up.

"I'll be fine. But Claira is angry with me, once again." he mentioned,

"About what, dear boy?" then he looked back, meeting the warm eyes.

"Oh, I rather expected it. She's always been displeased by the idea of accepting the service of a wet nurse for Rychon." he explained, and she scoffed slightly.

"You weren't left with a choice, Raeghun." she reminded him, and he nodded.

"I realize that. But unfortunately, that does not lessen the hurt it caused her." he looked down, guiltily, then felt a hand on his arm.

"Head down, meet with your people. I'd like to see her, then I will rejoin the kitchen." she urged, and he proceeded down with an accepting nod, and she made her way up to the lord's chamber to meet with her daughter, taking a seat on the chair at her side.

"Good morning, my dear. How are you feeling?" she asked, taking Claira's hand in hers.

"Morning, mother... Better than before... But still faint..." she breathed softly staring out the window that looked over the Sunset Sea, the blue of water and sky merging far in the distance; and Alyssa's hand came to her face to brush away a strand of hair.

"You are already looking healthier." she told, and then took a deep breath. The disappointment was clear in her joyless stare.

"Claira, you shouldn't be mad at Raeghun. He did what he believed was best." she guided, and saw the blue eyes come towards her.

"Shouldn't I... be the right choice for my son?" she asked sadly, and her grip gently tightened around the cold fingers.

"Listen to me. Whatever illness fell on you, nearly claimed your life. No one knew its origin or its extent. If there was any possibility that little Rychon could have been affected by it, would you have taken that chance?" she asked, answered by a drawn out silence. Then her fingers gently traced the lean fingers.

"If whatever this was, could do this to a grown woman, imagine what it could have done to an infant boy." she still stared at her, but Alyssa smiled.

"Would you have taken any risk on his life, if you were in your husband's position?" she dared, but still there was only the silence; and she knew her words met her deeply.

"Would you have dared your son's life, on something you knew nothing of?" she challenged once more, and then the thin lips moved.

"No..." Claira confessed, a single tear trailing down her cheek as Alyssa sighed, recalling the choices that her own husband had to make long ago.

"He expected you to be mad at him, but it's not fair. We are all forced to make hard choices, and we always want to make the right ones. But the unfair truth that circumstances force us to realize, is that there is no right or wrong choice. What is right to one, is wrong to another, so who is to determine these right or wrong decisions? In the end, there is only the best option, and the worst; further we sometimes need to make these choices, knowing we may hurt someone. But we make these choices to protect the ones we love, to the best of our intentions." she reminded her, and saw the glimmering blue vanish behind closed eyes, and the gentle motion of the cold fingers tightening in her hand.

"I... understand... I just... I wanted this one thing... to myself..." she said softly, and Alyssa comforted her, gently running her hand over her arm.

"You will have it again. But first you must recover your strength." she assured her, and Claira brought a breath into herself.

"Thank you. I... I will apologise to him... I promise..." she vowed, willing away the subtle resentment.

In the days that followed, there was advance however slow it was. Two nurses were assigned to Claira's care, who helped cleanse her body and fed her while her limbs were still unresponsive; as per the maester's advices they started with spoonfuls of water and lightly salted soups every few hours between a considerable amount of sleep to fortify her strength as recommended, and the maester would visit every few days to evaluate her progress. They met each day as it came, consoling slow times and fervently expressing their excitement for improvements in any form. In the mornings, while the lord tended to his sparring, the nurses would assist the lady with unstrained exercises, starting with her arms and legs; moving the limbs to bring back the motion they'd lost. Family came to see her every evening, and they would share their days and activities, all while giving their encouragement; and each night she would fall asleep with Rychon in the nook next to her. In time, both she and her husband regained much of what they lost, and the prominent features faded away under new flesh; soon the water and light soup alternated to thicker broths, teas, fruit extracts and custard, while she gradually became stronger and regained movement on her own, first of her fingers and hands, slowly up to her arms and back, finally reaching the point where she could sit up by herself. But still, her legs would not respond. She wanted to feed Rychon again, and it was allowed as maester Adlyn was confident that all afflictions had left her, save for the weakness; and she tried, grateful that this maternal gift did not completely leave her. But frustrated that in her current condition it was not enough to fully satiate her son's hunger, and Milla compensated for her many times. It was twilight when she sat next to Claira in their chamber, watching as she held Rychon to her breast, waiting as he fed. Claira smiled softly, it was comforting, to feel him against her, the sensation of his small mouth drawing what she had; still just a little bit, but more than it was in the days before. But too soon, he released another sensitive mound, already having drained her right side, and he softly whimpered as Milla stood raising her arms.

"May I take him?" she asked softly, while Claira's eyes remained on him yearningly.

"Yes..." she carefully released him as Milla took him, and then returned to the chair where she sat down and opened the left side of her chest and brought him closer, rocking gently as he nursed while Claira stared.

"I'm so sorry, Milla. This... this shouldn't be your responsibility." she said softly and Milla looked up at her.

"I don't mind, Claira. You would have done the same for me." she said, her memories going back to the time that Claira watched over Bella while she was still weak.

"But still..." she started, and Milla gave her a gentle smile.

"You're my best friend... You're a sister I never had. I'll do anything to help you." she assured, watching as Claira's eyes went to the boy at her breast. It was difficult, she knew; however her friend was understanding of the situation and thought first of what was best for him, and she looked down to him as well.

"Don't worry. Soon, this will be only yours again. You just need a little bit more time." she promised, and it brought a gentle smile from her.

"Thank you, Milla. How fares our people?" she asked, guiding the conversation in a different direction.

"Well. Everyone is happy, and relieved at your progress, of course; and eager to see you once again." she reported, and Claira nodded.

"I long to see them again, all of them. But my legs..." she trailed off, but her friend watched her compassionately.

"It will get better. You've already regained strength of most of your body." she reminded, and Claira nodded. She did feel slightly stronger now, but still her legs refused her. She could feel everything, when the nurses moved her, and when the maester would softly prod at the soles of her feet and other parts of her legs with a narrow straw; she could recognise touch to her feet up to her thighs, but couldn't bring the movements herself no matter how hard she tried. It was frustrating, but they continued to ease and support her, insisting that motion will return in time. She wanted to rejoin the hold, to see her people, to walk down their halls and to sit at their high table next to her husband in front of their Fervid hearth among kin, to share in the life of their keep instead of being confined here within stone walls. She wanted to return to her routine, to visit cook Jeody in his kitchens again, to see to their sick and wounded, to pick out flowers for their tables, and choose the silverware for their feasts, to go riding with her Brazier with her sentinels around her...

"We could arrange to have you carried?" the suggestion came from Milla, and she blushed.

"I can't expect that from Raeghun." and Milla smiled.

"I'm sure Falgon would be happy to." she said as Rychon released her, and she covered her chest before bringing him to her shoulder and gently tapping his back.

"What a thought, Milla." she sighed, and had to admit that it was drawing.

"Let's see what happens, in the next few days." she decided, and Milla stood bringing Rychon back to her and laying him in her arms.

"Very well. I should head down, tend to the final preparations before supper is served. Good night, Claira." she greeted.

"Sleep well, Milla. And thank you so much, for everything." she smiled, holding Rychon close to her.

"You are very welcome, it is my great pleasure." she laughed softly, and then left the chamber, and Claira rested Rychon on her lap. He was able to sit up on his own now, with a hand touching his back for support. He stared at her, their eyes meeting as she smiled.

"I've missed you, and I'm sorry for being so idle. But, I promise it will get better." she told him, and he reached for her with a happy squeak, the little mouth drawn in a wide toothless smile. In spite of everything, he was happy and loved; and that was the most important thing. She leaned forward, hugging his little body close and laughed for his contentment, sharing it with him. The remainder of the day was spent with him in the safety of their room, where she told him stories and sang her songs, and just played with him until a serving girl carrying a tray with apple press and a thick soup, and a serving of steamed hake with spiced potato and spinach along with a tall goblet of mead entered along with nurse Panora who offered to take Rychon. The serving girl placed the tray on a small table that was moved close to the bed where Raeghun shared meals with her, and moved the soup and press to a high serving tray that would suspend over her legs so Claira could eat.

"His lordship has assured he will join you for supper in a moment, milady." she informed as she brought the high tray to her, positioning it over her thighs and she inspected the food in front of her. It appeared as delicious as it smelt, of course; a deep, thick dark brown liquid created from seared beef.

"Thank you." she watched as Panora took a seat on one of the chairs, holding a wooden toy shaped like an ox up for Rychon and he reached for it eagerly. She named the creature as he took hold of it, then he mumbled as he brought it to his mouth, and she laughed softly praising that he attempted to echo the word.

"He's trying hard." Claira shared the laugh, and Panora looked up at her with a mitigated smile.

"Some achievements may take a bit longer, but he is highly alert, my lady. He will learn, I dare say, very quickly." she foretold.

"That is good." Claira reflected, and spared a quick glance at the serving girl preparing the small table for her husband. The sky had darkened, and the stars were emerging from behind their blanket of light, and another day had gone. Again, she smothered an urge to cry; it was taking too long. The days dragged on with what felt like no progress, and she longed for freedom. Softly the door opened, and Raeghun stepped through. He passed to the table, and allowed the serving girl to leave as he took his place and held his hand for her before she gently placed her fingers in his; and he thanked their gods, old and new for all their blessings, and they enjoyed their evening meal together while sharing the activities of their day and Panora saw to Rychon. With trembling hands, Claira brought several spoonfuls of the soup to her lips, wondering why she now always shivered while she ate; and before long found that she could not finish the thick soup and half the serving was sent back to the kitchens with the same serving girl whom came to clear the table for them. Then Panora returned with a now sleeping Rychon, and as before lay him down in the nook beside Claira and they rested together as Raeghun took a place next to her and Panora claimed the chair, and again they spoke in soft voices. Sparring went well and the members of their guards applied several new techniques to their daily exercises, Garde's Post grew with new hovels and crates of fresh produce were delivered to the kitchens this morning. Life continued, and it prospered. After a while, she looked up a the nurse.

"Panora, you may take him to his room. I'm sure you'd like an earlier night." she allowed, and Panora stood to take him.

"Are you sure, my lady?" she asked, leaning forward and Claira smiled.

"Yes. Good night." the nurse smiled back gratefully,

"Thank you. Sleep well, my dear lady." her eyes went to Raeghun.

"And you, my lord." he acknowledged her with a nod, and she left the chamber down to Rychon's, and Raeghun glanced at her.

"A little bit out of character for you." he mentioned, and she smiled.

"I want some time with you, too." she said as she forced herself up again to face him, and admiring his devoted patience.

"Claira, when you're strong enough-" her hand coiled around his neck and brought him closer in a longing kiss she wished would last an eternity before drawing back.

"I want us to try. Please, I've missed you. I haven't felt you in what seems like ages." she whispered against him, and then the touch of his fingers to her cheek spread a warm tingle through her face and down her throat.

"I'm afraid of hurting you." he muttered as his hand slid down her neck to her chest.

"You won't. I know you won't." her fingertips gently pressed into his neck, pulling him closer again to kiss him once more. His kiss deepened as his left arm slid around her waist, and the fingers if his right hand tenderly glided into her hair, gently pulling her closer while her right arm wound over his shoulders, and the palm of her left rested on his smooth cheek. His smell and taste filled her, his touch flowing through her like water through the canals, leaving a warm prickling behind.

"I want you... I want you to make love to me again..." her soft whisper sounded against his skin as her lips left his for his cheek, and his fingers gently tightened into her as her name left his chest, and he pulled back looking at her with glinting eyes.

"Please... Please try." she encouraged softly, and then he smiled in the moment before he seized her passionately, bringing her even closer as his hands strained into her. She returned his fervour eagerly, removing the jerkin and tunic from his shoulders before he deftly slipped the light dress from her shoulders. Her hands moved over his arms, absorbing him and he discarded the bed covers as the heat took them in, along with the remainder of his clothing. Then he moved forward, settling her on the pillows as his lips traced a warm trail down her neck and chest while pulling the dress over her hips and down her thighs to release her from its constraint. Then he branded a series of soft kisses to her abdomen, not at all repelled by the fine white scars as he moved back up to her mouth and continued to kiss her deeply and her fingertips pressed into his back. Then he carefully pulled her knee past his hip, settling himself between her thighs, the warmth spreading through them and consuming their senses. She felt him against her, her muscles tensing zealously as the excited rush coursed through her body. Once more his name left her eager lips, and then the rush of cool air surged into her chest in a sharp gasp, swallowed by the warmth that flooded her in the moment he entered her. Her arms tightened around him, the only way she had to bring him closer as he moved, pressing himself to her as she moaned. She wanted to cry, to scream; but not of pain. It was near to blinding, this sweet bliss they shared when he made love to her, and she wished that it would last a lifetime. _My Raeghun... My gentle, darling Raeghun..._ A single tear escaped her eye, and she surrendered to hours of his passion before his flames filled her with his voice to her ear, and they finally eased into the softness of the bed, and she lay against him feeling strange as she shivered, thirsty for his heat.

"Did I hurt you?" she looked up at him, with a soft smile.

"No... No you didn't... I'm... cold..." it was so strange, this deep frigid chill that suddenly held her unlike any other; it has never happened before. He reached down, bringing the covers over them and then held her against him, sharing his warmth over her.

"Does this help?" she nudged slightly closer.

"Thank you, my love." the shuddering eased against him quickly, and they succumbed to sleep.

More days followed, each slowly better than the last; but still the weakness to her legs remained and her ability to consume was unchanged. One clear morning, Willmon shared the seat at the table in the lord's chamber in his daughter's company while she tried her best at a serving of their cook's honeyed oatmeal, but once again could not finish more than half the portion. Sitting back she cursed herself feeling frustrated, and then looked through the window to the world outside, at the blue at the rim of the world.

"You've never told me why you love the colour blue so much. At some point, it was the only shade you would ever wear." she heard Willmon ask, and for a small moment she couldn't answer. But then it came to her, and a small smile found her.

"I don't really know. It's a beautiful colour. It's calm, and soothing; the colours of sky and sea. Deep, eternal and living. It's... hopeful, I think... Not at all how I'm feeling now." she looked back, and saw her father smiling at her.

"It's al right, Claira. Things will improve, try to be patient." he said softly, and she sighed, again feeling the urge to give in to the sorrow.

"It's taking too long, Adah. I want to stand, to walk, to take a bath and to sit in my garden. I want to feast in the southern hall with my people, to go out riding with my Brazier. I want to get out of this... this dungeon."she released herself to her father, and then felt his hand on hers.

"You will, my sweet. You will. Not too long ago, we all started to lose hope; but it returned. It is the one thing we must never lose, and to remind you of that I have a gift for you." he reached into his pocket, and drew out something small holding it out to her, gently placing a small item in her hand and she stared at it. She remembered it, although it looked so much different now, and new tears left heat to her cheeks. A clear and shining blue oval sapphire was set in a delicate silver heart frame, with three tear cut diamonds glinting from where they dangled at the sides and the base, the glorious pendant hanging from a fine silver chain alongside a pearl blue ribbon. The blue she loved so much, known to their family as _The Heart of Hope..._

"I had it remade for you." he said softly, and she looked at him.

"Grandmother Theresa's ring?" she recognised the beautiful stones in the pure silver, and he smiled softly bringing back gentle memories.

"You were meant to have it, for your twenty and first year. But, under the circumstances I thought you may need it now." he told, and her hand covered her mouth to smother a cry.

"Thank you, Adah... Thank you, so much for this... I can't..." tears escaped her eyes, and she felt his warm arms around her.

"My precious winter rose, how wonderful you are." then he pulled back.

"You deserve every blessing. And the day I leave this world, I will have no regrets for the promise I had made, and it comforts me that for now here you are beloved, respected and protected by many. People may ridicule me, they may curse me, they may even hate me, deeming my affections unfair; but in my honesty my reasons are justified. I have made it no secret, that of all my children I love you more than anyone in this world. My beautiful, exceptional daughter... the one we almost lost twice..." she saw the glint of tears to his silver-blue eyes, and her arms went around his shoulders.

"I love you, Adah. My blessings, all of them, outweigh this very world..." she whispered, her father was an honest man but he was never unfair. Then he pulled back from her, his smile bright.

"May I?" she returned his excitement.

"Yes. Yes, please." she handed the amulet back to him, and quickly took up her hair, raising it away from her shoulders as her father brought the fine silver chain and ribbon necklace around her throat and secured it behind her neck before moving back. She glanced down, marvelling at its sparkle against her pale skin as her fingers gently touched the pendant, tracing the edge of the silver heart.

"There are no words, Adah..." she whispered, and he took her hand bringing it to his mouth.

"There is no need for words, sweetling. You are still with us, and that is all we hoped for." he assured, then gently kissed the fingertips before they shared a soft laugh and a knock drew her attention.

"Enter." the door opened, and her sister peeked through.

"I apologise for disturbing you." she pardoned as she stepped inside the room, dressed in smoke grey silk with black ribbon seams and a pearl centre piece.

"Not at all, sweet Carissa." her father smiled, and she came over as he looked back to Claira.

"I'll leave you two. Best I go see what my sons are up to." he excused himself, then stood and made his way out of the room while Carissa took the seat next to Claira.

"You look so much better, dear sister." she said as her warm hazel eyes regarded her.

"Thank you. But I am afraid that my progress is slow." Claira sighed, and her sister smiled.

"That doesn't matter. Your improvement, however small it is, is the most important thing." she said, and then glanced down.

"Father intends to return back to Pale Haven in a fortnight. But, if it's al right, I would like to ask something of you." she mentioned softly, and then looked up again timidly.

"I would like your permission, to stay behind for a little while longer." she asked, her eyes glinting; and then she sniggered.

"Your home is wonderful, and I've become fond of everyone here. I can't watch the sun set over the sea from Pale Haven like I can here. Most of the time I can't even see the blue of the sky, or the stars in the night... like I can here. But, I don't want to stay simply as your guest. I can still help you, and Milla. I can tend to the kitchens, or the halls, or to Rychon if you need me to." she proposed, making Claira's smile brighten.

"That is very sweet of you, little minx. I don't believe that there would be any problem with that, but let me speak with my husband first." she agreed, and the hazel eyes lit up in happy anticipation. The remainder of the day passed like many others, until Raeghun entered their chamber approaching her where she sat with Rychon on her lap and Panora on the chair next to them. And then he smiled happily as he passed a glance between them.

"Panora, would you mind taking my son for just a moment?" he asked, and she nodded as she stood to take the boy into her arms and then moved slightly away with him as Raeghun approached his wife, and she watched him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked as he removed the covers from her and he took her up in his arms, hers sliding around his neck.

"No, nothing is wrong." then he turned, carrying her through the chamber.

"Then, where are you taking me?" she asked, her arms gently tightening as they passed through the door, heading down the steps.

"You'll see." they passed through the lord's hall, and into the bath chamber where a nurse greeted them as she stood in waiting. Raeghun set his wife on the wood bench next to the doorway before closing the heavy curtain, and removing his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Claira asked stunned, finding it unusual that he would expose himself in front of others, but then he looked at her smiling.

"Granting one of your many wishes." he hinted, and then glanced at the nurse who moved forward to help her undress from the lavender gown. He further removed his boots, but remained in dark wool breeches as he took her up after her garment was cast off, and took her into the warm water of their vanilla bath, setting her down gently on the tiled floor and allowing the soothing water to surround her, while kneeling next to her and supporting her back. Again she wanted to scream and cry and laugh as she looked up at him.

"Thank you, so much. What have I done, to deserve all of this?" he laughed softly as he proceeded to help her wash her body and hair.

"I could give you many reasons. But the simplest, is that you became my wife. You are lady Claira Taugere of the burning mountain, Mount Ardor. You deserve nothing less, than our very best." he told softly, and her arms went around him, holding him tightly against her.

"I love you, Raeghun." his left arm held her to his body while his right hand gently slipped into her hair, pressing her cheek against his.

"I love you." he returned softly before pulling back, momentarily admiring the beautiful pendant hung from her neck and his fingers gently traced the edge.

"This is beautiful." he mentioned, and she smiled.

"My father gave it to me. It is called 'The Heart of Hope'. It once belonged to my grandmother." she told, his eyes still set on the glistening stone.

"It suits you so well." he complimented, and then brought a handful of water over her shoulder. When all was done, he lifted her from the water and returned her to the wood bench where the nurse helped dry and dress her before departing, further awaiting her lady in the lord's chamber while Raeghun redressed, and took her back to the safe softness of their bed, amidst clean sheets, and Rychon was once again lay in her arms soon drifting off to sleep. She looked up at Raeghun sitting by her side, just staring at him.

"What is it?" he smiled as his eyes came to hers.

"I can't really think of anything to say, that I haven't told you hundreds of times before. I can't imagine any way of being happier. People search their whole lives, for some form of joy; they give up everything they have for a chance to find it. They travel across countries and seas, sometimes they see the last of their days with no success... And it was simply given to me." she glanced down at Rychon asleep against her.

"Simply given this divine life, for which there are no words to express or explain my gratitude. There... There are no words..." she closed her eyes, for just an instant remembering something else. Black hair, laughing voices, soft smiles and gentle violet eyes. It was the one thing, the only one thing left... Then she felt warm lips to her cheek, as tears escaped her eyes before he pulled slightly back again.

"My family's happiness is everything to me, Claira. It is my greatest solace, that you are safe and at ease with me. The greatest blessing that I have your love, that we have this together..." then he looked at the little boy as well, his expression soft and pensive.

"You are right. There are no words to express or explain this angelic life fate has been endowed upon us. This was not just fortune, it was so much more. More than we will ever understand..." he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to her brow as he just absorbed the cool of her skin. _My Claira... My sweet, gentle Claira..._ Then he felt her left hand slide around his neck, and they simply remained like this for a time, while the night deepened.

It was a cool overcast morning that Berin made his way up the incline with his advice on the barracks. A serene week followed, and he felt inspirited at the improvement. Raeghun had taken to the routine to carry his wife to the private garden in the lord's wing to enjoy the mornings in fresh air and sweet smells, and his Milla was very keen to join her and share their thoughts. However, since yesterday his friend seemed rather dismayed, despite wishing for good news. Maester Adlyn had requested his attendance in the Hollow earlier this morning, regarding the lady's progress. Rounding the bend that would take him to the entrance to the Hollow he heard voices, low and muffled. He stopped for a moment, just listening but could not make out the words under the sombre tones, realizing that this was not what they hoped for. He continued forward, hearing the maester's regretful emphasis.

"I am so sorry, my lord." then as he continued forward a short pause followed before he heard his friend, equally downtrodden.

"We have him..." then he glanced through the doorway to see Raeghun sitting at the wide table staring out of the window from his seat at the head of the table, with the maester beside him, his eyes cast at the stone floor beneath them. For an instant, he debated with himself on leaving to return later when the atmosphere didn't seem so dark; but then the blue eyes met him before looking up at the maester.

"You may leave, maester." he allowed, and Adlyn bowed formally to the lord before departing the Hollow in silence while Berin stood, waiting patiently before entering, watching his best friend.

"My apologies for disturbing you." he pardoned, and Raeghun forced a small smile.

"You weren't. I assume you've come with your report?" he asked turning towards him slightly, and Berin nodded moving closer and taking a seat next to the lord of the hold. They discussed recent engagements and their continued support of nearby villages, farmsteads and the trade between holdfasts, and a satisfied conclusion that there were for the time being no major deficiencies. Vigils were set out to two sets of eight hours each, with sentries posted on the walls and constant watch in the towers as the guard count had increased to two hundred and twenty eight men, including the sentinels. New techniques were applied to the training, also having their exercises lengthened by an hour each day and their strength saw great profit; and Philpot had requested several shipments of steel from the smith in Garde's Post to reforge and replenish their castle armoury. Content that all was in order, Raeghun looked up at Berin.

"Thank you. You may return to your routines, that should be all for today." he allowed, and then looked away from Berin, his eyes again settling on the window and the Sentinel studied his lord. The darkness has faded, and he'd regained much of his former self, but there was still an unsettling discomfort to him.

"You look well. How is your sweet wife?" he asked, and Raeghun took a deep breath, again forcing a smile.

"Slowly better, each day. She's not eating much, but I am grateful for any improvement." he said, and of course he was happy, but the elation had been blown out of bounds, and Berin leaned slightly forward.

"Is something wrong?" he asked softly, while Raeghun's stare remained on the outside world in a strained out-drawn silence before he breathed again heavily. Like he was struggling with the words.

"It's Claira. This will break her heart, Berin... If not for Rychon, my line would end." he softly told, and the bitter sting jutted into his gut as he understood. It was unfair, and it was cruel. But if the maester has confirmed it... Then the burning blue eyes met his again, glistening in anger, resentment and sorrow.

"I... I did this..." he breathed softly, before casting his eyes down, making Berin move forward again suddenly, annoyed at his own frustration.

"Don't say that, it's not true." he returned, but again that was just how he was. Raeghun sat back against the backrest of the chair, his hand still resting on the surface of the wide table, his fingers tucked beneath his palm.

"I told the maester, 'anything, everything... whatever it took, to save her...'. The items he sent for, were uncommon, and one especially rare. Any one of them could have had this effect." he explained, but Berin scoffed.

"Or it could have been the illness." he corrected him, a bit more harshly than was his intent; but it made him listen as Raeghun's stare came back to him.

"This was not your fault, stop blaming yourself for everything. I swear you would take responsibility if a star fell on Sunspear in Dorne." he said, almost scolding his lord and best friend. His brother. He moved forward another inch, laying his fist on the table; the intensity of his deep green eyes burning almost just as much as the ardent blue.

"We've seen miracles happen within these walls, Raeghun. This couldn't have been the last of them." there was still hope, they had to believe there was. There was always hope, even just a little bit. Always... then he saw a true smile gently settle on the features of the lord of Mount Ardor. _Just a little bit..._

"I hope you're right. I honestly do..." he finally agreed, and Berin smiled.

"Keep hoping, my friend. Always." they shared a brighter moment as brothers, hoping for the unspoken betterment, and then moved to stand up.

"I should head up, and get Claira inside before it rains." Raeghun decided, so he and Berin departed the Hollow; his sentinel returning to his duties while he returned to the lord's wing to find his wife sitting on the grass in their private garden, and Rychon on his blanket next to her where he bubbled happily while she teased him with a flower, picked from the shrub next to her; and a nurse sitting on the small bench nearby. Raeghun silently sighed as he approached, the bitterness still having not left him. They seemed so blissful, and their turn of fortune so unjustifiable; and he wondered, what was his crime for this vile curse on his family? He knelt beside her feeling heavy and burdened, laying his hand on her shoulder.

"Let's get you inside." he suggested, and then looked at the nurse.

"Would you please be so kind as to take my son?" he asked, and she stood moving forward to take Rychon up from the grass as Raeghun wrapped his left arm around Claira's body and his right slipped under her legs, lifting her while her arms wrapped around his neck and they returned to the lord's chamber where he set her down on her place, and the nurse brought Rychon to her again.

"Thank you, you may leave us." he allowed, and the nurse left the lord's wing to join the rest of the hold, and he remained sitting next to her on the bed, watching her play with their son; again feeling the sting to his heart.

"Claira, has maester Adlyn come to speak with you?" he asked softly, and she looked up at him.

"He has." she confirmed, but thankfully she didn't sound as sorrowful as he'd anticipated.

"What has he told you?" he asked, and then some of the sadness came.

"He was honest with me. He explained that some of the circumstances have forced us into this... situation. He told me, that Rychon will be my only..." she said softly, and his arm went around her.

"I am so sorry, my sweet. This shouldn't have happened." he comforted, but to his subtle surprise saw her slightly smile.

"It's al right. I am grateful for him." he pulled back from her, watching her eyes shimmer.

"I saw them." she softly told, and for an instant he didn't understand her delicate excitement.

"Who?" then she looked away from him, like she was watching a memory float in front of their hearth.

"Our children. We would have had four. Two more boys, and a girl. They were... so beautiful... They looked like you." she whispered looking back at him, and she laughed softly despite the tears in her striking eyes. Her left hand found his, gently squeezing the fingers as she smiled.

"Our boys... they looked like you. And our little girl... she had violet eyes... They were so beautiful, Raeghun..." her hand pressed over her mouth, and he couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying as he felt himself torn apart.

"My Claira..." then her hand lowered from her mouth, still with the unstrained smile.

"It doesn't bother me. I know they're safe. I know they're happy... No hardships will ever come to them." then he held her again, his arms tightly around her small body.

"That is good." he whispered, happy that she shared this with him. If it brought her peace and comfort to believe that she did see them, and that they were content where they are, then he would not question it. If anything, he would embrace it with her.

"We will have to be more careful with Rychon, though." she added with a soft laugh, and he smiled.

"Yes, we will. But don't worry, we'll get to that." he assured, and the heaviness lifted from the air; he found consolation that their days would not be spent in a bitter darkness, but they would find a way forward together. Then they heard Rychon softly whimper, and he looked down seeing his son with one hand against his face as he tried to stifle a yawn, and Claira laughed.

"He's tired. He's had a busy morning." she mentioned, and Raeghun's hands took him up, bringing his son to his shoulder.

"You should both rest." he advised,

"But Raeghun-" she started, as he turned back towards her slightly.

"Instructions from maester Adlyn. The more you rest, the more you will improve." he encouraged, and finally she nodded in acceptance as he then stood with Rychon to soothe him to sleep, and Claira moved herself down to take a place on the pillows. He walked about the room for a little while, gently rocking as he softly pet Rychon's back, and eventually with them both asleep he lay the baby down next to her on the bed with pillows arranged around him before heading back down to tend to the remainder of the matters.

With another week gone, Raeghun sat beside Claira in their chamber, sharing the morning's meal of boiled eggs, some strips of crisp bacon, cheese pastries and apple press. The Tormonts had left Mount Ardor the day before, while with her father and Raeghun's permission, Carissa remained behind to share their home for another time as long as she wished for, and was now merrily playing with Rychon in his room while Panora took her leave for rest. The days were long and warm, the halls live with conversation on betterment of all sorts. Then he looked over at the tray over her legs, feeling elated at the sight of an empty plate as he laughed and reached over to remove it.

"I believe that this is the first time, that you have finished a serving." he praised, and she smiled.

"It was delightful, as always." she said, but her thoughts were elsewhere. He brought the plate to the serving tray on the table in front of him.

"It is wonderful, to see you improve so quickly, my Claira." he praised, despite her serving holding smaller portions than normal; but with the hope of further encouraging her. His thoughts went back, recalling the day she woke a month ago, and the vast difference between then and now. She was still delicate, but had almost returned to how she was before the illness struck her down, discounting the stubborn unwillingness of her legs to respond; and he contemplated for just an instant the possibility that her ability to walk may never return. She'd been trying very hard, but the strength remained dormant.

"Raeghun…" then his eyes went back to her, seemingly deep in thought.

"Is there something like a tunnel, somewhere in the tombs?" she asked softly, and he stared at her, his mind searching for something similar. His memories suddenly went back to something his father had told him, as a child many, many years ago _"_ _Should you ever find yourselves in danger,_ _surrounded by strong enemies,_ _head to the deepest_ _reach_ _of the Ardent Tombs. There, you will find a way out..."_ and then left to the recesses of his conciousness.

"Yes. It's called 'the lightway'. It was built as an escape route, but it hasn't been used in generations. I had forgotten about it. How do you know?" she had never seen it, he has never even mentioned it to her, and only a handful of the members of their hold was aware of its existence. Then she looked at him.

"I want to see it." she said, and he sat back in the chair, doubting if he could even remember where exactly it was.

"Claira-" she moved forward slightly, her eyes searching his almost desperately.

"I need to... Please." she begged, and he stared back for a short silence before he sighed, taking the chalice off the table and bringing it to his mouth.

"Very well. We'll go have a look later this afternoon." he agreed, having to admit that it would be a lie that he wasn't again curious himself.

"Thank you. Please ask my sister to bring Rychon to me when you leave, I will wait for you to return this afternoon." she said, and he stood after finishing his serving. He leaned down and kissed her cheek before departing, bringing her request to Carissa and then meeting with Metron to tend to the court matters, and soon enough the sun passed over the great castle. Heading back to the lord's wing, he met Berin on the second level, returning from his inspections in Garde's Post.

"Have Falgon meet us in front of our wing, and Gavin, Edur and Colbert wait in the Hall of Fire." he instructed, and Berin nodded, accepting the order.

"Al right. The plans?" Raeghun looked back, and smiled.

"Claira wants to see the lightway." he said, and Berin again nodded, a spark of excitement igniting in his chest. They had never seen it themselves, and it would certainly be interesting if they were able to find it. He headed back down the steps to the guard's hall to find Falgon, at his normal place. It was astounding, and reassuring to know exactly where he could be found, knowing that he would never venture away from the hold; but it might take a little longer to find the rest of the members as they could be anywhere on the castle grounds, or even in the village. He approached the tall man, sitting as he usually did with a considerably thick book in front of him.

"Enjoying your days?" Berin asked, and Falgon looked up.

"I will confess that it's too quiet, but I need to fill it with something, I suppose." he softly returned, and Berin grinned.

"Well, your wish has been granted. Lord Raeghun has requested your attendance, you are to await them at the lords wing." he instructed, and watched as his friend stood laying the book down on the table and replace his sword. Berin laughed secretly, having to admit that his friend was very good at hiding his excitement under his composure.

"Have you seen Gavin, Edur and Colbert by any chance?" he asked as Falgon turned to make his way to his post.

"Last time I did, Edur was in the bailey and Colbert was attending a matter in the stable. Gavin should be in the garden with dame Mandeline." he reported, and Berin nodded.

"Seems he's taken with her." Falgon smiled with him.

"Very much so. He takes up every opportunity to ask her to the garden, and I don't recall him visiting the _Hawks_ for some weeks now." Berin breathed,

"Well, what do you know..." He reflected on it. The once unfettered man who had no interest in personal commitments other than their order, had indeed fallen in love. _Miracles... We haven't seen the last of them... We haven't..._

"Al right, we'll meet you in the Hall of Fire." he turned, and they parted ways as Falgon made his way up to the door of the lord's wing while Berin sought out the requested members. He waited for a while, and then the door opened as Carissa stepped through, followed by the lord with his wife in his arms, and he bowed to them.

"Greetings, sire. Your grace. You summoned me?" he presented himself, and Raeghun looked up at him.

"I did, thank you." then he turned back to Carissa.

"We'll be back in a little while, Panora should join you soon." she nodded.

"I will make sure to keep Rychon occupied if he wakes before your return." she assured, and then went back into the wing, closing the door behind her as Raeghun looked back at Falgon.

"How will I serve, sire?" he asked, and Raeghun glanced at Claira against him, her arms around his neck.

"You will escort us to the Ardent Tombs." he instructed, and Falgon nodded before slowly raising his hands.

"May I offer you my strength, sire?" he asked, and Raeghun smiled subtly.

"You are kind, ser. But-" he started and then Claira looked up.

"It's al right. Falgon may carry me, you might need your hands." she eased, and he sighed.

"Very well." Falgon moved forward, sliding his arms into place and bringing her up against him as Raeghun released her; holding her near to weightless body against him as her arms went to his shoulders, shivering as she tried to hold on to him.

"There is no need to exert yourself, your grace." he said softly, and she smiled.

"Thank you." her arms came away from him, her hands resting on her lap as she smiled. He hadn't seen her in almost two moons, and he found her still as beautiful as he remembered, but he didn't recall her being this... tiny; almost like a child that he cradled in his arms. And even through the fabric of her purple and pearl dress, he could feel her now fragile legs resting on him, wishing he could do more to help them. Then he looked at Raeghun.

"Whenever you're ready, sire." he nodded, and then led them down to the Hall of Fire where Berin, Gavin, Edur and Colbert stood waiting at the base of the grand staircase.

"Is everyone ready?" Raeghun asked, and they acknowledged him.

"Al right, this way." he continued to guide them through the door, down past the vaults and into the Ardent Tombs where torches lit the space here and there, and statues held their vigil over their family. They moved onward and down through the almost endless reach of the catacombs, as far back as the tombs would stretch to find nothing but a solid wall of earth.

"It should be here somewhere..." Raeghun muttered, and then looked back at the sentinels accompanying them.

"Span out, see if you can find a door." he told, and they started moving along the wall, searching for a passageway. Falgon remained close to Raeghun as he passed down the tombs, searching the walls when Claira noticed a large, old faded tapestry hanging on the wall with the same depiction on the canopy of their bed, seeming rather secluded. There were other banners on the walls, all displaying some form of historical event of the Taugere line, but none were as strangely drawing as this one, set apart from the rest, centred in the farthest corner, not at all where she recalled it to be, but... almost like it was calling to her.

"Falgon." he looked down at her from watching Raeghun move along the length of the back surface while the others searched.

"Please take me to that tapestry." she asked, pointing at the faded textile hanging on the wall, and he walked towards it, stopping in front of it so she could examine it. Slowly she reached out, touching the fabric, the woven threads were old, hard and brittle. Once brilliant colours now only a subtle shade of what they once were. The same depiction on the canopy of their bed, a fiery phoenix rising from a crown with the rim of the sun around it. Only this one... She looked down, noticing dull shapes on the stone of the floor, remnants of long past arched scrape marks.

"This is it. It's here." she realized, and then looked up the length of the wall, to see Raeghun returning their way and Berin behind him with a torch in hand; then called to him, drawing his attention from the stones towards her as they came over and he looked at the tapestry, registering a long dormant memory.

"I remember this..." his right hand ran over the fabric, pieces of the brittle thread breaking off and floating down to the ground. He turned back, calling to the others before taking hold of the edge of the textile, and pulling. It fell to the floor in with a hollow thud, dispersing dust from its surface and the ground around it, revealing a door, decayed and cracked of age with a rusted iron handle.

"We might need to have all of this repaired." he mentioned as more light drove away the shadows around them, and the other sentinels joined them. He glanced at those around him, confirming that all in their party was present before taking hold of the handle, and pulled. It edged open slowly, strenuously as the loud groan and creak of splintering and bending wood sounded through the empty tombs. With just enough space, Berin gave the torch to Gavin who took a place beside him and moved forward positioning himself between the wall and the door to push, and they managed to create an opening wide enough to pass through. He looked into the darkness, the sullen cold shadows that held the way.

"Where does this lead?" he asked as he looked back at Raeghun.

"I... I don't know." he had to confess, and then Berin reclaimed the torch from Gavin.

"I'll go first." he proposed, but Raeghun took his shoulder as he moved forward in an attempt to persuade him otherwise.

"There's no telling which creatures have made this place their home in the past twenty years. I'll go first." he insisted, then moved off into the passage, the light of the torch driving the shadows from the space. Then Raeghun looked up at Falgon, still with Claira against him.

"Stay close." he advised, and Falgon acknowledged him with a sure nod, then they moved forward as the remainder of the sentinels followed with yet another torch. Claira gasped silently, staring in wonder as her husband stepped through the doorway into the dark passage, and where his shadow would have been the earth itself started to shimmer and shine bright gold, like he was a fire cast against the wet surface of the inside wall. It wasn't like she remembered, with the beam of light, but still marvellous. He continued on, the glow of flame following him along the wall, and Falgon stepped through, the same light emitting from the stone, in brilliant blue with a very subtle crimson shine, followed by darkness, and the soft glow of the torch behind them. They continued to follow the passage, barely high and wide enough for their tallest to pass through freely, and she remained staring at the wall in front of her, strange and unfamiliar runes that glimmered brightly carved into the stone every few feet. The vivid bright gold that travelled with Raeghun, and the radiant blue shadow with its barely noticeable crimson tail that moved along the passage with her... They proceeded through the passage for what seemed like an eternity with no more events save for small creatures fleeing from the light, with the soft echoes of the sentinels' voices sounding in the silence, and at some point she started feeling tired, nearly drifting off to sleep in the midst of earthy smells.

"How long does this tunnel stretch?" a voice from behind disturbed her peace, and then she heard Raeghun in front of them.

"Not much farther, I think." he returned as they moved on, Berin still leading the way down the narrow passage. Again it felt endless as they trudged on down through the earth, and once more sleep all but took her within its grasp before Berin called out, motioning to an opening between jagged stones. He moved through carefully avoiding the sharp edges, followed by Raeghun and the golden glow faded away as they emerged ankle deep into salt water of a vast cave, in which water from the ocean reached back to the remote throat of the cave, the mouth opening to reveal a black sea and star ridden sky, gentle waves rippling against the walls and the stones that dotted the cave. Falgon stepped through, leaving the blue and crimson shine behind, and they looked around.

"Where do you think we are?" Gavin asked, taking in the space around them.

"Somewhere within Blazewater Bay, surely." Raeghun said as he moved forward, to the entrance of the cave they found themselves in and Berin followed. The others trailed behind, while Colbert remained, ensuring they would find the entrance to the lightway again, hidden away by the shapes and shadows of multiple jagged stone forms. As they reached the mouth of the cave, Raeghun stood and stared, watching a cluster of lights far off in the distance.

"That can't be Boatwright, can it?" Berin breathed next to him, and Raeghun sighed slightly.

"No. Just a fisher's village. But, it is good to know that if we are ever in need of using the lightway, we won't be met with complete solitude." he said, and then turned to head back. Claira looked around, now knowing what exactly she expected to find. The walk down felt long, but not nearly as long as it did then... and of course, there was no way that this would lead back to the black city, but it was comforting that it led somewhere.

"Claira." she looked down to see Raeghun beside them, his eyes searching hers.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and she managed to smile.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you. Thank you all so much, for bringing me down here." and then Raeghun returned her gentle gesture.

"Whatever places you at ease, my sweet." then he looked at the others.

"Best head back, we've probably been gone for a long time already." he urged, finding himself with a suggestive desire for sustenance, and they started their journey back to the safety of the hold, while again Claira's eyes followed the glowing lights against the wall, or it followed them; the brilliant gold, and the bright blue with its crimson tail for as long as she could, until a soft darkness enveloped her with the distant echoes of footsteps sounding in the passage, and the gentle pulse of a strong heart close to her cheek. Ultimately back in the tombs, the sentinels closed the door to the best of their effort before returning the way they came, and Raeghun glanced back. It didn't close completely, the darkness still visible through a crooked edge of the old door.

"Colbert." the sentinel came to his side.

"My lord?" he waited for his instructions, and Raeghun's eyes came to his.

"Have the carpenter's guild master from Garde's Post come see me tomorrow." he asked, and Colbert bowed his head to the lord.

"Of course." They followed the small party, heading back up the long halls of the tombs, finally up the stairs past the vaults and into the light of the Hall of Fire, where Milla waited with Saerus and Derric. The moment they stepped through, she rushed forward throwing her arms around Berin.

"What happened? I almost sent Saerus and Derric after you." she was clearly distressed, and his arms circled her reassuringly.

"Nothing happened, we were in the tombs." he calmed as she pulled back, staring at him before her attention went to Raeghun, and then resting a moment longer on Falgon with their lady against him, her expression inane as the eyes searched them in confusion.

"You've been gone for hours... It's near to midnight." she told to their surprise, and Berin looked back.

"Midnight... Could it have been that long?" he asked, met with the same daze in the burning blue.

"It's entirely possible, I imagine." then his attention went to Milla.

"I'm so sorry, Milla. I didn't realize we'd be gone for so long." he apologised, but saw her smile in relief.

"As long as you're all safe. Most of the others are already asleep, but I've asked Jeody to set aside servings for you. Although, in all likelihood it's cold by now." she mentioned, hearing them laugh.

"Oh, that's al right. I'd eat day old rations, as long as it was made by Jeody." Edur jested before Raeghun's attention came to them.

"Thank you all, you may take your leave." he allowed, and watched as his party dispersed to the kitchen to claim their belated supper, then looked back at Falgon, who spared a final glance at the lady.

"Seems she's asleep." he mentioned softly, and Raeghun moved forward raising his hands.

"Thank you, I will take her. You must be tired." he said, to the smile of the tall man.

"Not at all, sire. And with your permission, I may return her to the door of the lord's wing for you." he proposed, and Raeghun nodded, and a thought passed through his mind.

"You have been a trusted member of my order for close to two years now, and you've never wanted anything from us. We have never even celebrated your name day, like we do for so many of the others." he noted as they started their way back up the halls to the lord's wing.

"I have no desires. Everything I could ever have wanted, was fulfilled the day you accepted me. Back then, I had nothing. But your lady gave me my name, and a purpose. You gave me a home, and a family. I have everything. Besides, my name day has been of no consequence to me for a long, long time." he returned, followed by a short silence.

"Still, I would like to do something for you, someday." he breathed softly, and the gentle smile found him again.

"Perhaps, someday..." he agreed, and with light conversation they found themselves back at the doorway of the lord's wing, where Claira languidly exchanged her sentinel's chest for her husband's shoulder, and a fond greeting for the night was exchanged before Raeghun entered, delivering his wife to the comfort of a soft bed while Falgon returned to the guard's hall, finding Berin and Milla with a tray holding cold servings of the evening meal in front of the great hearth on their way up.

"There's a serving waiting for you in the kitchens." Berin informed, and Falgon glanced at the guard's hall.

"Thank you. I'll head down later." Falgon accepted, and then looked back at Berin.

"Is something troubling you?" Berin asked, followed by a short silence as Falgon remained staring over the hall;

"I hope not..." he returned softly, then Berin turned to Milla.

"I should head up, our lord and lady is most likely famished as well." she pardoned, proceeding up the halls to deliver the food. Berin lingered, watching his friend; the discernible discomfort to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking a step closer and then the dark eyes came back to him.

"What do you suppose the chances are, of someone finding the lighway from the outside?" he asked, and Berin breathed guessing that the man in front of him could not have gotten this far in life without this inborn consciousness for risks.

"Not high, I believe. It's quite well hidden, and this part of the bay is rather isolated." he told, watching the disquiet slowly fade.

"Then that is good." he returned, easier than before then looked back at Berin.

"Sleep well." he greeted, and Berin returned the light gesture.

"Good night." they parted ways, surrendering themselves to the night and welcomed a new day. During the morning, the carpenter's guild master answered the summons from the lord of the hold, and was taken down to the tombs to create a new door for the entrance of the lightway, and he excitedly proposed to create an extravagant entryway fashioned of agar or mahogany wood, displaying the depiction on the old tapestry, carved into the surface; to which he received the reply that the representation of the door was not of great importance as long as it was strong and solid. After examining the doorway, he returned to the village to start his work while Raeghun returned to the lord's wing where he opened the door to their chamber to find two servants busy with their chores, and a nurse holding Rychon against her while Milla stood with his wife where she sat on the edge of their bed, her feet resting on the floor with Milla holding her hands.

"Perhaps it's a bit too soon, my lady." Milla eased, and then looked up as the lord entered.

"Has something happened?" he asked, and their eyes came to him, a nervous smile over Milla's lovely face and he saw Claira's shoulders rise and fall in a defeated breath.

"Your lady wife has been trying to stand, my lord." she informed as he came closer.

"Claira-" he started, and then she looked up.

"I want to try. I can feel my legs and feet, Raeghun. I just..." she said, and he lay a hand on her shoulder.

"You can't move them, yet. I know you've been trying hard, but you have to be patient. It... It will happen when you're well and strong again." he said, and her hands lowered from Milla's as he moved forward to raise her up from the bed.

"I'll take you outside for a while. Fresh air and sunlight does good for you." he proposed, and her arms slid around his neck as he turned to carry her down to their private garden for her morning while Milla followed.

"Raeghun, do you think I will ever walk again?" she softly asked as they passed through the arch into the lord's hall, and he paused looking at her.

"Yes. I think you will." he encouraged, and then moved forward again, not wanting to revisit the thought that passed through his mind just the day before.

"It shouldn't take this long." she breathed, laying her head against his shoulder but he smiled.

"It's only been a month, Claira. From what I've heard from others, it could take as long as a year to recover completely." he tried to ease her, and felt a tenseness to her fingers straining into his skin.

"I can't expect you to do this every day, for as long as a year." she whispered, blinking as the light of the sun met her eyes.

"I will do this for you, as long as I need to." he promised, and gently set her down on the grass amidst the sweet smelling shrubs, and then leaned forward gently touching his lips to hers.

"I will be back for you later. Maester Adlyn has also advised that he will pay you a visit this morning." he informed as he moved back to stand.

"Thank you, my love." Milla took a seat on the grass next to her while the nurse brought Rychon out to join them in the garden where they shared the morning until the maester made his appearance through the open garden doors with an easy smile.

"Good morning, my ladies." he greeted as he moved forward, and they returned his fond greeting.

"A fine morning to share in the garden, my lady. Shall we proceed with your examination here?" he asked, and Claira smiled.

"If it is not an inconvenience to you, maester." he moved down slowly, but still smiling.

"Not at all, my lady." then his fingers touched her skilfully, examining her like he had done so many times before, concluding that her health had improved somewhat since his last visit, and with a small wooden straw kept in his wide sleeve along with his crystal pendulum, he gently touched and nudged several different areas from her thighs down to her feet, asking each time whether she could feel the sensation and if she perceived it strange or dull at all. And she could feel. Each time the straw touched her skin she could tell exactly where it was, and even how hard the maester was pressing. Again, it was frustrating that she had this much reactivity in her limbs but was unable to use them; and she stared at the unwilling limbs stretched out in front of her on the grass.

"Why is this happening, maester? Why can I feel, but I can't move?" she asked sadly, but he smiled remaining positive.

"I'm not sure, my lady. It seems that the illness, or the aids have numbed the senses that react to commands. But don't worry, I'm sure that it will pass in time. As long as we continue to stimulate these areas, your strength should return to you." Then he stood, and claimed the wood bench under the tree next to them.

"I have heard you had quite the voyage, yesterday." he mentioned, and Claira laughed softly.

"Oh, yes. Raeghun and some of our sentinels showed me the lightway." she told, and his smile brightened.

"A wonderful creation, from ancient times. There are some whom have said, that Brandon the Builder himself aided in its construction. Whether that is true or not, none would know." he told, and Claira recalled the brightly vibrant lights.

"It was breathtaking, maester. I've never seen anything like that in my life. There were runes carved into the stone, runes that shined in the dark. And where Raeghun walked, the passage wall glowed like fire." she recounted, and he nodded taking that in, seeming to bring back some memories.

"Yes, it would. With the treatment of archaic magic, the Lightway recognises the Taugere lineage, whether by blood or bond. The wall glowed for you as well?" he asked, still with his eager smile.

"It did. Blue, with a red tail." she said, excitedly and he paused for a moment.

"Well now, blue _and_ red..." he repeated, as if deep in thought as she stared at him in his momentary silence.

"Is something wrong, maester?" then his eyes met hers once more.

"No, not at all. It sounds marvellous, perhaps someday I may see it for myself." he breathed, possibly trying to imagine it in his mind. Then his eyes returned to her, and he moved to stand up.

"Will you please pardon me, my ladies? I had best return to my tower, should others need me. I will visit you again soon." he said, and politely made is departure from the lord's wing while the ladies remained in the garden for a while longer until Milla had to take her leave as well for the morning meal of sweet grain and thick honeyed cream with fresh fruit and tea for which Raeghun rejoined Claira in the lord's wing before tending to the matters of the hold, and the remainder of the day was spent peacefully as Claira fed and played with her son between short durations of sleep. By late afternoon a knock at the door drew her attention, and she looked up.

"Enter." she invited, and a smiling Carissa entered with Milla, Panora and another nurse behind her.

"Our apologies for disturbing you. Your lord husband has given instruction that we help you prepare for this evening." Milla said, also with a bright smile.

"This evening?" Claira stared at them as they approached, and Carissa claimed the brush from the dresser.

"Yes, dear sister. But... Only if you want to, of course." Carissa said, lowering her hands and Claira returned the smile.

"Certainly." she agreed, wondering what she may encounter. Panora gently claimed Rychon, taking a seat near the hearth to keep him busy while Carissa came closer, and gently brushed out the long strands of marble while Milla busied herself with exploring through the wardrobe, finally pulling a dazzling wide dress of sea green silk decorated with gold embroidery over the low shoulders, neckline and chest, including flowing pearl white chiffon sleeves. To compliment the dress, she chose a waistband of gold-weave and jade crystals and a delicate circlet of gold centred with a tear-drop emerald, however Claira insisted on keeping the Heart of Hope, having silently vowed to never remove it from herself. Carissa secured the long strands with a jewelled pin, leaving the locks hanging freely down her shoulders and back, and then they all helped Claira into the dress, positioning the shoulders before securing the back laces tightly to her figure before Milla brought the waistband around her hips and fastened it behind her back, and then finally fit the circlet to her brow as the door softly opened and Raeghun stepped through, his eyes brightening as they rested on her.

"You look so lovely, my sweet." he complimented as he came closer, bringing a gentle blush to her cheeks and then he looked at the others.

"Thank you so much, you may proceed to the southern hall. Our cook will serve soon." he allowed, and they left the chamber to take their places in the feast hall. Raeghun remained staring at Claira for a moment longer, then moved forward slipping his left arm under her knees and his right around her back to pick her up.

"Raeghun?" she asked curiously as he lifted her away from the mattress while her arms circled his neck, and he simply smiled.

"Do I need a special reason to feast with my family?" he asked, and then turned, taking her from the lord's wing down to the great hall and she marvelled at the glorious space like she was seeing it again for the first time in years. The vibrant banners hanging on the walls with their house sigil along with garlands of bright flowers, the drapings in the colours of fire, fine silverware lay on the tables alongside bouquets of sweet blossoms, and the smiling faces of their household as the lord passed carrying his lady in his arms towards the high table in front of the Fervid Hearth where he set her down on her chair and members of their house came to greet her, even their most reclusive member joined them this night. Then as a new face came forward, her memories went back to her husband's twenty and first name day and the man bowed low extending his hand towards her. The talented jester had returned, his grey eyes glinting in the moment they met hers.

"Greetings, my glorious lady Taugere. I trust I will meet your pleasure, this evening." he greeted eagerly as she gave her hand and he gently kissed the fingertips.

"Welcome, Vernon. I am delighted at your visit." she returned and he smiled.

"Your sweet welcome is beyond any worthiness, but I shall give it my best." he promised, and then moved away to the centre of the hall.

"Gather 'round! Gather 'round! Let me tell you a tale!" he called out, and their members quickly took their seats, with Panora next to Claira with Rychon on her lap and Carissa next to her, and Berin to Raeghun's right with Milla at his side, then the jester turned as he crouched low, his finger in front of his face as if to indicate a whisper.

"Of the kings, whom from the stars once hailed..." then he jumped up, motioning around him to the crowd, and bringing their attention to him solidly.

"Do any of you know, why these men burn so bright?" he challenged loudly, and then his voice altered again to a soft murmur, like he was sharing a secret.

"Because theirs, is the lineage of divine and righteous might." he told, immersing the hold in his magical message while the feast was brought out. Selections of fine roasts with steamed country vegetables and cheese, apple pie with cream and custard, dark ale and sweet wines. A splendid feast while they listened to the story, of these men whom were formerly guardians to the gods, powerful beings whom rode great burning beasts to battle; but then sent to a once dark and dismal world to bring light, order and joy. They thrived, they travelled, they conquered, they protected and they ruled as the Ardent Kings. They laughed and they wept, all together in this place. This was whom they were, with the glint of the stars in their burning blue eyes, and the fire of the phoenix in their hearts. Claira found herself drowned in the tale, and she almost believed every word as her hand closed around her husband's. She glanced at him, and smiled. Indeed, there was fire in him. Everyone could see it, in the blaze of his blue eyes, and she could feel it each time his unprotected skin touched hers. He was a king, even though he did not bear the title. He could have been a god, if one would believe such things. And he was hers, forever more. Then he looked at her, and she leaned forward wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I love you, Raeghun." his went around her waist, holding her tightly.

"I love you, Claira." he returned, and then they pulled back and he stood, a chalice in his hand as the jester moved away after issuing them a low formal bow.

"There are many great things about the Taugere's. Our bloodline, our house, our wealth, our strength, our courage, our warmth. But one thing outweighs all of these. Our family. Our people. It is they... all of you, who make us whom we are." he raised the chalice.

"To Mount Ardor!" all the other members stood, raising whatever they had in their hands, their voices echoing off the stones of the hall.

"May it Stand Forever!" they called out, and then the lord's voice rose above them all.

"To the Goldfields!" again, the voices of the hold sounded loud in the space.

"May it Shine in the Sun!" they called, and then Berin turned facing Raeghun, raising his own chalice a third time.

"To the Unbroken Line of the Ardent Kings!" he honoured loudly, to the answer of those in the hall, reverberating off the walls so loud they could fall.

"May it Burn Ad Infinitum!" then Raeghun turned towards Claira, lowering to his knee beside her.

"And to my wife. The only woman in this world with the power to calm my blaze." he took her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and her free hand covered hers as she tried to smother an urge to cry, and the same voices deafened the hall.

"To the Lord of Flame, and his Lady of Frost!" she leaned forward again, holding him tightly under the jumble of happy voices and the shudder of her arms. It was a wonderful evening, and she thanked every entity she could imagine for it; that her life had no way of being any more perfect. After the feast was done, the hall was cleared and Raeghun returned to the lord's wing with Claira in his arms, Carissa and Panora following with a sleepy Rychon; Berin and Milla with Bella just behind her. They entered their chambers respectively, and Raeghun lowered Claira on the bed, where she removed the delicate circlet from her brow and placed it on the table next to her, from where she took up a light gown left for her while her husband started removing his clothing. She looked up at Raeghun.

"Vernon's story..." she started, and his attention came to her as he laughed.

"I have no idea where he got that from, but I must admit it was charming." he said, pulling the cords of the doublet to free it from his body.

"The way he told it, it could have been an honest truth." she giggled, watching as he pulled the tunic over his head, the scars over his body almost luminescent in the light of the flames around their room.

"Now wouldn't that be something? Everyone has their legends. But no, ours were of the first men, simple people like many others were. We settled on these lands, just like the Starks in the North, and the Gardeners in the Reach, and the Arryns in the Vale; and we grew, we rose above others and ruled and guided our people just like they did. The first born sons succeeded their fathers just like many others, ruling as the Ardent Kings from Mount Ardor; other sons served as Battle Masters to many. We fought wars, and we saw years of peace. I'm not even sure how long back we go, exactly... Eight thousand years, ten maybe... It's a long time to keep track of." he told, and then discarded the breeches after removing his boots, coming to the bed and sitting down next to her, proceeding to undo the back laces of her dress as she held her hair away.

"It is still a wonderful story. I enjoyed it." she insisted, and then finally rid herself of the dress with his help as he pulled the dress over her hips and placed it on the chest at the foot of their bed while she opened the light nightgown to pull it over her shoulders. But then his hands took hers, seizing the dress from her and capturing her lips with his in a deep, sweet kiss which she returned eagerly.

"I love you, my Claira..." he whispered, gently moving forward and laying her on the pillows while her hands went to his face.

"I love you, my Raeghun." she smiled, and kissed him again, feeling his heat settle between her thighs as he continued to kiss her passionately and her arms wound around his neck and shoulders to bring him closer. Then his mouth left hers, leaving a warm trail down her cheek and neck to the tender skin between her breasts as her fingers strained into him, and her body arched for his touch; her sweet sigh sounding in the space as his hands gently caressed her. She brought herself forward, pulling him up to meet her lips again, then he moved forward making her gasp. Deep into the night, with his arms circling body, he lay breathing heavily against her chest as he shared his warmth over her to drive the shiver of the sudden cold from her, and her fingers gently stroked the strands of black gold while she brought deep calming breaths into her, slowly drifting off to sleep but still feeling the tremors through her muscles following her final pleasurable cry that accepted his fire. Then she felt his arms gently tighten, and his voice against her, softly just above a whisper.

" _Yet, there was one that burned with the wrath of a vengeful sun, smouldering bright into his soul... until the gods gifted him a winter rose, to hold his heart and finally bring his world to a whole..._ " her eyes opened and she looked down, still just where he was.

"How beautiful... From which tale is that?" she asked, and then Raeghun looked up displaying the brilliant ardent blue of his eyes and bringing himself closer to gently press his lips to hers once again, and then he smiled as he drew back.

"I've always felt warm. Feverish. Choleric. Until the first moment I kissed you, then everything changed. There are many stories, many songs. This is ours. A Song of Frost and Flame... And it has yet to be shared with the world." Claira smiled, and wrapped her arms around him again, and held him tightly against her, enveloping him with every sense she possessed, and once more his heat seeped into her, throughout her entire body from her cheeks down to her ankles, and they melded together in infinite bliss.

In the days that followed, the secluded entryway in the tombs was refit with a heavy beechwood door, stained dark with a coat of wax to blend into its surroundings with a steel handle as opposed to the old rusted iron grip. And as proposed, the guild master had the vision of the tapestry intricately carved into the surface of the wood, despite it being covered with the same old textile so it may remain hidden. But for his eager effort, the lord of the hold compensated his work with an additional two silver coins. The day progressed much like it did the one before, with Raeghun conveying Claira to the lord's garden to enjoy the early sunlight and fresh air with Rychon, then the morning's sparring followed by their morning meal for which the lord rejoined his lady in their chamber, after which they tended to the matters of the hold and some business in the village where Raeghun discussed the continuing supply of iron, steel, oil and other components to the castle forge with the smith of Garde's Post. A tall, heavy man with long grey hair banding a bald head, deep grey eyes set in a wide withered face, covered with a full beard, and a voice deep and loud like the roar of a lion; a member of Garde's Post for sixty years and distantly related to Philpot, their own castle artisan. Several shipments had come from the North, but higher prices were being implemented in this trade, and the smith dolefully explained that as the result, he had a need to increase his own fares, to which the lord offered to consider an increase at five percent of their previous agreement, as opposed to the proposed eight percent. But not wanting to lose their contract, the smith agreed. And after assuring that the requested consignment will be delivered within a fortnight, he thanked Raeghun for his visit before returning to his work while they prepared to leave. Passing through the space, Raeghun paused, looking at a chunk of black metal resting on a barrel next to the door.

"What's this?" he asked, picking up the clump that was almost as big as his hand. It was heavy, but solid with numerous smooth surfaces. The smith looked up from the anvil where he resumed hammering away at a new horseshoe.

"Just a lump of steel, milord. Some of the young'ens found it in some old mine, or somethin'." he explained, followed by the pounding of the hammer in his hand.

"I've never seen steel like this." Raeghun mentioned as he turned back, and saw the smith smile.

"Don't reckon many people've seen it. That there's Core Steel." he further told, and Raeghun's attention went back to the mass in his hand and Berin joined him to examine the new item.

"Can it be forged?" he asked, bringing the smith to a short pause.

"It can, with lots of time. Few will try, it's too hard." Berin glanced at Raeghun.

"Perhaps Philpot could use it." he suggested, and the lord again returned his attention to the smith, continuing to pound away at the heated metal.

"I'd like to buy this off you, then." he proposed, and the smith looked up as he brought the horseshoe over the barrel to cool and harden the shape he had brought to it. He looked at them, smiling as he chuckled.

"Oh, take it milord. I can't do nothin' with it." he obliged, and Raeghun nodded slowly clasping his hand around the hard, heavy metal.

"Thank you." they left the village, heading back to Mount Ardor as they further investigated the piece. If Philpot was able to bring it to shape, it might be enough for a dagger, or another small item. They ascended the outside stairway that would lead them directly into the outer bailey of the barracks, to deliver the clump of steel to Philpot, whom seemed quite excited at the find. He held the mass in his large skilled hands, calculating the weight in his mind as he examined the black steel, his expression eager as he looked up.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, as if it were some magical discovery.

"At the smithy in Garde's Post. He didn't seem to think much of it." Berin mentioned, and Philpot looked back at the steel.

"The man don't know what he's missing. All my life, I've wanted to try my hammer at one of these." he breathed, his fingers gliding over the surface as if it were a glimmering jewel.

"You seem quite voracious to get started." Raeghun laughed softly, and the glinting eyes of the man as big and burly as a bear with dark hair and black eyes above a full beard spread over a stern face, came back to his excitedly.

"Oh yes, milord. I've heard tell that only the best forgers can work Core Steel. And I've been eager to prove my worth." he said, and Raeghun nodded. There was nothing to prove, but if this prospect invigorated him so, he would not douse his spirit.

"Very well, hammer away then." he encouraged, watching as their forger turned happily to apply his talents.

"Well, that should keep him amply busy; as there's not a whole lot else. The armoury seems to be in good order." Berin laughed.

"Let's head inside. The maester has mentioned he wishes to meet with me." Raeghun suggested, and they started back, and then Raeghun suddenly paused as if remembering something before turning and heading back to the forge. Berin watched in surprise as he vanished into the shadows of the forge, only barely making out his shadow in the glow of the embers where he spoke with Philpot once more. The smith nodded passionately with a wide smile so his teeth were visible in the gleam as he accepted whatever order he was given, and Raeghun returned with a grin almost just as pleased.

"What was that about?" Berin asked, sharing the enthusiasm.

"Just a suggestion." he told as they headed back into the hold.

"And you're not going to tell me. I'm eager to see it." Berin laughed, and Raeghun shared the humour.

"You will have to wait a while, my friend. Let's see if Philpot can tame it first." he joked, and they entered the cool shadow of the great castle as Gavin passed them on his way out, heading for the forge, finally having made a decision. He entered the forgery, amidst the smells of oil and coals, watching his father examine a lump of black steel.

"Good day, father." he greeted, and Philpot looked back with a grin.

"Hello, my boy. What brings you here?" he asked, placing the chunk on a barrel next to the forge.

"I want to ask a favour of you." Gavin said as he stepped closer.

"Not another allowance, I hope." Philpot laughed, and then turned around to see his son smile.

"No. Something quite different, this time." he sat down on a low chair next to the door.

"Well, let's hear it then." Philpot said moving to the forge to tend the coals.

"I... I'd like you to make a ring for me." the sentinel breathed, followed by a short silence.

"A ring? Whatever for?" the smith asked, breaking the short pause as he proceeded to add coals to the heat of dying embers.

"It's for Mandeline. Once lady Claira is well again, I want to request lord Raeghun's consent to ask for her hand. If she'll have me." Gavin declared, not bringing his father's attention away from the forge.

"Marriage isn't for everyone, Gavin." he said, and the sentinel stared at him.

"It might not have been for you; but it could be for me, if it's with her." he said, and then Philpot turned coming towards him.

"Your mother and I, we might not have always seen eye-to-eye on things, especially you. But we did what we could, what we believed was best. Partnerships are give-and-take on both sides, and marriage is no exception. In all respects, it requires a lot more than just an annual contract." he told, and Gavin stood.

"Oh, please don't give me your mindset. Will you help me, or not?" Philpot stared at him, realizing he was being completely honest.

"Is this truly what you wish for?" he asked, the slightly shorter man staring back.

"It is." he confirmed, and Philpot sighed.

"Very well. I will make the ring for you. But only on two conditions." he agreed, and Gavin turned back to him.

"The first, is that you give me ninety days to forge it, from the day of receiving the lord's consent. And you will both come to visit me for an hour each day at noon." he said, and Gavin nodded.

"Sounds easy enough." he agreed, and saw his father smile.

"And the second, is that you bring me only the best gold to work with. I will not forge a ring from anything less than the finest for my future daughter." And Gavin smirked, that might prove a bit of a challenge.

"That I could do. Thank you, father." then he felt the powerful hand on his shoulder.

"Your mother and I may not have been the perfect suitors, like our lords and ladies. But we loved each other, in our own ways. I hope, that you may have something better, than we did." he said, and his son's hand found his.

"Whatever happens, we'll face it together." he said, and then left the forge again feeling happy at his small victory.

Claira sat on the bed, while her nurses finished their duties in the lord's wing. Rychon was asleep, and Carissa had taken him to lay him in his crib just a short while ago after encouraging her to rest as well; and Milla was tending to the southern hall for the evening feast. She had finished the books provided by maester Adlyn, and didn't feel like busying herself with her embroidery, or sleeping. She watched as one of the nurses smoothed the sheets over her still unresponsive legs, cursing herself for being so pathetic. But she could imagine being able to move her feet, at least. The sensation of small strains noticeable through her legs, and she wondered at the possibility, how remote it would even be. The nurse looked up with a gentle smile.

"You should try to rest, my lady." she urged once again.

"That's all I ever do, it's tiresome." she sighed, but the nurse's gentle hand lay on hers.

"It will get better, with time." she promised, and then moved off to claim a heap of bedding discarded on the floor before turning back.

"Is there something you need before I leave, my lady?" she asked, and Claira shook her head.

"Not right now, thank you." she declined, and the nurse turned.

"Very well. I will return a little bit later." she said, and then left the chamber that was reduced to a silence, broken only by the sounds from outside. Birds singing their songs as they flew over the height of the lord's wing, or perched on its roof. The sounds of people going about their lives somewhere far below, and the wind that brought the clouds from over the ocean. How she longed to be there. To be among them like she used to. She breathed in deeply, staring over the blue of the Sunset Sea. _How long?_ Then she moved herself to lie down, imagining that some sleep might calm her yearning. To stifle the desire for her own freedom. She closed her eyes, trying to remember what those days were like. To climb the many steps of their hold, to walk down the passages, to go where she pleased when she wished to do so. The smell of cook Jeody's kitchen, the burn of the Fervid Hearth behind her, the great open doors that led outside and the short road to their village. And to go out riding, the feel of her Brazier moving beneath her in long strides as he raced over their wide green fields with the shine of the sun on her, and the endless blue stretching into the distance. Then she sat up again, her hands crumpling the sheets. _Is this how you want to spend your days?_ She pulled the sheets from her legs, pressing on her thighs and knees. There was sensation, the small spasms of motion deep in the muscles. There was something... _This is ridiculous! Get up!_

Raeghun ascended the stairways leading up to the lord's chamber with Maester Adlyn at his side. He hadn't seen her in some days, and decided he may visit quickly after discussing future possibilities with the lord of the hold. There was still hope that the motion will return in time, however there was no sure way of knowing the extent it would require. Should there be a need for it, he could effort to devise some way for her to move about on her own, but given the many stairs of the castle that could prove to be a challenge. But they would meet whatever was put before them, one situation at a time. He looked up at Raeghun, not sure of how to explain, and then sighed.

"All strength has left her, I suppose from the strange illness. But throughout most of my previous examinations, it is evident that she has sensation in both legs and feet, nonetheless is unable to use them. But, I am confident that with enough time and the continued aid of the nurses in exercises to stimulate her, it should return eventually." he told, and then the striking blue eyes met his with a complacent smile as they reached the entryway of the lord's chamber.

"She's alive, maester. That's all that matters to me." Raeghun eased, and then pushed the door open. He stopped as the air suddenly solidified in his chest, staring in shock and amazement at the sight in front of him where frost blue eyes met his from a surprised, almost guilty expression; and for a moment he thought he opened the door into yet another dream. She was standing in the middle of their chamber. Standing without support. Through a daze he watched the seam of her dress move in a single step forward as she reached for him, and instinctively realizing the true action he shot forward to capture her in her fall, wrapping his arms around her before she connected with the floor, and hers went around his neck. He gently set her down on the floor as he knelt at her side, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly as he breathed heavily, watching her still in stunned astonishment, his fingers suddenly tightening.

"Claira, do you realize what you've done?" he asked, bringing her eyes to his again with the sheen of tears in the beautiful blue and her hand came to her mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" she started before his arms suddenly wrapped around her again, holding her tightly against him and he laughed. A happy laugh.

"You were walking. My Claira, you were walking!" he told, and inevitably his happiness spread to her as she buried her face in his shoulder, and cried. There was hope. Always, there was hope. She would walk again. She would be at his side again. She would become strong again, then she looked up at the figure in grey cautiously approaching with an equally optimistic smile, and she returned it; true and free. _Victory is the Red in my Blood... From the Ashes_ _We_ _Rise... Stronger_ _We_ _Rise..._

 **To Be Continued...**


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18 - THE WAR

It was a cold summer evening, as it normally were in the North. Light blue eyes scanned the great hall of Winterfell, where Rhegard Tormont sat alongside his father "The Grey Tom" lord Willmon Tormont and brother Gerald Tormont, whom some time ago quite admirably earned the alias "The Wild Cat" for his wantonness. He regarded him, the tall dark head man with clear blue eyes, and once again he admired his brother and heir to Pale Haven, whom was not at all like their father, always calm and precise. But despite his unconventional methods, Gerald saw great success in his endeavours, and fathered two more children while his own legacy was left to two daughters after he had wed to lady Lyenne of house Hornwood seven years ago. A fine woman with deep auburn hair and storm grey eyes, a soft face and an easy smile. But, sons or daughters, they were all Tormonts of Pale Haven. Then his eyes went over the rest of the hall, to all the lords who were summoned, all those sworn to house Stark on the orders of the current overseer of their country, the seventeen year old young lord and eldest son of their liege, Robb Stark. Initially, when lord Eddard Stark left for King's Landing to serve as hand of the king, they were happy for him and expected betterment for the kingdoms under his guidance; but the raven they received carried the ominous message of king Robert's death, and his chosen hand's imprisonment for a deed they would not believe. And of course, the Tormonts spared no time to come to the aid of their ancient ally with their men, arriving at the grey stronghold just the day after receiving the raven with their host where they were received with great pride. Finally, with all assembled, they shared the tables, discussing and debating on their path forward, which would lead them South. Lord Greatjon Umber, of Last Hearth was seated at the head of one of the long tables, a tall and powerful, proud man; and by bond the brother of his brother who had wed to lord Umber's baby sister years ago. He sat with the acting lord of Winterfell facing him, with his younger brother Brandon Stark seated next to him who was watching and listening to the hall full of men with both wonder and curiosity.

"For thirty years, I've been making corpses out of men, boy!" Greatjon declared loudly in the hall before leaning forward slightly, placing his hand on the table.

"I'm the man, you want leading the vanguard." he advised purposefully.

"Galbart Glover will lead the van, along with Gerald Tormont." Robb told calmly, much to the displeasure of the lord sitting opposite from him.

"The bloody wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover!" he called out, and then folded his hands on the table before him. Rhegard smiled secretly; had it not been for the success of their family name, and the fact that they shared direct family bonds, he no doubt would have been affronted by that as well.

"I will lead the van aside Gerald, or I will take my men, and march them home." lord Umber threatened, bringing the young lord's attention to him solidly. Following a thoughtful silence through the uncomfortable stares of the men, Robb looked up from behind his hands, together in front of him with a sure nod.

"You are welcome to do so, lord Umber." then he stood from his seat at the head of the table.

"And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker." he assured, without a shred of repression, changing the expression staring at him from confidence to anger.

"Oathbreaker, is it?!" the Greatjon rose to his feet, knocking a chalice from the table that recoiled across the hall, drawing others up with him as his face was drawn in fury.

"I'll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass!" he retaliated, and suddenly reached for the dirk at his side as Gerald reached over to lord Umber, in an effort to calm his rage a moment before Theon Greyjoy, a lean, dark, handsome youth around the same age as Robb Stark whom had been ward in Winterfell for years, jumped up. He knew what he could be compelled to do, knew the Umber response well having seen it, lived with it for over ten years; and without warning a fierce dire wolf leapt onto the table, bounding forward in an attack to protect his master. There was chaos for a moment as the creature struck forward, knocking the tall lord back and sinking long teeth into an unprotected hand; while they struggled on the stone floor ripping two fingers from the limbs as Greatjon called out in pain. With the message sent and received, Grey Wind the wolf stepped back with his prizes still in his bloodied muzzle, allowing the lord to find his feet while the others stared in shock and awe.

"My lord father taught me, it was death to bare steel against your liege lord." Robb reminded as Greatjon stumbled to his feet, holding a mangled hand that once had five fingers as he stared at the young lord.

"But doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me." he added, forgiving of the disrespectful words and actions as he watched the lord opposite from him calmly while he proceeded to kick the stool from its place, and it skid across the stones.

"Your meat..." he started, attempting to find his words and meeting the light eyes next to him for a moment, finally accepting its calmness as he paused, lingering in a short silence before looking back at the lord of Winterfell and raising his wounded hand and deliberately displaying the lost limbs. He could have had him executed for this, but he didn't. He had earned the proud man's respect, and he deserved it. They would follow him, wherever he chose to lead.

"Is bloody tough." he finished, and then slowly smiled as he started to laugh, and others shared the humour, lifting the tenseness in the air as it finally drifted over the hall. Then Willmon turned to Robb, ever calm and collected.

"Begging your pardon, my lord. May I ask your maester to borrow me a Raven? In accordance with your arrangements, I believe it may be wise to send my message as soon as possible." he requested, and Robb nodded.

"Of course, lord Willmon." he agreed, and Willmon moved through the hall to seek out maester Luwin for his request. He found the elderly man near the door to the kitchens, in discussion with a young page, but sensing the approaching lord he looked up, bringing his attention to the man with silver-blue eyes and long silver hair hanging past his shoulders tied back with a black leather strip.

"My apologies for interrupting you, maester." he pardoned, and the page took his leave after a short respectable bow.

"Not at all, my lord. What shall I do for you?" the maester folded his hands, watching the lord in front of him.

"I need to borrow a raven, if you don't mind it too much." he asked, and the maester smiled gently.

"Of course, my lord. Bound for which keep?" he agreed, starting to guide the Grey Tom to his tower.

"Mount Ardor."

Claira stood calmly in the great Hall of Fire, her left hand resting on the stone of the railing leading to the grand stairway while a white and grey ball of fur lay curled up and sleeping on her right arm; all of the fires burned brightly but only managed to chase some of the shadows from the vast twilight space. She looked up over the expanse that lay before her, listening to the merrymaking of her lord husband and his people echoing from their southern feast hall. Here after succession, they spent eleven years as the wardens Lord Raeghun and Lady Claira Taugere. Their proud sigil – a bright fiery phoenix gliding through a night black sky – hung on the castle walls. Their words: "From the Ashes we Rise! Stronger we Rise!" This was a promise, their promise, something that reminded her often of whom she was now. She liked these words, they made her feel solid, but will always remember those of her childhood home. 'Victory is the Red in our Blood.' She took the time to reflect on the past. They'd seen wonderful years, and devastating moons. Evenings lit by the light of the heavens, and dark days black as the hells. As foreseen, it was close to a full year before she was capable of managing completely on her own again without any additional aid, and for a while her husband and her protectors became her legs as well while she continued to improve while her family had remained ever supportive. She smiled, joyful that their family grew, in unexpected ways. Milla and Berin had two more children, both boys with the Trentin characteristics, except for the youngest who inherited his mother's ash blonde hair, named Berterin and Vaellion. In accordance with their ages, Milla received her second child during the time that Claira had fallen ill, and her third some time after Berterin saw his second moon. Not too long after regaining her strength, Gavin approached Raeghun with the request to marry nurse Mandeline, if he had her favour; to which he agreed. And as promised, Philpot was given ninety days to forge a ring of fine gold, and the couple met with him each day at noon for at least an hour in the extent of this time. Their wedding was celebrated in the sept of Garde's Post on a warm summer day, and they shared a home in the village to which they retired each evening when their duties were done, in time sharing two children, a son named Galeran who favoured the forge of his grandfather, and a daughter named Maynlid who often spent her time with the maidens of the castle. All of whom were relatively close to age with Rychon, and growing up as close friends within these halls, along with her only son, the heir of Mount Ardor and the future Warden of the Goldfields of the Corridor. They spent their days together, played, learnt and trained together when they could. Even from a young age, the children were included in all orders of the castle, joining their fathers in council and many other affairs; and they were eager to share their own opinions. And allowing grace for growth, most lords were not unfavourable to their presence, and even enjoyed them with all their fond expressions and silliness while young Bella, was growing to be an elegant court maiden in her own right, assisting enthusiastically with the management of the castle alongside the ladies. Claira's sister Carissa spent two years with them before returning home to Pale Haven, and shortly thereafter was wed to Hrodrich Scharer, uniting their families. And she was happy that now, the Trentins shared more with them than just a home. But there was loss and sorrow in their country as well, when lord Gerard Foch left this world, and Earndale Palace passed to his son Garrett. He was trying hard with the help of his eager but frivolous younger brother, but the rule of a port town might not have been their best suit, and Mount Ardor's court master Metron was sent to help find their feet, leaving the matters of the court to Raeghun. Not long ago, they were invited to attend the Hand's Tourney in honour of lord Stark's position as new Hand of the King; which her husband respectfully declined, having a known dislike of tournaments. But, aside from the realm's holy days they had their own three festivals during the course of each year, and they remained uninterrupted after the end of the last rebellion, of which the Horn Festival remained the most renowned with the fourth turn of the moon, and king Robert attended at least three. Later, she was told that this particular festival which was meant for everyone, high- and low-born of their country, was brought about by king Baderon 'Blackwing' Taugere, and derived from another celebration which was held during an eclipse, thousands of years ago. The others were 'The Feast of Last Dusk' held at Ramshorn the last week of the year, and 'Folklore Revelry' under the seventh full moon, where stories would be shared among all, historical or mythical.

"My lady?" a voice called from the stairs, and the gentle face of her best friend, which she'd not noticed before this moment floated gracefully up the steps of the grand staircase towards her.

"You are not feasting with the lords tonight, my lady?" she asked coming up the stone steps.

"Not tonight, I've found the festivities overwhelming. My dear lord husband enjoys their company though, let him saturate himself with it." She said, and then felt the little warm creature on her arm stir as she looked up. He quickly abandoned his perch on her arm, carefully clambering down her dress to the floor, and hurried towards his friend in short hop-like bounds, as through the great doors came a young boy who'd celebrated his ninth name day just a moon past. The heir of Mount Ardor, tall for his age, lean and strong, just like his father. A shrewd boy, but not fond of education as much as physical activities; having once forced Raeghun to forbid him from leaving the halls before finishing his lessons with maester Adlyn. As fathers often were with their sons, Raeghun spent as much time as he found possible with him, and was rather harsh on Rychon, wishing for him to be strong and courageous; and they'd had more than a single argument regarding this. But thankfully, he was never cruel, and his family was his entire world. In time, for his youthfulness, Renko was assigned as Rychon's sentinel, to guard his life with his own away from the castle grounds; but not needed when in training as they'd appointed their finest to those teachings, but as an only student whilst Berin insisted on training his sons himself each day during twilight, after finishing his regular duties; and having included his daughter in these lessons as well, thus ensuring that she would never be left defenceless. For a moment her eyes met the arch leading down into the depths beneath their hold, and they could laugh about it now, but not too long ago a frightening occurrence met their hall when the boys disappeared just past noon one day, and most of the guard were sent out in search of them. She and Milla were worried mindlessly with no word of them upon the guards return despite their search extending into the woodland beyond Garde's Post, fearing that they were taken by assassins; but then their sons simply appeared again by evenfall. Confessing that in their absence, they had ventured into the vaults in search of Mount Ardor's mysterious jailer as having heard stories from the guards, that he was a tall sinewy man with hair black as oil and skin white as milk; someone had mentioned that he had the eyes of a cat, hence his continued isolation to the dungeons. Perchance, someone had quite by accident left the gate to the cells unlocked. Both Raeghun and Berin were furious, accounting that the children were not allowed into the vaults; and the boys were confined to the wings of the castle for a week, but understanding the judgement she was simply happy that they were unharmed. However, after Raeghun met with the jailer, his fate had remained unknown to her. Then she looked back at the doorway, seeing Rychon in turn followed by a tall and comely summer skinned warrior with dark shoulder length hair, clad in leather and mail, a brown cloak hanging from his powerful shoulders and Summit on his back; with a new feature in the form of core steel and leather, fur-lined bracers on his wrists. In time, after countless trial and errors, Philpot found that this was the only steel that could be forged and reforged, over and over and over again without becoming weak and brittle. Later, he discovered that his best results came from melting the metal down completely, and casting it in stone, finally creating the unique armour; which five years ago was presented to her sentinel during the time of the Wanderer's Tourney, which they only once assumed as his name day, appropriate in the sense that his queen had given him his name in this time. This was the only gift he had ever accepted... She watched as Rychon ran up the stairs and to her with the white and grey animal in its favoured place, lounged over Rychon's shoulders like a winter pelt, and her son's arms open to greet her as she turned to face him.

"Mother!" she bent down to hug him back as his arms wound securely around her waist and Falgon stopped on the steps, bowing formally in greeting as was his norm.

"My apologies for returning so late, your grace. Your heir wished to ride the riverway home after his training. He is showing great improvement." He reported after apologising heartily.

"Thank you, ser. That is wonderful news, and your dedication is much appreciated." she smiled as she straightened, and Rychon looked up at her with his frost blue eyes glinting excitedly.

"I beat Falgon today." He reported happily, and she lowered herself to meet his eyes evenly.

"You did? You get better each day." She encouraged and he nodded. Wishing for the exceptional, and being in need of a skilled swordsman slightly stricter than their master-at-arms, Falgon agreed to teach Rychon the same way he did for Berin years ago, and relieved that he did not apply all of his father's initial methods, to them he was the best choice.

"He showed me how to dodge a side stroke." He explained, and then looked at his hands.

"Do you think I could show father?" He asked, and then looked up at her as she took his hands in hers.

"I'm sure he'd enjoy that. But he's been so busy lately, just give it some time to settle down, and train hard." She kissed his fingers, and then stood up.

"Go have your supper, and then it's off to bed with you two." she told him, and watched as he hurried down the steps again towards the kitchen with his pet still draped over his shoulders, and had to laugh. People often mistook the little creature for a pelt, but it was simply the place he preferred to be. Across her son's shoulders. Rychon had found the little white and grey ferret with black markings around his eyes in the woods almost a year ago, dragged from his burrow as little more than a juvenile by some predator and after quite a struggle that resulted in the loss of his right eye, left to die on his own. But they brought the animal home, and with maester Adlyn's advice and great care nursed him back to health. Initially they would have returned the ferret, in time named 'Wink' for his sightless right, back to the forest. But, he rather decided that he wanted to stay, receiving a good bit of fondness from all in the castle. They remained on the stairway for a while, sharing the activities of their day, the comfort of peace and all improvements of their home and around it, and Panora joined their company. Still in charge of Rychon's care within the lord's wing, but with most of the days and nights to herself. Before long, Rychon led the way back up the stairs with Berterin and Vaellion following as they discussed their skills and improvements fervently. Then Claira smiled as the children reached them, still conversing excitedly.

"Did you feed Wink?" she asked, watching the little creature still sprawled out over her son's shoulders, looking at her with a single glinting eye.

"Yes, Jeody gave him some chicken." Rychon reported, softly scratching the side of the ferret's jaw. Then she turned to the nurse still close by.

"Panora, please take Rychon for his bath." The nurse nodded and moved forward as Rychon looked up, seeming rather disappointed.

"But mother, I'm not sleepy, yet." he told, and she smiled as she looked down at him again.

"You will be. Go on, now. I'll come see you soon." She said, then he dolefully took Panora's hand as she held it out to him and together they made their way up the east stairwell and down the hall to the lord's wing. Then Milla smiled as she held her hands for both of her sons.

"Well, best I see these two off to bed, as well. Good night, my lady." she greeted, and Claira nodded.

"Good night, Milla. Where is Bella, I haven't seen her since noon?" she mentioned, and Milla sighed.

"In her room, most likely. She's been feeling slightly feverish." she explained,

"I hope it's nothing serious." Claira mentioned, and Milla smiled softly.

"I don't believe so. Maester Adlyn has given her something, so she should be about again tomorrow." she told, and Claira nodded.

"Good to know. Sleep well." Milla started to turn to head back to their chambers when her sons looked back.

"Good night, aunt Claira." they both called, and she smiled back at them.

"Good night, boys." she returned, and watched them head off. Milla had been trying to teach them to address her formally in front of others, but for the time being she didn't mind what they named her. They were family, after all. Then she turned to Falgon, who had been waiting patiently and now took one step up the stairs.

"Your heir shows infinite promise, your grace. Given adequate attention, he may become one of the greatest lords of this age." He praised, and she looked back at him.

"That is fine news. As his teacher, I leave that to you, ser." She said, and he lowered his eyes.

"I am no 'ser', your grace. I've not been knighted." He tried to correct, but she cocked her head slightly; they had this same argument every few moons.

"And I am not 'your grace'. I am no queen." He looked up at her again suddenly.

"You are mine." He said softly, then she nodded.

"And so, you are my knight." He bowed to her again formally, then she turned.

"Feel free to join the lords and their men at the feast. You must have had a long day." She suggested, but he remained.

"I will take my supper in my quarters, your grace. After I have delivered you safely to your wing." He assured, and then made his way to the top of the stairs to escort her through the great castle. Together they walked through the torch-lit halls. She always enjoyed his company, and reflected that even though he was a common former sellsword, he had better manners than most of the lords that came to their court, the ones that stared at her with eyes that did little to hide their thoughts, good and bad. People had different opinions of her since early on of course, as she wasn't at all like the other ladies and had been called quite a few different things... good and bad. The Lady of Frost was the official, but then there was _The most beautiful woman in the kingdoms_ and _The North Witch._ She recalled the times that she attended several war councils along with her father, and apparently her will to protect her family was as fierce as any experienced military leader; and Falgon not only valued this rare trait but he encouraged it while her Raeghun would hide them away behind his masses. As a father, you do everything to protect your family – but the same is true of any mother, if not more so. But as far as wielding a sword for herself, she found that she couldn't. She had once asked her husband to teach her in the privacy of their garden, but had no strength in her hands to deliver a fatal strike; something that the illness had stolen from her as well. Each time that her blade met another, it would send an electric pain racing up her arms from her wrists, and this undertaking was then forced to be abandoned, having to ultimately leave her defence to her sentinels as before. These halls seemed endless but it was a pleasant walk with Falgon's stories, and finally they arrived at the arched dark-wood and steel door that separated the lord's wing from the rest of the castle, which in itself existed of an enormous space – a great tower that housed many spacious bed chambers, the main bath chamber for the noble family's use, and the lord's hall with a great fireplace, chairs, benches, a wide comfortable divan in front of the hearth, book cases, tables, fur rugs and pillows, red and gold drapes and curtains, her husband's exalted lion trophy and a private garden with her weirwood fountain. She turned back to him as she stepped through the door leaving him behind, and he bowed to her again in his always formal way. No man without direct ties to the Taugere name has ever stepped foot inside the lord's wing of the castle, save for the hands that tended to the private chambers and maester Adlyn.

"Sleep well, your grace. With your leave, I will retire." He greeted, and she smiled as she took hold of the door.

"Good night, ser. Have cook Jeody stock your plate with some extra crispels, on my instruction." He smiled gently.

"Thank you, your grace." For some reason, it was a rare thing that he would feast with them, and she hardly ever saw him eat anything at all, but he favoured them, the light sweetness.

"Sleep well." She slowly pushed the heavy door to close it.

"Good night, your grace." He remained bowed before her until the door closed; then as she stood with her back pressed to the wood of the door listening, she could hear his heavy footfalls move back down the hallway and disappearing in the distance, perhaps off to the kitchens to claim his reward she hoped. She looked about the hall, candles lit the table tops, torches burned along the walls and a great fire illuminated most of the room from the hearth, and mounted on the wall above the hearth of the lord's hall was the likeness of a phoenix moulded from gold and gems, the wings stretched across the walls on both sides, and the tail hung in waves down to the shelf from where _Quill_ , the Taugere family weapon kept its vigil over its household. A beautiful, ageless Valyrian steel blade with the mighty phoenix worked into the hilt. Some of the servant girls roamed about, keeping themselves busy with clearing empty plates and used goblets and replacing them with fresh ones from the kitchen, exchanged empty wine vessels and old water pitchers for new ones. Another came down the stairs with a bundle of bedding clutched in her arms. Then Claira moved forward into the centre of the hall.

"You may take your leave when you are finished with your duties." She informed, her voice drifted through the still air, and the girls bowed to their lady before snatching the last of their missions and disappearing from the wing through the door. She made her way to the garden, and looked up at the stars, night had come swiftly. Silently, her steps led her in her nightly ritual to the unique fountain, still just as marvellous as the day her husband presented it to her, where she offered a rose petal of deep red to the water along with her request to the old gods: ' _Keep my family safe; my blood and my name and all those who serve under us and stand under our protection. Guide us and greet us with a new sunrise_.' She looked up at the face staring back, smiling gently and imagining that he could see her. That he could see them... Then she made her way to the bath chamber, where Panora patiently waited on the wood bench with a towel as young Rychon splashed and washed in a steaming bath with torches burning brightly on the walls, lighting the space. Wink, had elected to wait on the edge of the great bath, not being pleased with the notion of becoming wet.

"You may proceed to the chambers, Panora." She said, and the woman acknowledged her with a slight curtsy before surrendering the towel to head up to Rychon's room and assume her nightly place on her chair near the chamber hearth where she still kept her nightly vigil over him as she had done since he was but a mere two months old. Claira sat waiting on the wood bench as her son finished, then after drying and dressing he picked Wink up from the floor, and she accompanied him to his bed chamber where he lay amidst his many furs and pillows with his pet ferret curled up in the curve of his neck, listening to one special lullaby that was his alone in these nights, and his mother's sweet voice carried him.

 _Fly high, on coloured wings,_

 _Across the fields of green._

 _To the mountaintops that tower high,_

 _Where dragons dance and sing._

 _Now take the wind,_

 _And travel far._

 _To a haven pale as snow,_

 _To the mountaintops that tower high;_

 _Who knows how far you'll go..._

Despite his earlier denial of sleep, Rychon had soon slipped into his own world of light valleys and shining castles. She leaned down and tenderly kissed his brow before bidding Panora a peaceful evening, and leaving him to his sleep she returned to the hall to resume a book in front of the bright hearth. It was late into the night when she returned the book to its place in the book case and ventured up the steps to their bed chamber where she stood before the great bed with its green and crimson silks, reflecting on the day and debating with herself whether she should pay a visit to the bath herself. After another moment of deliberation, she took up a light blue cotton garb with copper ribbon and made her way down the steps and across the hall to the bath chamber and spent a while there, allowing the warm liquid perfumed with vanilla pods and delicate oils to soak into her skin. It felt good, to relax here between the white flowers that floated on the calm waters for the little absence she could take for herself and take in the heat for a time, and let the world go by until sleep all but took her in. She cleansed her body with the water, then dried her skin and draped the light garment from her shoulders before allowing her dual-hued hair to fall unhindered down her back to almost reach her thighs, and finally drowsy, made her way back to their bed. After closing the door behind her, she oddly found herself before the hearth once again, where she simply stood watching the fire in the smaller fireside of their chamber and listened to its chattering, how the flames danced and the logs cracked under the weight of the blaze, how something so simple could draw her attention this unexpectedly and so absolutely and she thought of her life here. Years, good and bad, and the change of many things, good and bad. And in the end, how she wouldn't change a single thing even if the gods granted her the chance to. Then she heard the heavy wood door of their chamber open and softly close, before footsteps followed hers along the floor and powerful, warm hands took her shoulders. Still as warm as ever on her skin, and she relished it. Her lord had come to offer himself to her, and she placed a hand on his as he buried his face in her neck and hair.

"You always smell so sweet. How was your day, may Claira?" He complimented as he kissed her shoulder. She smiled, noting to herself that she could always identify a peculiar bitter-sweet odour from him as well, much like raw honey. Yes, many things changed over the years, but they never did.

"Peaceful as always, my love. I feel rather sorry for you, having to entertain your men so much the past few days. Have your companions retired?" she asked, tracing the contours of his fingers on her shoulder.

"Not yet, they will continue with their merriments until they grow jaded with it." His lips branded another kiss on her neck, leaving her skin riddled with warm tingles.

"Then, should you not be with them?" she asked, dreading the answer while her hand slipped around his neck.

"I will join them again in the morning. You require my attention as well." She sighed slightly.

"You make it sound like an obligation." She teased, and he kissed her neck again, while his fingers deliberately released her shoulders from the dress ribbons, and it fell to her feet, exposing her ivory skin to the light of the fire.

"It is an obligation, one that I want more than any other." He teased back as his hands slipped around her sides and delicately seized her breasts while he pressed her body against his and he heard her gasp as her fingers stressed into the flesh of his neck; he smiled then closed his mouth on her neck again. He held her tightly against him, once more drawing a gasp as his warmth spread over her, her free hand rested against his unprotected thigh. He guided her to the edge of the bed where she lay down, and his mouth traced the length of her spine to the small of her back. His hands grasped her hips and his lips found her ear, his breath flowed over her in soft waves. He drew her up and pushed himself forward into her, forcing air from her chest in a slight moan again and again before he released her, allowing her to breathe freely as he turned her to face him so he could feast on the tender skin of her breasts and bury himself between her thighs, drawing soft whimpers and sometimes sweet cries from her as he released the fire of the great phoenix into her. As always, he made fervent love to her with the fire that he was, never having diminished in the slightest. Her arms coiled around him as she accepted him. Her Lord of Flame; powerful, valiant, immovable, unquestioned, unchallenged, forthright and severe, but he was always gentle with her... he never harmed her.

With the pink blush of morning on the horizon, Claira woke still closed in Raeghun's arms, as she had almost each morning for the past thirteen years. It was the best thing to wake up to, and as she had countless times before, wished that it would never need to change. She slowly brought her hands up to his face, and softly pressed her lips to his feeling his arms tighten around her.

"Raeghun, we have to get up." she whispered, and then his eyes opened.

"Just a little bit longer..." he returned through a sleepy daze, and she smiled sliding her arms around his neck.

"Just a little bit." she agreed, nudging slightly closer to absorb his heat before easing into him again; and just as sleep was about to claim her once more he moved, pressing his mouth to hers in a deep kiss before rising to start his day.

"Now that's just hurtful." she breathed as he headed to the dresser to retrieve his clothing, and she heard him laugh.

"I'm sorry, one of the things I can't control is time." he teased, listening as she flexed between the sheets, preparing to rise herself.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could?" she mentioned as she sat up, bringing her feet to the floor.

"It would. Some days I would pass over entirely, while some moments I would stop completely just to make it last." he told as he sat down beside her.

"Each instant I have with my family, with you and Rychon. Those are the ones I want forever. But I'm only human, and not even the gods have the power to alter time." then she leaned forward, again bringing her arms around his neck as his went around her waist.

"I love you, Raeghun." she whispered, and his arms tightened.

"I love you, Claira." they held each other, unmindful of the sun that peeked over the distant rim of the world before she finally slowly drew back.

"Your plans for today?" he smiled, placing a moment's thought into it.

"Sparring, our morning meal, tending to whatever is necessary; and then perhaps we could take the boys hunting this afternoon. We haven't done that in a while." he decided, and she returned the smile of his entrancing eyes happily.

"They'd like that. I'll ask Falgon not to take Rychon off the grounds for training today." he leaned forward, placing his mouth to her brow.

"Good. I will meet with you again later." then he stood, and made his way down to the bath chamber to cleanse, and as habitual for most of his days dressed in boots, comfortable breeches with a white tunic under a leather jerkin before he proceed with his day as planned while the handmaidens entered to help her dress in a soft lime and ivory gown, brushing and braiding her hair and then she continued down with Rychon at her side to join the hall. They spent the morning like many others, up until the moment a page came rushing from maester Adlyn's tower to the high table where they broke their fast on bread, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and tea, presenting a small scroll to her. She took it, thanking the boy before he left and she unrolled the parchment, staring at the words that she found herself reading several times, and repeating it over, and over in her mind. It was unbelievable, so much that she wanted to refuse the words at first. But it was written, black ink on faded parchment, in the hand of lord Willmon Tormont of Pale Haven. Sensing her distress, Raeghun leaned closer to her.

"Is something wrong, my sweet?" then she looked up at him, still dazed in disbelief.

"It's a letter from my father. Following King Robert Baratheon's death, Lord Eddard Stark has been arrested on charges of treason. Robb has been summoned to King's Landing, and he's called the banners. They... They will be marching south soon, if they haven't already." she told softly as she handed the letter to him, which he held in his hands reading the words.

"Have they called on us?" he asked, still inspecting the letter.

"Not formally. But I expect they will arrive here within a few days before attempting to cross the border. The Tormonts have answered, The Grey Tom and The Wild Cat ride with Robb." she breathed softly, still not wanting to believe it. They had seen years of peace, and now... Now enmity had come, and bliss could never last... Raeghun rolled the parchment between his fingers, handing it back to Claira.

"We will have our preparations made in advance, in the event we are needed. But, let us anticipate nothing before we are secured." he decided, as his father had done years ago when he received word that several lords were intent on meeting with him; and their forces were already massed before lords Baratheon, Stark and Tormont met lord Rychard Taugere in the great Hall of Fire... and then her hand closed over his.

"Raeghun..." she started, and his fingers gently tightened.

"Just as a precaution, Claira. It is better to be prepared." he promised, and of course she knew it to be true. But it didn't lessen the sting of fear in her chest as Raeghun turned to Berin next to him, giving him his orders to see that all was ready. And after departing the southern hall, he met with maester Adlyn to send their ravens to the vassals, to start their preparations as well; and then the rest of the day followed as planned, their hunt delivering a sturdy stag to their evening tables amidst the sounds of their people, together in this place. But still, the approaching possible clash left Claira uneasy. She glanced at the table in front of them where the children gathered, and trying to keep Wink from ransacking their table, Rychon fed him small chunks of meat while he was sprawled across his shoulders. Watching them share their days was a joy, and they would never be alone; but just for a moment she wondered if they felt the same anxiety she did. But given their lively demeanour, she supposed not. Still so young, still unaware of life's difficulties. Still not touched with deep heartache...

"Claria?" then she looked to her left where Milla sat at her side, the green eyes watching her intently.

"I'm sorry, Milla. What was it?" she returned, shunning the thoughts from her mind.

"You've been very quiet. Is everything al right?" she asked, and Claira looked back at the children. "It's been a long day, that's all." she willed it away, and then softly smiled.

"We'll be fine. Just like before..." she said in a breath, perhaps more to herself than her friend. Then she felt a soft hand on hers, comforting as the words met her.

"I'm sure we will be." Milla whispered, and she knew that Berin had already told her about this morning. They left the hall after the order was given to have it cleared, making their way back to their chambers to surrender to the night. But once again, she found herself in front of the fireplace, watching the light and shadow dance with each other in the hearth, then felt the warmth of her husband's arms around her waist.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" his breath warmed her ear, and her hands wrapped around his wrists, secured around her body.

"In a moment..." then he gently branded a kiss on her neck as he just held her, again making her wish it would never end.

"The letter we received. It bothers you." he assumed as he pressed her gently tighter, and she sighed.

"I hoped, we'd seen enough suffering." she breathed softly, and then turned to face him.

"What will happen?" she asked, his blue eyes meeting hers.

"I don't know. At best, they'll simply ask for passage." he said, but she stared at him.

"And at worst?" he sighed, knowing the thoughts that clung to her mind.

"At worst, we will be called into alliance. We've always been more north than south, so the possibility will be high, I suppose." he said, and she glanced away from him.

"You've already ordered preparations to be made, they will take that as avidity." she mentioned, and he took her face.

"Claira, we always answer. The answers given, may not always be the ones expected or wanted, but answer we will." he told; and then her arms went around his neck pressing him tightly against her. Yes, they always answered. Always.

"I love you. I don't want to lose you..." she breathed, and his arms coiled around her, returning the pressure against his muscled mass.

"I love you. And I've made a promise to you before." then he pulled back, with a gentle smile.

"I will always return to you. There is nothing alive that will keep me from my family." he promised once more, and she pulled him closer to kiss him.

Within several days, banners were seen over the fields as their force massed at the burning mountain, awaiting their instructions while the lords met in the Hollow, where Raeghun sat at the head of the wide table in discussion with them all, including their sons so they would learn from their elders. The boys listened in silence as suggestions, opinions and proposals were shared from one end of the table to the other, but this time, did not share their thoughts. And finally, after hearing all of them, Raeghun leaned back against the chair, looking over those in his counsel.

"The full force of the Corridor currently consists of sixteen thousand fighting men. In the instance we are summoned, those remaining behind will be the women, the children, the elderly and the lame, who will not be able to hold our grounds." he shared, and then looked over those in attendance with him.

"I cannot leave my country weakened, we must make provisions to still protect our people. Ser Austinus, will three thousand be enough to set out patrols, and keep our lands safe?" he asked, bringing his attention to the elderly man to his left, who nodded.

"It should suffice, my lord. And when we are able, we will replenish our strengths." he agreed, and then Raeghun nodded.

"Good. Should it be deemed so, then six thousand will remain including the men needed to man the ships should it be necessary; and as before, they will be included in the patrols that will be set out to safeguard our country and it's people until we have word sent for them, as determined by the stewards whom remain behind to oversee the holds and all of their properties." Then he looked at a man just a few seats down to his left.

"Darius Foch, you will return to Earndale and act as it's custodian until otherwise notified; and also to launch our fleet should it be necessary. Upon receiving any instructions, you will have preparations made for a third to remain along our coastline, while the others make for any specified point. I trust that Metron will assist you in any means required." the young man nodded, eyes of blue and green clear with eagerness.

"Yes, my lord." he immediately agreed, having wanted an opportunity to prove his worth as a Foch. Then Raeghun looked back at the others.

"All of you have your assignments. The rest will ride with us." he ordered, and the others agreed. Then he stood, allowing the lords and their aides to depart to see to the necessary tasks. Berin left the chamber with his sons following, off to see to their approaching matters before Raeghun and Rychon stepped out into the hallway, and then he turned to him.

"Do you understand, why I divided our forces?" he asked, looking down at the boy next to him.

"To protect our people." he returned, and Raeghun smiled in approval.

"Exactly. In every situation, we must still defend our countrymen. Do you know why?" he further tested him.

"Because we need them." Rychon returned, to Raeghun's liking.

"Yes. Without them, we are left without resources. Resources that must feed, arm and warm our soldiers. Why is that?" he asked, and Rychon thought for a moment.

"If our soldiers don't have food and weapons, they can't fight." he said, and then Raeghun lay his hand on Rychon's arm.

"Precisely. Simple fact, is that if you take care of your people, they will take care of you." then he slowly lowered, gently laying his brow against his son's, for a moment feeling the soft sniffs of a wet nose against his skin as Wink inspected him from Rychon's shoulders.

"Respect earned, is greater than respect demanded. Always remember this." he told, and Rychon nodded.

"Respect earned, is greater than respect demanded..." he repeated, and saw his father smile again.

"Good." he praised, and together they headed down the halls. Rychon glanced up, at the giant man next to him. His lord father. How he wished to be just like him. So strong, so brave, so regal, so... celestial. He was the greatest man in the world, everyone knew this. There was no one, who was as infinite as he was; and he tried so hard to learn everything he could from him, and then they emerged into the Hall of Fire, seeing Falgon waiting at the massive doorway as he did most noons; and Raeghun looked down at his son.

"Go on, now. Get yourself ready, we'd like to see what you've learnt so far." he urged, and Rychon looked up excitedly. His mother had proposed a short demonstration of their progress, and he was eager to show what he could do. He had almost jumped on him this morning when his father told them to meet in the bailey later this afternoon. He took Wink from his shoulders and handed him to his father, who gently took him in a single hand.

"We'll meet you outside." Rychon smiled happily, and then started down the steps before stopping and turning back, his eyes glinting brightly.

"When will I train against you, father?" he asked, rather eager for the answer; and Raeghun smiled.

"When you're a bit older. A bit stronger. I promise." and then again motioned towards the great doors.

"Hurry now, the day is only so long." then Rychon left down the stairs towards the tall sentinel, who bowed formally to the little lord when he reached him, sharing a short greeting and discussion before he proceeded to follow him outside as Raeghun remained watching. He was grateful to Falgon, for assuming his son's training. He loved his son, and wanted to spend more time with him, so wishing he could have done it himself, but with his strength it may be too dangerous for Rychon right now. But, perhaps in another two or three years he may be able to stand against him, even in light training. Over the years from his youth, too many men had told him that they found it too difficult to spar with him, given his extraordinary strength; all except for Berin who had been his training partner since they were old enough to do so, and they'd grown used to one another. What his friend lacked in strength, he made up for in exceptional agility. Yet another rare trait and they found in time that these uncommon talents supported and completed each other, making theirs the ultimate combination of both sides in a clash. His father used to call them the two sides of a single coin, and they often laughed about it. But for now, he would rather not risk injuring his only son. Not until he found the Taugere strength that lay in him, as well. Then he held the ferret up in front of him, the single bright eye staring at him.

"And you? How fares your training?" he asked, and the little head cocked in a stare that might have passed as confusion; and Raeghun laughed, just before his attention was drawn by another shadow next to him, and he looked at the man joining him on the steps.

"Where are your sons?" he asked, and Berin smiled.

"On their way. Bella will be joining us as well." he mentioned, making his friend stare at him a moment longer.

"You've trained her well, I'm sure. But having her as an opponent, may be a bit harsh." he mentioned, but Berin remained smiling.

"I dare say, she's better than her brothers. She will stand." he approved as they started heading down the steps.

"And Berterin?" Raeghun asked, and Berin sighed.

"He's trying hard, and it's becoming better. Maester Adlyn has said that the... sensations may disappear in time. But for now, we will manage." he told. His eldest son was different from others, he experienced the world different than others, was affected by his surroundings different than others. And judging by several incidents they had, it couldn't be simply imagination. They accepted that he had a gift, something he would rather have called a curse. But they hoped he would in time learn to dominate these strong emotions, if it did not disappear in the future. They made their way to the bailey, and the boys passed them on their way out, already garbed in nimble dark-brown leather armour. They proceeded down the short stairway, finding Falgon and Rychon waiting near the wall, the young lord garbed in agile black armour much like that of Berterin and Vaellion; already with a sparring sword in hand.

"Well, take your places." Berin urged as they approached, and Raeghun noticed Falgon issuing a last advice to his son before he entered their sparring ring, facing his opponent evenly and bringing the sword up in front of him, but Berterin seemed somehow hesitant; then he looked back at Berin.

"Father, Rychon is too tall." he complained, and Berin scoffed.

"No excuses. You think your enemies will all be shorter than you?" he asked, and Berterin looked back at his adversary. It wasn't just that... He didn't act much the way a young boy would. He was too calm. The way he stood, the way he was watching him, the way he seemed to make the world around him disappear into nothing until just his presence was left... The blazing inferno raging over him. He had grown used to the flames swirling throughout the lord and his son, and the sparkle in the air of their lady like thousands of tiny flakes of frost glimmering in the sun. But then he looked at the man behind him, the giant watching him with equally intense eyes. Everyone in the hold admired him, the great sentinel; but there had always been something that made him vividly aware of him; and he couldn't tell why there was a darkness about him, rather than the light he brought to the halls. He was a gentle man, always kind, compassionate and caring to all, but there was something else as well. A shadow that followed him, the black wings of some distant horrendous memory...

"I'll stand against Rychon." they all looked back, at the figure of a girl smiling in the doorway, dressed in light brown armour, yet another sparring sword in her hand.

"You're late, Bella." Berin said, and she moved forward almost too gracefully for the situation.

"My apologies, father." she simply took a place beside Berterin, raising her sword as he gratefully moved away; but in a completely different position than Rychon. She faced him sideways, the sword in her leading hand in front of her, and her free hand lifted on her other side as if for balance, her feet set apart for swift movements.

"Swords aren't for girls, Bella. Shouldn't you get back to your embroidery?" Rychon called in a small tease, but she smiled back at him.

"I can handle a sword better than a needle, dear Rychon." she assured, and he looked back at Falgon for a moment for his advice. The dark eyes came to him, and he nodded before Rychon looked back.

"Al right. I'll try not to hurt you." he smiled, followed by a short silence as they watched one another. There was nearly a year difference between them; Rychon was tall and muscular, clearly favoured by strength like his father, while she was lean and light but several inches shorter, more prone to agility much the same as hers. Raeghun watched them, and secretly laughed. _Two sides of a coin..._ Suddenly there was movement as Bella lunged forward into an attack, the tip aimed for Rychon's chest. He stepped forward, parrying and sending the blade away before retaliating and bringing the sword around and the steel found its way to the side of her neck.

"I win." he grinned, but Bella smiled back.

"Not just yet." he glanced down, seeing the edge of the blade resting against his stomach.

"Good. But I'm going easy on you, wouldn't want an accident." he said.

"You're not supposed to go easy on me. This is training, after all." she winked, and moved away bringing the sword around into another attack, which he defended successfully once more.

"I don't want to hurt you, Bella." he told, still in defence.

"That's al right. That just gives me more leverage." she teased again, slipping under his defending arm and coming around behind him, and attacking. But he turned, quicker than she expected and defended himself again, catching the blade on the cross guard, and making her gasp in surprise. This was a technique that only Falgon could apply successfully, something he was well known for. Now, inherited by Mount Ardor's heir.

"You're fast." he complimented, and then moved forward trying to force her back, but she slipped from the momentum and stepped away to create distance.

"And you're strong." she returned with a smile, watching as he readied himself again, facing her evenly with the sword raised in front of him. He glanced at their fathers, still watching them.

"Well, come on. Let's make it a good one." he urged, and she laughed softly.

"If you insist, my lord." she moved forward, faster than before and they met in a fervent clash, each talent attempting to outweigh the other. In spite of the young company, Rychon had always been closer to Bella than the boys. Yes, they shared their adventures and accomplishments, but there was just a little bit more, between them. Berin leaned towards Raeghun.

"Rychon is doing well. But it seems, he is only defending." he mentioned, and his friend smiled as he cast a quick glance at Falgon on the other side of their sparring arena.

"He is. In all likelihood, I am supposing that Falgon would have told him not to strike at a lady, no matter the circumstances." he assumed, watching Bella's movements slowly diminish.

"But Bella is becoming tired, perhaps it is time to end this." he mentioned, and Berin nodded looking up and called for her attention.

"Last bout." he told, and she smiled through a deep breath. In a moment she lunged forward, to bring herself closer to Rychon.

"Are you just going to stand there, all day? Your father is watching. Show him something!" she urged.

"Not while you are the one facing me, Bella." he told again, and she sighed.

"Then I will." she brought her knee up into his stomach, driving him down. Her free arm went up and over his shoulder, her elbow aimed for his spine to finish the match; but then he moved forward suddenly, pushing his shoulder into her chest and sending her backwards to fall on the ground. But she brought her knees up, rolling over and finding the earth with her knees to face him once again. _Once more..._ She moved forward again, aiming the tip of the sword for his stomach, which he defended before bringing an arm over her shoulders and pushing her down to the ground.

"Last bout. I win." he said, and the sudden frustration burnt through her. _Not yet..._ She released the sword, and slipped from his grasp, rising above him and shoving him down in turn. They rolled, but with her energy drained, the momentum was lost and she found herself on her back with his weight pinning her down and his knees anchoring him in place above her; watching as he brought the sparring sword up over her, aiming the tip for her chest. Instinctively, she raised her arms in defence as she heard someone call out his name, then felt the frightening tear of steel through leather... but there was no pain. Just a drawn-out silence as she listened to the sounds of heavy breathing before his weight lifted from her, and she dared to look up at him, smiling down at her with the sword next to her.

"I win." he said again, and she sniggered trying to stand up. But she was still held by something, awkwardly resisting her freedom from her position, and then she noticed the sword next to her anew. The tip was driven through the leather bands, and thrust into the ground, holding her in place. Even if she forced herself to, she would not be able to release herself from this, or to continue the match. It was over... He bent forward, taking hold of the grip of the sword, and pulled it free; then held his hand to help her up.

"Perhaps it is best, to keep to your embroidery from now on." he teased as she found her feet, but her grip on his hand tightened as she pulled him slightly closer.

"Next time, will be different." she promised, and then they moved away to join their fathers, and Wink clambered back to his place on Rychon's shoulders. As the heir's demonstration was done, Falgon was excused to assume his place in the lady's company and allow Berterin and Vaellion to show their improvement as well, ending with Berterin as the victor before they were congratulated and they slowly made their way back inside while Raeghun lingered behind with his son.

"I'm impressed, Rychon. You chose to immobilize your opponent, rather than striking at her. Wise, given the circumstances." he praised, and Rychon looked up.

"If you can't fight, the match is over. Falgon told me, that being unable to fight is the same as being dead, so rather your enemy than you." he mentioned, and Raeghun stared at him for a moment.

"He... He is teaching you well, my son. I wish I could have done it myself, but he may be the better teacher for you." he sighed, laying his hand on Rychon's back.

"It's not so bad. He has only one rule, for training; and he shows me a lot." Rychon smiled.

"Only one rule?" Raeghun was at a slight loss, you could write a book on the basic guidelines for sword training. As a matter of fact, there were a number of books on the subject.

"Yes. _'Forward. Always forward'_. Not all methods work for everyone, you have to find what works for you." he quoted and Raeghun stared at him, suddenly realizing that throughout their sparring, his son never took a single step back. No once... and Raeghun started to guide him inside.

"I see. Your technique of restriction was also interesting." he mentioned.

"We were outside of the ring, the dirt is softer there. It wasn't too hard to shove the sword into the ground." he told, and another amazement found his father. That, was strategic. Evidently, Rychon already had a considerable knowledge of their grounds. Truly, he was destined to be one of the greatest lords of their future, and he could see his son be that man.

"Well, you also realize that you could have seriously injured Bella if that method failed you?" he asked, and Rychon's eyes lowered to the stones beneath them.

"I know. I didn't want to hurt her, I just wanted it to be over. What would people say of me, if I lost to a girl? Or even if I struck her?" he said, and Raeghun laughed softly. A boy of nine, that thought like someone well past his age, perhaps on the grounds that he had participated in the governance of their home and their domain since very early on. It was impressive, but also unfair.

"I am glad that you didn't hurt her, that you are able to control yourself. Some others, find that a bit difficult." he said as they moved through the Hall of Fire, noting Berin on the stairway speaking with Bella, having already allowed the boys to take the rest of the day for themselves.

"Many things counted in your favour, today." he said, and she looked away.

"I still lost..." she breathed, watching Raeghun and Rychon approaching up the steps.

"Which is why you need to be better. Rychon exercised a lot of restraint today. Others, won't do that. When someone wants to hurt you, they won't take into account that you're a child, or even that you're a girl. Never give anyone the opportunity to do that to you. Ever." she looked down, feeling that she disappointed her father; but then his arms went around her and he held her tightly.

"I might not always be there to protect you, and I can't bear the thought of anything ever happening to my family. So, you have to be able to protect yourself, when I can't. You have to try harder. You have to be stronger, for me." he whispered, and she held him tightly.

"I'll try, Dadda..." he held her a moment longer, and then released her as he smiled.

"Go on, the rest of the day is yours." he said, and she left to her chamber to find something more comfortable for the rest of the afternoon while Berin waited for Raeghun and Rychon to reach him. He smiled as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Well done, my lord. Your skill is remarkable." he praised, and Rychon smiled back.

"Thank you, uncle Berin. Bella is very good, too." he returned politely, and then Raeghun softly pet his back.

"Enjoy your afternoon." he urged, and Rychon left to find an activity to fill the rest of the day, which was spent in the garden with his friends, passing the last of the sunlight with less strenuous games such as hide-and-seek, leapfrog and floating improvised 'boats' of tree bark on the fountain, amidst the rich colours and smells of their home until they were summoned inside for the evening feast.

Days came and went, yet too soon the northern banners could be seen emerging over the horizon, settling on the land and by noon the northern masses joined those around the grounds of Mount Ardor, and a group of nobles were met in the great stronghold's outer bailey as a stalwart young Robb Stark rode through the gate of the burning mountain along with Willmon and Gerald, greeted by the lord and lady of the hold, and their close companions. Robb was the first to dismount, and approached the lord of the hold, eagerly extending a hand.

"Good day, lord Taugere." he looked up at the man facing him, quite a bit larger than he was; but then saw an easy smile on the features despite the burning blue searing into him.

"Welcome, lord Stark." he returned, with a solid handshake while Willmon stood with Claira.

"Claira, my sweet rose." Willmon breathed, holding his daughter in his arms as Gerald extended a hand to Raeghun. Robb cast a quick glance at Berin at Raeghun's side, the smile of a distant memory playing on his features.

"I remember you." he recalled extending a hand, and Berin took it as he laughed.

"I should hope so, my lord. You once shared my saddle for a week." he reminded, and saw the eyes become clear as the vague memory of a six year old child, altered to a week spent in happier times.

"Oh yes, and what a week that was." he thought back to it, the days of carefree laughter and games...

"Where's your brother?" Berin asked, scanning the faces in the bailey, and Robb shrugged.

"Made for the Wall some months ago." he replied, and Berin nodded, seeming rather disappointed that the youngsters could not remain together, recalling their excited faces and eagerness to join them long ago.

"We didn't expect an assembly?" Gerald mentioned, glancing back at the gate where masses of soldiers waited beyond for their instructions.

"We received your message." Raeghun replied, and then looked at Willmon.

"And you answered, before being called. I greatly thank you for that." Robb said, bringing Raeghun's attention back to him, but the words were dense with guilt.

"We will always answer." he assured, and then extended his hand to greet Willmon as well, while Gerald embraced his sister. Raeghun glanced over the small group of men that entered their outer bailey.

"You are welcome to take your rest here, until you decide to proceed." he offered, wondering how much the host outside their walls grew.

"Thank you. But, given the situation, and with your forces already massed, it might be best to ride again with sunrise." Robb answered, and Raeghun nodded before looking back at his wife.

"Claira, my sweet. Would you be so kind as to present lord Stark with our Fern Apartment? I'm sure they've had a long journey." he asked, and she nodded before courteously guiding the young lord inside. Then his attention went back to Willmon.

"Is it true? Treason?" Raeghun asked, almost under his breath and Willmon sighed.

"I don't believe it. Not for an instant. Honour is the core of house Stark, he would never betray anyone, much less his king and best friend. Someone lied, but it wasn't him. It couldn't have been..." he told softly, and then looked up.

"But I pray that we will see the amendment of this, and that it ends soon." he hoped, with a small smile.

"I believe that we all do." Raeghun agreed, and then Rychon came down the steps with Falgon and Renko following to greet them.

"Grandfather! Uncle Gerald!" his enthusiasm was not spared, as he hugged each of them; and they returned it happily, despite the conditions.

"You've gotten big." Gerald noted as he released the boy, and noticed the fur over his shoulders, looking at him.

"And who's this?" he asked, scratching the ferret's jaw, and Rychon glanced at his pet, enjoying the new attention.

"This is Wink." he introduced, and Gerald smiled.

"I used to have a pet ferret, when I was about your age. Snowy, I called him. He was pure white, and always used to steal my gloves and stash them under the bed." he recalled a long past memory, and they shared a small laugh.

"Well, if it meets your approval, we will join your mass with the morning. The sooner we see this through, the sooner we may all return to our lives." Raeghun mentioned softly, and Willmon nodded.

"Thank you, my son. You have spared us." then they were invited inside to spend the remainder of the day there in whatever peace was left to them, before they would ride again at first light.

That evening, after sharing supper with family and guests alike, the hold diminished into a sinister silence as their members retreated to their chambers for a long night, and Raeghun stood in front of the hearth of their chamber after seeing that his son was well asleep, and waiting for his wife to return from her bath, staring silently at the flames dancing on the logs as his mind was ravaged by the thoughts that tore away at him. Each person saw war at least once in their lifetime, and this was the third in his, now for a second time he would need to leave his family behind. Why it had come to him was undue, but he accepted this role long ago. He could hear the scorn of the southerners; _Rebel! Traitor!_ Titles that were no honour to bear. But he would carry them for a while before they faded away, if justice would be theirs. Whatever others called him, he was still a man. A leader who must see to his people, a father and a husband that needed to keep his family safe. He would face whatever threat rose against them or he was called to, and then return home. Later, he heard the door to his far right as Claira passed through, and her soft footsteps approaching him before she finally wrapped her cool arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his bare back, holding him dearly.

"You're leaving tomorrow..." she whispered, and his hand rested on her arms around his stomach as he nodded slowly. Again, he wished that there was no need for it. But call or no, the phoenix always answers. The phoenix always rises.

"You will be safe, until I return." he promised.

"I know." she whispered as he turned, and her arms exchanged his body for his neck so she could draw him closer, and closed her lips over his in a deep kiss. His arms wound around her waist and held her securely to him.

"I love you. The gods only know, I wish I could be so much more." he whispered as his brow rested gently against hers, the touch of frost and flame merging.

"You are everything to us. Husband, father, leader, protector. You have nothing to prove, to anyone." she returned, her arms still anchored around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders. Shoulders that held the weight of a liege lord...

"I love you, my Claira. I love you so much, I never want to leave your side. It's just that... I can't risk war coming to us instead of meeting it elsewhere, there's too much to be lost. I'll do anything, to keep you safe." he breathed, watching her as his heart flamed for her. His Lady of Frost; beautiful, kind, gentle, compassionate, caring, free and beloved, but still fierce, bold and honoured, and she could smile.

"I love you, and I've wished so many times that this would not have come to us. But I understand, however hard it may be. I know you want to keep us safe, that you want to keep all of your people safe." then her arms slid back, and her hands touched his face.

"You are a wonderful man. You think so much of everyone else, that sometimes you forget about yourself. But, you need to take some time think of that, as well. You need to take care of yourself." then he leaned down, softly placing his lips to hers and inflaming every sense she had. Her fingers slid down his chest, the shape of the tendons and then the segments of his stomach, the forms of his ribs under scarred skin and powerful muscles, all still preserved by his gruelling daily training; while his warm fingertips tenderly glided up her naked back to her neck from her hips and slipping the gown ribbons from her shoulders, allowing the light gown to fall to her feet and exciting her skin into tiny mounds and further feeding her awareness of his burning spirit through his kiss, as slow and deep as their nights with the stars everlasting in their sky. He was absorbing her, every aspect she was and for just a moment she imagined herself disappearing into him, almost to the point she was strangling an urge to seize him and she had to pull back from him, rather taking a deep breath to ease herself, and his name escaped her lips as she softly laughed.

"What's wrong?" he sniggered back.

"You have no idea, of the things you do to me..." then his arms tightened around her.

"Oh, I can't do anything to you that you haven't done to me a thousand times over." he joked as he pulled her closer to kiss her again, his burning blue eyes melting into hers.

"Let me prove to you again, how much I need you." he smiled, and wove his fingers through her hair as he started guiding her back towards the bed. But unexpectedly, she stepped away and around him, turning him to face her, and the golden glow of the fire behind them as she smiled whimsically.

"No, this night it is my turn." and her mouth seized his again eagerly while her hand found the lace of his breeches; and freed him from them. Bared to the light and the air, she carefully pushed him back and he lay down on the bed watching her as she mounted his hips, bringing them closer. Their eyes met, the endless frozen and burning blue uniting as her hands rested on his powerful chest, and his hands clasped her thighs. Slowly she started to move above him, kindling his senses and feeding the fire in his blood. She leaned down, pressing her mouth to his, exchanging their fervent passion as his right hand moved up her back, and the fingers slipped into her hair, drawing her into him, further fuelling his blaze as his muscles tensed and hardened. Her right hand moved down, softly tracing icy routes down his chest and stomach to his thighs, and then gently guided him into her as she moved down with a soft gasp before rising away and moving again. She gasped and moaned as she moved, bringing subtle utterances from his lips while she steadily increased her rhythm, and drove him as freely as she did her Brazier across their golden fields in the last shine of dusk; his sighs of pleasure exchanged for moans as she moved like water draining through the earth. His fingertips left light red lesions on her back as he spilled his seed into her, and hers finally dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders with a rapturous cry as she discharged all of her strain unto him, her body seizing in small shivers as she slowly lay down on him, once more thirsty for his warmth and his arms circled her, holding her against him while they both attempted to reclaim their breath; and some time later she had taken a place next to him, with the fingers of his left hand interlocked with hers, and his right arm around her, her cheek rested against his chest as he held her.

"Raeghun..." she looked up, revealing the glint of tears.

"I never want this to end. I never want you to leave us... I never want to watch you riding over the horizon again, wondering where you're going and if you're coming back... I never want you to stop making love to me..." he held her closer to him, pressing her cool skin against him to ease his.

"I don't want to go. But we are needed." then he smiled gently.

"And tonight, I will give you everything." he whispered, leaning forward and seizing her lips again with his, in a slow deep kiss that burnt through them like wildfire through a winter forest.

While the northern lords, and their commanding vassals departed Mount Ardor before dawn to rejoin and coordinate their own forces, Raeghun spent his final moments on the steps of the great hold with his family as once before and the sound of a warhorn could be heard washing over the fields while the soldiers assembled, mounting their steeds as the ominous warsong met the first of the sunlight, followed by the weep of their sentry tower bells as the sun rose. His armour was a fine steel breastplate, with the house sigil worked in red on its centre over mail and leather with his black cloak hanging from his shoulders. It once belonged to his great grandfather, lord Vaeghun Taugere; also remembered as 'The White Phoenix'. A proud man, an honourable man who ruled these lands with blood and steel. The steel of his allies, and the blood of his enemies had there ever been any. The majority of their soldiers wore scale or chain mail with leather, as it was lighter. While those with mass, preferred plate mail. Berin stood with Milla and their children, holding each of them, his own armour with the cloak of blue and crimson as heavy as his heart.

"Train hard, and listen to your mother." he told as he held both of his sons, and then turned his attention to Bella placing his arms around her.

"I'll see you all again, soon." and then he looked at Milla, a difference to his features as if he hesitated for a moment before wrapping her in his arms and placing his lips to her brow is a soft kiss.

"I will return to you..." it was the softness of his voice that had her arms constricting around his waist.

"You always do..." she whispered back, holding back a sob, and then his lips found hers gently in the last touch they might share. Raeghun's hand was securely on his son's right shoulder while Wink hung over his left as he leaned forward, their brows touching.

"You are a lord of the burning mountain, Rychon. You must act like it." he said softly, and felt Rychon nod.

"Yes father..." he agreed, and then Raeghun smiled as he drew back, and scratched the little ferret's jaw to bid him goodbye as well.

"Take care of your mother for me." he asked, as Rychon looked up at him.

"I will." he promised, and then the lord's attention went to his wife, still holding Quill in her hands. She presented it to him, after as once before keeping the sword close to imbue the blade; and he took hold of the sword, in turn giving it over to a young squire to fasten to his saddle, then looked back at her so their eyes could meet. There was a short moment of silence, and then he closed her in his arms, holding her tightly as her arms circled his neck.

"I love you, my Claira. We'll send letters when we can." her arms constricted, pulling him as close as physically possible, pressing her face closely against his throat.

"I love you, my Raeghun. Stay safe..." she returned, battling desperately against his surrender. But he pulled back, and captured her lips securely with his, in a final deep passionate kiss that he wished would last indefinitely, but finally he released her and just held her against him for another moment as she shivered against him, cursing the world for its endless selfishness. Why this plight could not have passed over their lifetime, was undue. Their family had been forced into separation before, and she'd hoped they would not have the need to face that emptiness again...

"Each night when you watch the stars, think of me; and I will be looking back..." Then suddenly, he was gone from her, and in silent torture she watched as he moved away to find his steed, with Berin following. Her hand closed over her mouth to strangle the waiting tears, and with the need for a hold, her free arm went around Rychon next to her, and held him tightly. His hand found hers, gently trying to comfort the tremors racing through her lean hands, the cold ever penetrating through his doublet. But together they watched, taking in the last memory of their loved ones. Then she felt a presence next to her, looking up into her best friend's light green eyes as the Trentins completed their family, watching their lords, their fathers, their husbands, walk away into the rise of a war. Raeghun mounted his massive warhorse, the hilt of Quill ready for his hand in front of his left knee, and then he looked back up, at a figure waiting off to one side next on the steps of his home.

"Ser Falgon!" Instantly, the warrior walked forward and bowed formally to his liege.

"How will I serve, sire?" he asked, prepared for any order we would be given, and saw Raeghun smile, the essence of trust with a shadow of sadness behind the confidence of the expression.

"You have served my house faithfully for years. You have command of Mount Ardor. Watch over my home and my family for me." he commanded, and the warrior nodded in acceptance of his order as Raeghun scanned the bailey, the burning blue eyes gliding over the faces staring at them.

"And if I should die on the battlefield, and you let some pretentious nobleman comfort my wife; I will rise from my grave and haunt you." Fully aware of his skill, this final part was more a warning directed to the nobles whom chose to stay behind to oversee what remained of the forces and maintain the order of their country, so the warrior who'd been given this honorary position said nothing, but bowed his head. Then the masses of soldiers left through the castle portcullis with lord Taugere leading the way; the heavy falls of thousands of feet and hooves causing the earth to move and shudder while the ladies retreated back into the safety of the hold with the children to watch their departure from the crown of the sun tower; the great black river of marching soldiers following the lords, the many coloured banners, the shine of armour in the sun. The sight of a named ten thousand men merging with at least twelve, following their lords to war was as magnificent as it was heartbreaking, and Claira's arms grew slightly tighter around the shoulders of her son, inattentive to the little creature squirming away from the pressure against her body as she desperately held on to her heart, and the lords of the Corridor joined the lords of the North. Robb looked over the joining mass, noting that a face he had hoped for was missing.

"Where's your friend?" he asked as his eyes rested on Berin.

"At our lady's side, as is his place." he told, and the young lord nodded. Of course, someone would need to remain behind... Then he looked at Raeghun.

"Shall we proceed, my lord?" he asked, taking up the reins in his hands.

"Whenever you're ready, lord Stark." Raeghun agreed, the ardent blue of his eyes hard as steel in the morning light; and they started forward. On over the green of the fields that melted away under the quaking of hooves, and thousands of boots marching on; shields and swords and bows and spears and mail ringing in the movement as the banners Foch, Rames, Violet, Haslinger, Umber, Glover, Bolton, Karstark, Tormont, Scharer, Stark and Taugere among the many, merged into a single ravaged mass over the earth. Raeghun drew his horse to a halt, watching as the soldiers passed, taking in their unity as they forged onward, the steel glinting in the light of the early sun, and then looked back at the massive castle looming over their country in the distance, how it seemed to sparkle and stand out in the world. _Keep them safe for me..._ And just for an instant, he wondered before Garrett Foch rode up to his side. Sensing the trail of his thoughts he thought he could direct it in a different way, and he smiled admiring the magnificent breastplate.

"A splendid piece of armour, my lord. You truly look fit for glory." he complimented, and Raeghun glanced down.

"Oh, this? It was my great grandfather's; my smith dug it up out of the armoury. But it's warm, in all likelihood I would only apply it when facing a battle." he decided, and Garrett's eyes softened.

"Don't worry, my lord. We'll be bound for home again, soon." he assured, and Raeghun shared his confidence.

"The sooner this is ended, the better for all of us. So, let us meet our challenge." he returned, and once more spurred his horse to a canter to rejoin the front of their forces, on to an old sentry tower just a league from the King's Road through the Corridor, named Oakhilt.

The day passed slowly under the drag of the sun, the world bereft of the voices that used to fill their halls; and just for the day the children refrained from their daily sparring to spend their time in the garden of the great castle. Rychon sat on the stone bench near the back of the garden, listening to the slow trickle of the water spilling over the edge of the basin as he heedlessly stroked the fur still on his left shoulder while watching gulls fly overhead, casting their shadows in the last of the light. Berterin had invited him to play hide-and-seek with them again, but feeling as sombre as the dark clouds in the distance, he felt no need for any activity. If he'd been just a couple of years older, he could have joined his father; and he found himself wondering where they were, what they were doing; imagining in his mind what it may be like. The glory of battle...

"Rychon?" he looked up, and Bella was standing beside him dressed in in light lilac purple, her hair hanging in a braid down to the small of her back.

"Oh, hello Bella." he sat back against the rest of the bench, allowing Wink to slide down to his lap and further to the ground to go inspect something in the shrubs that caught his attention.

"Are you al right?" she asked, and he sighed watching his pet hop into the leaves of a nearby bush.

"Yes, I'm fine." she moved forward, claiming the seat next to him.

"It's too quiet..." she breathed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"It would be. Aside from the sentinels, we only have sixty guards to hold the castle and the village." he explained as he looked over her, the uneasiness clear in her deep green eyes.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, and she slowly nodded. But he smiled.

"Don't worry. We'll be al right." he assured, and her eyes came to his.

"You're not afraid?" she asked, and he laughed softly.

"No." but then he buckled under the intense stare of his best friend.

"Al right, maybe a little bit." he acknowledged, and she laughed with him, before just sharing a moment of silence as they stared over the blue of the horizon, and the dark storm clouds resting on the rim of the world. It was comforting, to have her with him. She seemed to understand him, more than the others. He enjoyed spending time with Berterin and Vaellion, playing and wrestling and comparing their feats; but this kind of depth couldn't be reached by them. A connection to one's spirit...

"Your mother has arranged an earlier supper with Jeody, so we might be able to have an early evening ourselves. But, I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep at all. Things feel so empty now..." she said softly, and Rychon looked back at her.

"Oh, they'll be home soon then everything will be back to normal." he assured, and she smiled. A gentle smile that he was very fond of.

"Thank you, Rychon." he smiled back, looking at the sun setting through the clouds on the horizon.

"You're welcome, Bella." She seemed to stare at him for a moment longer, fixated on something and then finally looked away at the red above the thundering edge of the world. Away from his entrancing eyes that she could have sworn changed... but then, it may only have been the last light of the sun reflecting off the frost blue.

"How long do you think they'll be gone?" she asked as they watched the last glint of the sun disappear into the clouds.

"A few weeks, maybe. It depends." he tried to calculated, hoping it wouldn't be longer.

"All things considered, will you still go off the grounds for training?" she asked, followed by a short silence.

"I suppose we will. I can't train here like I do with Falgon in the woods, and he's really not the type to idle around." he replied, silently hoping that his teacher might choose to spend more days at the hold instead of having him run through the intricate maze.

"He's pretty hard on you, isn't he?" she breathed, wondering what it was they did in the seclusion away from the hold.

"I confess he pushes me very hard, but at least he doesn't flog me like his father did." then he looked back at her.

"You've seen the scars on his arms, haven't you? He said that those, was mostly because of that." he told, and she stared at him.

"I didn't think that came from a whip." she couldn't imagine it, really.

"Not a whip. The edges of a sword." he said, and she looked away at her hands in her lap.

"That was very cruel..." for a moment, she hated someone she didn't know; not understanding how he could brutalize someone as gentle as their Falgon. She had always been captivated by him.

"It was cruel. But he's never spoken badly of his father. He only said, it was necessary to make him strong. If it wasn't done, he would never have been who he is." Rychon said.

"But to do that..." she couldn't imagine it, the simple thought of it made her shudder. Harsh as their own father were sometimes, it was incomprehensible to think they would ever do something like that to them no matter what.

"Well, he's happy here. I think that is more important to him." Rychon breathed, and then looked up as Wink came hopping back from the leaves, with a large yellow leaf clasped in his jaws. He stopped next to Bella's feet, and proceeded to clamber up her dress onto her knees before laying the leaf on her lap, then looked up at her, with his one clear eye.

"Thank you." she laughed, taking the leaf in her fingers, and stroked down his grey back as he stood up against her with his front paws pressing against her chest to sniff her face.

"He likes you." Rychon sniggered, and she glanced at him.

"Wink likes everyone." she pointed out as she looked back at the face with the black mask marking.

"Only if you have food. You don't have meat on you, do you?" Rychon said, and she shook her head with another laugh.

"No, definitely not." then Rychon sat slightly forward, with his hand stretched out.

"Wink, here." he called, bringing the ferret's attention to him, and then he hopped off Bella's lap to climb up Rychon's arm back onto his shoulders.

"You like handing out presents, don't you?" he teased, scratching Wink behind the left ear. Then they looked up to see Mandeline coming down the garden path with Maynlid's hand in hers. She smiled warmly as she met them.

"Come along, children. It's almost time for supper." she told, and they stood to follow her inside where the last of the feast ware were being laid on the tables, and they supped on warm mutton pies with sweetened carrots, spinach, and stewed fruit alongside apple press before having the hall cleared and heading up to their chambers for the night. Falgon returned to the guard's hall after seeing his queen and her heir safely to their wing, retaking his place in front of the hearth where he watched the flames. Patrols have been set out to circulate the country and keep watch on their lands, and the remaining lords will have reports sent to them whenever they could, while the patrolling units made up of anything between ten to twenty men would present themselves and their accounts whenever they passed. And from here they would do what was necessary to maintain the order of things. Sixty guards, and only four sentinels remained behind, being Renko, Wymon, Gavin and himself. And he would protect this keep, and all in it to his full extent. A shadow moved across the wall next to him, and he turned to see Wymon taking the seat next to him.

"Congratulations on you new position. Must I assume that you will be giving a list of orders to us?" he teased, and Falgon looked away from him.

"No. You know exactly what you are supposed to do, and in the instance that you don't, I trust you will ask." he replied.

"Command doesn't change you." Wymon laughed sitting back.

"I will do whatever is necessary, but ser Austinus will still have authority over the barracks and the guards as always, seeing as he has been part of its order for many years. However, I will give my word and wisdom freely whenever it is needed." he told, and Wymon nodded.

"You don't think that the castle will be besieged?" he asked, more cautious than before.

"I hope not. But we will defend it, at any costs." he said, a vow behind the final words.

After days of marching, the sun hid away behind a clouded sky as the masses of soldiers settled around Oakhilt, the tower holding its vigil over the King's Road. Tents and pavilions and halter posts erected for temporary use. Robb moved forward towards a table inside a large pavilion, with his bannermen and allies from the Corridor in counsel with him.

"The Riverlords are falling back, with Jaime Lannister at their heels. And lord Tywin is bringing around another Lannister army from the south. Our scouts confirm it is even larger than the Kingslayer's." he informed them all, but the Greatjon Umber smirked back at him.

"One army, or two. The kings in the north, threw back hosts ten times as large." he told, glancing at Willmon at his side.

"They did, but that was when war came to them. They knew their lands, its people, its rivers, its mountains, its forests. It's easier to manipulate your enemy on a land you control, and understand." he agreed, looking at the maps, studying the layout.

"So, we'll need to understand theirs." he looked up again, noticing a figure standing in the entranceway to the pavilion while the men came to their feet, and Robb looked back following his eyes. He smiled as he turned.

"Mother!" he received her happily, albeit a bit of a surprise as she looked over those under the shade of the pavilion, her light eyes sparing a moment longer for the liege of the Corridor, whom she'd not expected to meet here as well, before returning her attention to her son.

"You look well..." she paused, not knowing how exactly to proceed, but Lord Umber smiled warmly.

"Lady Catelyn, you're a welcome sight in these troubled times." he greeted from the other side of the table. Theon Greyjoy regarded her nervously.

"We had thought not to meet you here, my lady." he mentioned, and she breathed in a moment of silence.

"I had not thought to be here." she returned, and looked at the others again.

"I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords." she requested, and Greatjon looked around over the others.

"You heard her. Move your asses! Come on! Out!" he ordered, forcing the others to quickly file out into the dull light of day. Catelyn once again stared at Raeghun as he moved to pass her, and then she smiled softly.

"Good day, lord Taugere." she greeted softly, and his burning blue eyes met hers.

"Good day, lady Catelyn." he returned, having to look down from his height.

"Thank you, for granting my son free passage." she said, not being able to think of anything else under his stare.

"You're welcome, my lady." then a hand rested on his shoulder, bringing the ardent eyes away from her to the silver-blue eyes beside him, and her attention to lord Willmon.

"Good day, my lady. I trust we will meet again, before dusk." he greeted, and she nodded.

"You too, Greyjoy. You bloody deaf?" they heard from behind them as Greatjon proceeded to scoot Theon out from the tent as they moved off to a fire burning warmly in a close-by stone circle, and then lord Umber looked at lady Catelyn, still with an easy smile.

"Have no fear, my lady. We'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's dunghole, and then it's on to the Red Keep to free Ned." he assured her, and then looked at ser Rodrik as Catelyn's side; whom was the master-at-arms of Winterfell for some decades.

"You old devil, Rodrik." he exclaimed raising a hand as the elderly heavy-set man with white whiskers smiled back.

"Jon." he greeted as they turned, making their way to the circle to join the others.

"You're not wasted away, are you?" Greatjon's voice disappeared into the air, while Catelyn Stark and her son stared at each other for a moment longer, and she took him in. The furred cloak over his shoulders, the armour covering his chest, and the sword ready at his side... His father's son. Then she moved forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hold him, and his arms circled her in an endearing embrace before she pulled back, taking his face in her hands.

"I remember the day you came into this world, red-faced and screaming. And now I find you leading a host to war? Including the lords of the Corridor." she recalled the memories, weighing them against what she found here.

"Lord Taugere's wife is still of the north, and we need all the help we can get. Besides, there was no one else." he explained as she stared at him.

"No one? Who were those men I saw here?" she questioned him, and he shrugged slightly.

"None of them are Starks." he defended.

"All of them are seasoned in battle!" she reminded him, well aware of their capabilities, having seen several clashes over their past. His face hardened, as the eyes came back to hers.

"If you think that you can send me back to Winterfell-" he started, but she sighed as she shook her head.

"Oh, would that I could." she breathed, realizing that she couldn't. Already, it had gone too far. Already, his feet were set too deep on this path... Then he eased, and turned heading to the other side of the table.

"There was... a letter. From Sansa." he told, retrieving a parchment from a leather scroll and bringing it to his mother.

"From the queen, you mean." she amended him, and opened the letter in her hands, sitting down on one of the small chairs surrounding the table and reading the words written in the hand of her eldest daughter. Once, and then twice...

"There's no mention of Arya?" she looked up at him, perhaps there was more? Something not written in the letter, but he shook his head.

"No..." he confirmed, and she thought in silence as she rolled the parchment between her fingers, finally she looked up.

"How many men do you have?" she asked, and he took the seat next to her.

"Twenty eight thousand, including the men from the Corridor. If I go to King's Landing and bend the knee to Joffrey-" he started, but once again his mother silenced him.

"You will never be allowed to leave. No!" she leaned forward.

"Our best hope, our only hope... is that you can defeat them in the field." she told him, secretly grateful for the fact that she saw The Grey Tom and The Wild Cat in her son's company. Their skill, and the strength of the Corridor would be of great use to them, and may even bring him advantage.

"And if I lose?" he asked, and she thought for a moment.

"Do you know what happened to the Targaryen children when the Mad King fell?" she asked, and he recalled the stories.

"They were butchered in their sleep..." he remembered, and she slowly nodded.

"On the orders of Tywin Lannister. And the years have not made him kinder." she warned, and he took that in. It was a hard truth, but a truth nonetheless.

"If you lose... Your father dies. Your sisters die. We die." she added, and he nodded before looking up at her again, seeming to have made a decision.

"Well, that makes it simple then." he smiled, and she sat back. His eyes were clear, determined and unafraid. And she smiled back.

"I suppose it does." she agreed, and then he looked up at the men circling the warmth of the fire, in discussion possibly on how they will proceed.

"Fortunately with the great strategists of the north, and the strength of the Corridor under his son as our ally, we might even have a chance." he joked, sharing a small laugh and finding hope in the idea that this joining was favoured by fate. Then stood and walked over to join them, ensuring that all had their orders. They would move on again, soon...

In the days that passed, much of life continued the same way it always did despite the silence at the burning mountain, and with no court master, Claira took over her husband's duties in his absence. She met with their nobles and countrymen whom came to court with disputes and requests with both Milla and Falgon at her side. She sat on the phoenix throne, hearing the last of this day's matters as a young man stepped forward and bowed low.

"Good morning, milady. May the gods watch over your lord husband and his men, and bring them safely home." he greeted before raising his eyes to her.

"Good morning, and thank you for your prayers. Which matter do you bring before me?" she asked, and he fumbled his hands together.

"A matter of recompense, milady. I own a dairy farm a day's travel from here. And I humbly request, that you issue an order of payment for livestock I lost to the farmer on the grounds next to mine." he explained.

"And how did it come, that you lost livestock to another farmer?" she asked, and he paused.

"We share a pasture, milady. He left bales of old hay in the field bordering his side of the field, of which my cows ate. Apparently, the weather did not do well for the bales. My cows became sick, and they died within a few days." he further told, and she looked around at the members hearing her counsel.

"Is this farmer here?" she asked, and he looked away.

"No, milady. I asked him to come, but he wouldn't." he told, and she sat back.

"How many cows did you lose?" he counted silently for a moment.

"I think five, milady." he answered, and then waited anxiously for his answer as she thought. After a moment she breathed, and looked at the man in front of her.

"Please understand, that as the adjacent farmer is not present to defend or explain himself, I cannot simply issue an order for recompense. I must hear both sides, to pass a fair judgement. I will however, issue a summons for him to attend court, and I expect both of you to return before the week is done. In the interim, to avoid any future difficulties, may I suggest that you each have arrangements made to attain your own pasture." she told, and his hands dropped.

"But, milady-" he started.

"One week. And please, take my advice to heart." she finished, and he slowly bowed before turning to leave. She watched the faces around the hall, wondering what it was they thought. She tried her best to be just, and sometimes it was necessary to steel herself. Some, were less than pleased with her decisions while others seemed overly happy with them, and it was quite a bit harder without Metron's advice. She looked up at Milla, who stood next to her.

"Is there anyone else?" she asked, and Milla smiled.

"I don't believe so, my lady." she confirmed, and Claira breathed out relieved.

"This is exhausting. I don't know how my poor husband manages it, each day." she jested, and then stood.

"What a way to end a dispute." Milla laughed softly, and Claira smoothed down the front of her amber dress.

"Oh, it's far from resolved." then she looked back at Milla.

"Do you think I've wasted his time? Having to come back here?" she asked, searching for some comfort.

"No, and of course you need to be clear on every fact before making a final decision." Milla said, and Claira's eyes went to the tall sentinel behind the throne, smiling as if he were trying to smother a laugh of his own.

"Is something wrong, ser Falgon?" she asked.

"Not at all, your grace. I find your court very intriguing, and rather enjoy your additional advices. Not many would give that, choosing to end the immediate issue and move on, rather than finding a long lasting solution." he praised, and she could find some understanding for why she felt so drained. Perhaps, she was trying too hard...

"Well, then. Is there anything that still awaits us?" she asked, and Milla thought for a moment. Claira had a sound mind, and a fair memory; but with everything it was easy to forget things, so Milla tried to be aware of all the appointments and assignments so she may be able to meet all her current responsibilities.

"Not that I'm aware of, my lady. It seems the rest of the day is yours." she said, and Claira nodded.

"Good. Let us try to enjoy it." she smiled, and looked at Wymon waiting off to one side.

"Wymon, please have arrangements made with the stable master to have the horses readied for a ride this afternoon. I believe we need some time in the country." she asked, and he bowed formally.

"Yes, my lady." he turned and headed down the stairway as her attention went back to Milla.

"And we, may ask Jeody to prepare rations for us." she proposed, and they started towards the kitchen where their cook prepared hard cheese, fruits, nuts, bread, salted meat and water skins for their ride; and after noon they found themselves crossing a green hill on horseback with their sentinels and several additional guards in attendance. Rychon astride a dapple grey gelding called Nix led their way with Wink on his shoulder next to Bella on Dawn, her gold mare; with Berterin and Vaellion following on their brown geldings Rutt and Jumble, and Galeran with his spotted mare Dolly between them in front of Claira on her Brazier, and Milla mounted on her dark mare Autumn; Mandeline mounted on a skewbald gelding with Maynlid sharing her saddle, from where she often smiled at her father Gavin just behind them. Claira was grateful for this, feeling the strain leave her body with every step her rose-gold stallion took forward. They shared lively conversation, happy memories and dreams for their future as they rode, rounding the fields and slowly heading back to the hold, where Falgon signalled the sentry towers to have the gates closed after they passed through. He dismounted, handing Galeo's reins to a stable boy, and then headed to Brazier, raising his hands. Wymon continued to Milla, offering his hands to help her down, while Gavin helped his daughter and wife.

"Are you not training today, ser?" Claira asked, taking hold of her sentinel's powerful shoulders as he helped her down from her stallion's back.

"Not today, your grace. I believe we've returned a bit late, we will resume training tomorrow." he said, gently placing her on the ground, not noticing Rychon's secret smile as he silently cheered that he would not endure such harsh exercise this day.

"Thank you, ser." she smoothed down her dress once again, and then smiled as she watched her son politely helping Bella from the back of her pony as well, delighted that he had learnt this level of refinement along with everything else.

"I'll meet with Jeody on the final preparations for supper, you may all take the rest of the day to yourselves." Claira announced, allowing the guards and sentinels to take their own ways after entering the hold. The remainder of the day was peaceful, and they shared the southern hall over a supper of roasted goose with country greens, berry pie and fruit press before returning to their chambers. Claira waited while Rychon finished his bath, and accompanied him to his room where Panora already took her place on the chair near the little hearth. She covered her son with the sheets while Wink waited anxiously on the pillow for his friend to take his place, and he could find a comfortable spot in the curve of his neck; and Claira sat down next to him, singing his special song which usually sent him off to sleep, but this night as she brushed his head and leaned over to kiss him his eyes opened and he looked at her.

"For how long was father away the last time?" he asked, and she drew slightly back.

"Several months." she told, and Rychon breathed in.

"How long do you think he'll be gone now?" he asked, and she felt her heart tighten in her chest.

"I don't know, my love. Hopefully, not very long." she tried to smile, but they both felt the emptiness. The loneliness that was left. Then she leaned forward and kissed his brow.

"Try to sleep, it's been a long day." she encouraged, seeing him smile as he imagined seeing their banners cross the fields, on their way home.

"Good night, Mama..." he said softly, turning and finding his place between his pillows.

"Sleep well, my sweet boy." her fingers stroked his soft black hair, and then she stood issuing a soft greeting to Panora as well before tending to herself and heading to their chamber, where she stood on the balcony overlooking the eastern fields, looking up at the stars. _Each night when you watch the stars, think of me... And I'll be looking back..._ she felt herself growing warm, from her cheeks down to her stomach as she thought of her husband, wishing that the heat that spread through her was more than just a memory. _Good night, my love..._ Then she returned inside and took the quilt from the foot of their bed, folded it three times and wrapped a tunic around it, positioning the form next to her, and hoping for sleep that finally took her deep into the night while Falgon sat in front of the hearth of the guard's hall with a book open in his hands. Then he looked up at the flames, a soft smile on his features.

"You should be asleep, child." he said, and then heard the light footsteps coming closer.

"I know, but I can't sleep. And I know you're awake until late at night." the voice came in a whisper, and he looked to his side to meet the deep green eyes.

"Can I sit with you, for a while?" Bella asked, making the sentinel snicker.

"Just a little while, or your mother will have me racked." he agreed in a jest, and she moved forward happily, carefully clambering onto his knees.

"No wonder you got out of the wing without anyone noticing." he mentioned; she was feather-light, nimble and near to silent.

"It's not the first time I've slipped out, it's pretty easy." she told, again making him laugh.

"You'd have made a great scout. Even experienced runners don't have the natural ability that you do." he praised, and saw her smile.

"Thank you. At least it makes up for my disappointing sword ability." she breathed, remembering her utter failure several days ago.

"You handle your sword fairly, as well. But the difference between you and Rychon, is that you have different methods. His training, aims to bind his strength and use its full potential, while yours mainly focuses on your speed. Both of you, have your fathers' traits. You must know how to use it." he encouraged, and she looked up. At his arms. The numerous scars that covered his skin, many overlapping another, and her small fingers traced the lines of several of them.

"I'm sorry for this. Did it hurt?" she suddenly asked, and he laughed glancing at the obvious blemishes.

"It was long ago. And I don't remember the pain, little Bluebell. Only the lessons." he said, and she stared at him. That he could take something so dreadful, and change it to something so valuable, was inspiring; and she would try to remember it. Then she lay down against his chest, trying to take in his calmness.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asked, and his hand gently lay on her arm as he shared one of his many experiences with her. A less suspenseful adventure he had with a small group of mercenaries near Volantis when they were sent to retrieve a relic from an old ruin, a rusted old sword but with a famous name. The ruin was severely overgrown, and they'd heard rumours of its halls being walked by the dead, and despite his companions' superstitions they managed to find the artefact, clearing the area of feral animals before returning to Volantis to claim their reward. Then he looked down, at a sleeping child against him and sighed. He held the tiny body against him a moment longer, wondering what his sisters might have been like. _Off to bed with you, then..._ He carefully stood with her in his arms, heading for the east wing to deliver her to her bed. He softly pushed the door open, and stepped inside, laying the little figure on a soft wide bed and covering her with the sheets before leaving again in silence and shutting the door.

"Thank you, Falgon." he heard Milla's voice, and then turned to see her standing behind him in the hallway.

"My apologies, lady Milla. I shouldn't have trespassed." he apologised, but she smiled.

"This is your home, you have freedom of the halls as much as I. And the children feel safe with you, I am grateful for that." she glanced down, through a light laugh.

"I dare say, that my daughter is very sweet on you." she added, and Falgon glanced back at the door.

"I can't imagine why." he teased, and they laughed together.

"You are one of her 'precious people', if I recall her naming correct. And the children need someone of strength to look up to, in the absence of their fathers." she told, and he nodded.

"That is very kind. And I will do my best, my lady." he promised, then bowed to her.

"Sleep well, lady Milla." he greeted, and she nodded.

"Good night, ser Falgon." she turned, returning to her own bedchamber while she listened to his footsteps vanishing down the hall. She paused at another doorway, carefully pushing the heavy door open just enough to see inside, ensuring that her sons were well asleep and then returned to the warmth of her own bed, surrendering to the night and only waking again when the purple sheen of dawn lay on the horizon. She dragged herself out of bed, going through her wardrobe to choose a dress while she waited for her handmaidens to arrive. The day followed like most others, dressing and meeting in the southern hall to oversee preparations for their morning meal, a short visit to their gardens before being served sweet grain with milk and fruit with tea, praying under the weirwood fountain and then tending to the matters of the hold, inspections of the barracks and its rounds with ser Ausitinus; and finally by late afternoon they could spend some time in lady Claira's common room while Falgon took Rychon out for training, temporarily leaving Wink in Claira's care; and Gavin saw to the ongoing exercise of the Trentin children as asked by Berin. Claira looked up at the open window towards the deep blue of the sky from the embroidery in her hands, having chosen to create a vision of an orchid vine around the hilt of a sword. Her husband's sword, as best she could remember it.She watched the sun burn a bright red over the calm of the distant ocean, far beyond Blazewater Bay where their ships once held vigil over the castle in a time similar to now.

Their forces had moved onward towards the border and just passed the edge of their country, leaving the Goldfields behind and erecting an encampment where they continued their arguments on their best movements; and there was also the ongoing debate of counting the legion of the Corridor among the northerners, which as of yet had not been decided. But for now, Raeghun sat in counsel with Berin at his side, along with all the other commanding lords while ser Rodrik loomed over the maps spread out on the table inside the tent, explaining his point.

"The scouts report that lord Tywin moves north. We need to get him on broken ground to put his knights at a disadvantage." he indicated, and Greatjon stood to contest that notion.

"No, we need to get around him and break Jaime Lannister's siege of Riverrun. Do that, and the Riverlords will join us." he proposed with a wry smile.

"Any additional aid we could get, would be useful." Berin added, seeming to be of the same mind as lord Umber.

"To do either, we need to cross the river. And the only crossing is at The Twins." Robb added, indicating the twin towers that spanned the river. Willmon nodded, having to agree. There were other crossings, like the Ruby Ford further south, but this could be easily closed off by their enemies; and the Broken Passage Footway to the west, little more than a shallow ridge through the river, easily crossed by horse if it was not flooded, but not nearly wide enough to pass an army. And none as sure as the Twins; however that could make their presence too distinct.

"Lord Frey controls that bridge." Theon mentioned, and then looked at lady Catelyn, also present in their counsel.

"Your father's bannerman." he further indicated, and she sighed.

"The 'late' lord Frey, my father calls him. At the Trident, he didn't appear until the battle was done. Some men take their oaths more seriously than others." she told, bringing her gaze across all in the tent.

"Robb's right. We need that bridge." Theon agreed, and Greatjon leaned forward placing his hands on the table.

"So what's it going to be? Do we move against Jaime, or lord Tywin?" he asked, looking up.

"Well, whatever we choose to do, we must do so quickly. We cannot linger here." Gerald urged, and then two soldiers entered the tent, dragging a stranger with them as the lords turned to them, bringing their attention to the unknown man.

"Beg pardon, my lords. We've captured a Lannister scout." one of the soldiers apologised. Theon reached forward, taking hold of the edge of a map and bringing it forward so it would fold, hiding their intentions. Greatjon smiled as he looked back.

"Don't worry, lad. He won't be leaving this tent with his head." he assured, looking back at the scout who stood meekly, the darkness in his eyes betraying the fear that shuddered through his body.

"Where did you find him?" Robb asked as he rounded the table towards the intruder.

"In the brush above the encampment. He looked to be counting." the soldier reported as Robb stopped in front of the scout, examining his features. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, lean and light as any runner would be.

"How high did you get?" he asked, and the scout looked up timidly.

"Twenty thousand, maybe more." he told as Robb stared at him, and there was a moment of silence through the tent as they wondered what the best course would be, now that they've been discovered.

"You don't have to do this yourself. Your father would understand-" Ser Rodrik started, but then Robb turned, his sure words silencing him.

"My father understands mercy, when there is room for it. And he understands honour." he said, his eyes meeting each of those staring back.

"And courage." he looked back at the scout, silently deliberating his choices.

"Let him go." the order came, and the others came to their feet in surprise.

"Robb..." lady Catelyn called to him, but then bit down on her words as his stare came back to her, sure and confident which forced her to relent to his decision, and she nodded. Then his eyes met the ardent blue next to her, and after a moment he too issued a sure nod. The decision that had been debated for days was finally made, and Robb returned his attention to the scout, bringing himself closer.

"Tell lord Tywin, winter is coming for him. Thirty thousand northerners marching south to find out if he really does shit gold." he told softly before drawing back, and the dark eyes came to him in both utter relief and surprise.

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." the man thanked him heartily, and then the soldiers at his sides released him before he vanished from the tent into the night. Lord Umber stepped forward, watching as an enemy escaped with information he was not supposed to have, and then turned back towards Robb, furious at the turn of events.

"Are you touched, boy? Letting him go?" he demanded, but the youngster stood his ground.

"You call me 'boy' again." he urged, watching the face in front of him twist in anger.

"Go on." he encouraged again, rather eagerly; but then Greatjon forced himself back, and turned to leave thinking better of his desired actions, recalling his last outburst that was fuelled by his Umber pride. With the intense energy away from the pavilion, Robb turned back to the others.

"Go, make sure everyone has their orders and try to get an amount of rest. We march again at first light." he urged, and then watched as his counsel slowly made their way out from the tent, lord Willmon offering to accompany lady Catelyn to her shelter. Raeghun and Berin were the last to leave, following several of their commanding members.

"Lord Raeghun." Robb started as the man reaching six feet in height passed him, but he paused as his attention came to him.

"If I may..." Raeghun looked back at Berin.

"Go on, see that the others are well informed. I'll join you in a moment." he allowed, and his friend vanished into the night along with the others before Raeghun turned to Robb.

"What can I do for you, lord Stark?" he asked, and the young man faced him.

"It's Robb. And you've done more than was asked. But why count yours among our men, though?" he asked, and Raeghun smiled.

"It is a little-known fact, but we've always been more north than south. Besides, a greater number might send a shiver up the spine of our enemies." he tried to jest, bringing a light smile to the face in front of him. _Our..._

"You answered a call that was not given, and you've joined our cause in a war that wasn't yours. I've heard many stories of you and your people; and you are everything I've heard you to be, and more." he said.

"My wife was born a Tormont, the Tormonts are one of your closest vassals, and somewhere you share ancestry with them. The reality, however vague it may be, is that we were connected to your cause since long ago." he told, and Robb looked away from him, having to shield his eyes from the blazing blue, still so light even in the shadows of the tent.

"Thank you. I will not forget this." he said softly, then Raeghun nodded.

"Perhaps someday, you may find a way to return our favour. Good night, lord Stark." he greeted, and then left the pavilion, out into the night to find his own. He met a group of men in discussion a ways off clustered around a fire, yet again debating on the most suitable course.

"Is it wise, to divide our forces here? Lord Tywin's army alone equals ours, according to the reports." lord Roose Bolton informed. He spoke softly, but his deep voice penetrated the night in the still air. Raeghun looked at him as he took a place beside Berin, he had a plain face with thin lips; but cold grey eyes that could make a man shudder. The same features that once threatened his wife, the same that once enraged him.

"Smaller units are easier to control, they move better and aren't as visible as a large force. It might be the better option." Gerald stated, bringing to light the intuition that their family held for aeons.

"For surprise attacks, yes. To get in and out in a matter of moments, with minimal casualties. Not against a battalion." Berin added, bringing the Wild Cat's light eyes to his.

"If a small group is overwhelmed, they wouldn't stand a chance. We'd have better strength, to hold the force together in an onslaught." ser Rodrik interjected, favouring the notion of fighting fire with fire, as it were.

"Yes, we would. But less flexibility." Willmon reminded, having rejoined the ongoing discussion from is escort of the lady of Winterfell a short while ago.

"It is true, we'd have strength in numbers. Yet, to divide the full force, may give us a slight advantage by supplying distractions." Raeghun added, and then smirked.

"In addition to swords and spears and bows, our men train for unarmed combat as well. In the instance of a battle, if you lose your weapon your enemy won't wait for you to retrieve it. Your hands are the only ones you have left, you must know how to use them. The basic perception of this, is that if your opponent leads with his left hand, he intends to strike with his right." he looked at Berin.

"And you recall your first sparring match with Falgon?" he asked, and Berin smiled following his thoughts.

"I do. He changed it. Unlike others, he led with his left and while my focus was on his right, he struck with his left as well. If not for my speed at that time, he could have broken several ribs." He recalled. Yes, if they could focus their enemy's attention where they wanted it, they could strike at them easily.

"But, I might suggest to hold off our final decision, until we cross the Trident further into the Riverlands and have a better knowledge of our adversary and their grounds. To stand here debating on a notion we do not yet understand, will not help us." he proposed to the others' compliance, agreeing that a logical decision cannot be made on presumptions.

"Want to hide away behind your men, lord Taugere? Are you afraid?" a voice came from the shadows behind them, and Raeghun turned to face a young man, whom was born under the name of Greyjoy. Evidently, he'd not heard the entire exchange; and was not overly shy of revealing his dislike of them. Not a great surprise, as they were among those who laid siege to his childhood home.

"Do not mistake my caution for weakness, young sapling." Raeghun warned.

"Run home if you want; lord Stark might just hang you for an oathbreaker upon his return." Theon returned, not much of a shadowed threat and Raeghun walked forward, towering over the younger man as his ardent eyes seared into him, and he was forced a step back by the energy emitting off the figure in front of him.

"I've sworn no oaths to the north. And you're welcome to bring whatever fortune you might have to my walls if you dare, ward of winter." Raeghun invited, only just aware of a several light sniggers from behind him. It was a laughable notion, but rather than being disgusted and enraged the lords found the exchange refreshingly amusing. The calf challenging the bull, so to speak. Over thousands of years of storms and sieges, Mount Ardor has never been broken.

"Enough! There is no need for this!" a voice drew their attention, bringing their stares to another beside them and the face looked back with something that might resemble shock, or revolt. Robb took hold of Theon's arm and pulled him away.

"We cannot hope for any success, if our people are divided. We need them, and I will not have you agitating the situation." he told softly, followed by a short uneasy silence as Theon looked down.

"My apologies, my lord..." he mumbled, and then Robb pushed him into a direction.

"Go see that the horses are properly tethered." he instructed, watching as his friend sauntered sombrely off to see to his order before turning back to Raeghun and Berin behind him.

"I apologise for that, lord Raeghun. Theon is an eager young man, good with sword and bow; but perhaps too boisterous." he pardoned, hoping that they did not find his recent action offensive enough to take it to heart.

"There is eager, and then there is foolish. His arrogance shows that he has a tendency for the latter." Berin breathed, recalling several similar instances from their home over the past years as he stood watching the figure disappear into the shadows, and Raeghun sighed. The bigger the head, the smaller the heart in the end...

"I will not deny that his warmongering is cause for concern; I've never had a trust for someone with a big mouth. But as he has lived with you for nine years, and you seem to trust him, I will leave it at that." he decided, and then started guiding Berin off to find their shelters for the night.

"Fair evening to you, lord Stark." he greeted a final time before making their way down a long torch-lit aisle between tents to retire.

"So, what do you make of this?" Berin finally asked.

"What do I make of it? It's an exciting thrill for the youngsters, but nothing more than an irritation on my part." he told with a scoff.

"We have seen war before, Raeghun." Berin reminded, bringing the ardent eyes to his.

"This won't be like the last time. Then, our enemy was a small group with a single means. Now, we stand on equal grounds. We will have to be stronger." he said, and Berin nodded realizing the truth of it.

"We'll be al right." he tried to comfort, and the eyes softened.

"I have no doubts. Now go, try to get some sleep. We set out on sunrise." he urged, and Berin left for the tent next to his. Raeghun lingered a moment longer, looking up at the black sky with its many sparkling lights, and the greatest consolation he had in the throes of the chaos they'd come to face, was knowing that his Claira could see the same stars that he was watching right now, and in his heart he kissed his wife and son good night...


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19 - THE KINGS

Within another few days of marching, they stood on the green hillside overlooking the river, they had reached the Twins. A black shape glided through the sky, skilfully struck with an arrow it dropped from the wind landing on the grass. Young Theon approached, releasing the scroll tied to the now dead creature and gave it to Robb, who unrolled the parchment and scanned the words written on the paper.

"It's a birthday message to his grand niece, Walda." Robb reported looking up at his mother, lord Umber, ser Rodrik, lord Tormont and his eldest son, and lords Taugere and Trentin in his company.

"Or so Walder Frey would have you think." Theon quickly cautioned.

"Keep shooting them down. We can't risk lord Walder sending word of your movements to the Lannisters." lady Catelyn ordered to Theon's sure nod of acceptance, severely heedful of the lord's intentions. Robb looked at her, almost expecting a different option.

"He's grandfather's bannerman. We can't expect his support?" he asked, and Greatjon Umber scoffed lightly.

"Expect nothing of Walder Frey, and you'll never be surprised." he said, and then spied two soldiers passing over the field towards them.

"Look." he indicated them, the banners above them displaying the twin towers that spanned the river.

"Father rots in a dungeon... How long before they take his head?" Robb breathed, bringing the attention of those around to him, almost shocked that he could allow such thoughts.

"We need to cross the Trident, and we need to do it now." he decided.

"Just march up to his gates and tell him you're crossing. We've got five times his numbers. You can take the Twins if you have to." Theon urged, eager for a challenge.

"Not in time. Tywin Lannister marches north as we speak." Greatjon interjected, taking into account that a siege on the towers alone could last for weeks as they were well fortified.

"The Freys have held the crossing for six hundred years, and for six hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll." lady Catelyn once again explained, and Robb sighed.

"Have my horse saddled and ready." Robb ordered, wishing to exchange terms of their passage with urgency.

"Enter the Twins alone and he'll sell you to the Lannisters as he likes." Greatjon heeded, and Theon's light eyes came to Robb.

"Or throw you in a dungeon. Or slit your throat." he added more options.

"My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took..." Robb said, several different thoughts flashing through his mind for what they faced here.

"I will meet with lord Frey on your behalf. Their lands are adjacent to ours, and as far as I am aware, there have been no asperity between us." Raeghun proposed, bringing Berin's deep green eyes to him.

"He will make demands of you, you know this." he mentioned.

"He may make his demands within reason, but I will not use my son as a negotiation piece." he said, knowing full well that that will be one of his courses for all his many offspring.

"No, I need you here. If I'm going to lead this army, I can't have other men doing my bargaining for me." Robb declined, looking at the blue eyes next to him.

"I agree." Catelyn's voice came from his other side, and then she looked back at her son.

"I'll go." she offered, to the dislike of the youngsters.

"You can't!" Both Robb and Theon refused at once,

"I have known lord Walder since I was a girl. He would never harm me." she told, recalling long past memories.

"Unless there was a profit in it." Greatjon muttered softly, and Willmon stepped closer to her.

"I do not feel comfortable, allowing you to enter the Twins alone, my lady." he told softly, and she turned towards him, facing his silver-blue eyes that she had grown quite fond of over the years. Not as deep as her husband's steely grey eyes that she so missed, but attractive as they were.

"I'll be perfectly fine." she promised, and then mounted a waiting horse to accompany the Frey soldiers back to the bridge stronghold while the men set up a temporary encampment while they waited for her return, continuing their plans in the shade of a pavilion while the sun slowly made its way through the sky, dragged down to the distant horizon. Willmon glanced through the entranceway of the pavilion, calculating their time until twilight.

"Father?" his attention came to Gerald at his side.

"It's starting to get dark. If she's not back by sunset, I will go to find her." he decided, and Gerald followed his gaze outside.

"You don't trust lord Frey?" he asked, and Willmon sighed.

"I have no reason to. I've heard many things, none of them inspiring of good will." he breathed, his eyes searching the pathway down to the gates of the battlements.

"Al right. Let's wait just a little bit longer." Gerald proposed, to the consent of the Grey Tom whom then turned to retake his place at the table to continue their debate, and he shared his directions with them. Theon made a proposal, but was rejected by lord Umber.

"We do that, and we'll never get back across." then a figure appeared, coming through the entrance of the pavilion and bringing the men to their feet; and a feeling of relief found them. Robb looked at his mother, eager for the response.

"Well? What did he say?" he asked, followed by a short pause.

"Lord Walder has granted your crossing." she announced, bringing more relieved utterances from those inside.

"His men are yours as well, less the four hundred he will keep here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you." she added, but stared at Robb.

"And what does he want in return?" he asked, and she composed herself searching for the words.

"You will be taking on his son Olyvar, as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood, in good time." she told, and he nodded.

"Fine, fine." he agreed immediately, that could be an easy wish to grant. But another pause followed as she waited to continue.

"And?" of course, there will be more.

"And, Arya will marry his son Waldron, when they both come of age." she added, and Robb had to smother a smirk.

"She won't be happy about that." and he knew it, his youngest sister Arya was never partial to the idea of being a lady let alone marriage, and would rather spend her time with her brothers if she could. Had she been born a boy, she would have set her sights on becoming a knight.

"And?" he waited for more, and she chose her words.

"And... When the fighting is done, you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer, he has a number he thinks will be... suitable." she added, and Robb nodded slowly.

"I see... Did you get a look at his daughters?" he asked, hearing Theon snigger beside him.

"I did." she told, recalling the many faces in the hall of lord Walder Frey.

"And?" Robb asked, still waiting for the outcome as she thought.

"One was..." she paused again, searching for a word she could not find; then sighed and brought her eyes to his.

"Do you consent?" she asked, and he thought for a moment.

"Can I refuse?" she shook her head.

"Not if you want to cross." she told, and he breathed in deeply.

"Then I consent." he agreed, and they waited out the night until the gates were opened to them with the grey dawn; and they crossed into yet another countryside, for the time being, elected to have the forces from the Twins remain behind until needed. During the night having decided to divide their forces, sent a group on westward while the greatest part took another road south west into yet another waiting onslaught with their men, prepared for whatever awaited them on this bleak road. And with one ominous daybreak, it was a grey clouded morning when lady Catelyn, ser Rodrik and young Rhegard Tormont who'd been temporarily assigned to her side awaited the men on a cool hillside. His light blue eyes scanned the trees on the other side of the field, watching for any movement. Following a counsel the day before this, where lord Tormont explained their position and offered their best options after receiving the scout reports, Robb agreed to apply his suggestions, and then during the night, the order had been given for the soldiers to ride for the Whispering Wood, and it was a long wait for the return of his father and brothers, and silently he prayed that it will not be much longer.

"We should go, my lady." ser Rodrik urged from the other side, but Catelyn kept watching the woods.

"No." she refused, and Rhegard could certainly share the emotion.

"My lady..." Rodrik urged again, bringing her eyes to his and Rhegard sighed softly.

"It may be best for you to return to the safety of the encampment, my lady. I'll remain, and keep watch." Rhegard offered, hoping she may accept his proposal; but still she remained ever watchful of the far side of the pasture. Then a sound in the distance drew their attention, the sure sound of hooves over the earth as the air froze in his chest, anticipating whether the figures approaching was friend or foe. His fingers touched the hilt of his sword, ready at his side in the event he may have need of it. But then the fingers eased as the horses materialized out of the shadows of the trees, and he found himself smiling. Their men had returned. His father, his brothers, and all of their lords. Bloodied and soiled, but seemingly unharmed, and successful in their mission. They dismounted, and threw a man down on the ground in front of lady Catelyn, a man with golden hair and emerald green eyes, dented armour and bound hands.

"By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened." Robb reported excitedly, taking his place beside his mother while a now captive ser Jaime Lannister cumbersomely struggled to his knees, and he looked up through a tense breath.

"Lady Stark. I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it." he greeted, rather politely.

"It is not your sword I want. Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband." Catelyn returned solidly, and the man on his knees in front of her sighed.

"I've lost them too, I'm afraid." he said, then Theon stepped forward.

"Kill him, Robb! Send his head to his father! He cut down ten of our men. You saw him!" he encouraged as Robb watched the knight on his knees.

"He's more use to us alive, than dead." he decided, and Catelyn's attention came to lord Umber, still holding on to the neckband of the lion adorned armour.

"Take him away, and put him in irons." she ordered, and Greatjon proceeded to haul Jaime to his feet.

"We could end this war right now, boy. Save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords, lances, teeth, nails; choose your weapons! And let's end this, here and now." he suddenly proposed, and Robb smiled slowly realising the intent. It was an old way of resolving disputes, much like a duel. But not befitting of their position.

"If we do it your way, Kingslayer; you'd win. We're not doing it your way." Robb declined, fully aware of the knight's praised skill in swordsmanship, and noticing the defeat in the clear eyes.

"Come on, pretty man." Greatjon Umber dragged the knight away, to do as he was bid while the remainder cheered for their victory over the opposing forces.

"I sent two thousand men to their graves, today..." Robb breathed softly, glancing at a tall black haired man close by where the strength of the Corridor gathered around him, the ache in his chest not only from the outdrawn exertion of their night; but the grief for those they were forced to lose for their cause, seven hundred from the Goldfields among them.

"The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice." Theon said, his effort for condolence little more than a spark of hope.

"Aye, but the dead won't hear them." Robb agreed, but with a bitterness to his words. Then he moved forward, preparing to address those looking on in anticipation.

"One victory does not make us conquerors. Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the Queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees?" he called over them, drawing them to a silence.

"This war is far from over..." he warned, watching his men. All of them, but they knew. Everyone knew where this dark road led, but there was only one direction to go. Forward. They headed back to their encampment to find whatever rest may be theirs and tend to their wounded and fallen before they would once again set out. Willmon rode at Robb's side towards their site, eyes gliding over the countryside to the horizon.

"You've done well, my lord." he complimented, bringing the light eyes to his with a subtle smile.

"Thanks to your advices, lord Tormont." he returned, and Willmon nodded.

"I've given my advice, but it was you whom chose to apply them. You listen to your people, you take their words to heart as your father. You are his son, and I have every faith that we will find him and your sisters." he told, watching several men pass them with Gerald at their head.

"We all learn from our fathers, and yours have learnt from you as well." Robb thought back to the night, recalling the moment the Wild Cat's unit appeared out of the shadows and surrounded the enemy battalion from behind, subduing them with little effort.

"Families pass down their wisdoms, to both sons and daughters." Willmon looked to his side, just down the hill where Raeghun dismounted from his black warhorse while a squire secured the reins, and removed his great sword from its place to the saddle.

"Wisdoms and strengths." he breathed, then looked back at Robb.

"We will prepare to march again on your order, my lord." he advised, and the lord of Winterfell left him with a sure nod before moving off further into the encampment while Willmon dismounted his own grey destrier and entrusted his steed to another squire for care before approaching the lords of the Corridor, most of their men already heading off to tend to their needs.

"Make sure the horses are properly watered and fed," he heard Raeghun give his order to the squire as he secured Quill's sheath belt over his shoulder,

"And try to get some rest. We must be ready to leave again, soon." he scanned the weary, soiled faces of his men before he turned to face the Grey Tom.

"I must say, I've not seen such vigour in men for some time." he mentioned, and Berin smiled from Raeghun's side.

"As a good friend once told me, my lord. 'Forward'. It's a simple rule, one that leaves room for performance." he added, and Willmon nodded.

"I may suggest that to some of our own men, as well." he joined their walk back to the shelters, conversing on their past and future while somewhere down the aisle they were joined by lord Umber, also on his way back to his tent. While gaining ground, they had lost men; and while the heartache was shared, there was no guilt. And the readiness to perform any task with almost limitless enthusiasm was becoming quite apparent.

"Your people don't just follow you, lord Raeghun. They wait on you eagerly, one would almost say they worship you." lord Umber mentioned, bringing a small smile to the ardent eyes.

"You have heard the riddle of the sellsword, the king, the priest and the rich man, my lord? Among these, who lives and who dies?" he asked, and Greatjon glanced at him. He has heard it before, once or twice.

"Well now, many say it depends on the sellsword. It's a matter of perspective." he said, feeling that it may be a fair answer.

"It might. Who is loved, who is hated and who is feared? If that man, who fears you almost as much as he hates you, is paid well for a single moment with your life in his hands, would he protect it, or would he discard it?" Raeghun continued as they walked, and then Greatjon paused applying his thoughts to his own men, and what he expected of them.

"He would protect it, if he knew what was good for him." Greatjon decided, and then Raeghun turned back to him with a sure smile.

"You can't do anything to him if you're dead. So, why would he care? Love is a tender emotion, it is true. But it is a strong one. Those who love you as much as they respect you, will go to great lengths for you, and be happy to do so. There is the reason for my success, for my family's success for the past several thousand years since the time of king Baderon "Blackwing" Taugere." he told, and Greatjon shared his ease as he fully understood. Blackwing's name was well known, for whom he was and what he did. Then he saw Raeghun's hand extended to him, and he took it.

"Aye, and we will see more success from your house." he agreed.

"Until later, lord Umber." Raeghun greeted, and the group exchanged their farewells with Willmon and Greatjon heading off in one direction, and Raeghun and Berin in another to their tents.

"How many casualties?" Raeghun asked under his breath, and Berin glanced at him.

"Perhaps a thousand, in total. The seven hundred sent to the Green Fork, and another couple of hundred fallen and wounded here. As per your orders, arrangements will be made for our dead to be buried before we move on." Berin reported, noting his friend's eyes going to the ground in front of him.

"We could send word to ser Austinus to have forces sent down to us, to replace those we've lost." Berin suggested, but then Raeghun returned his eyes to his.

"No. Those protecting our country, must remain there. We will make do with what we have." Raeghun decided, and Berin nodded.

"Al right. I'll see you later." he excused himself, and headed off to his shelter while Raeghun entered his. A small, simple if yet comfortable space with a frame bed covered with furs, a small table with two chairs where he sometimes shared meals with his best friend, a chest holding his possessions, and a couple of candles for light. He took a deep breath, then moved forward as he removed Quill from his back, sitting down on the bed and laying the sword next to him before removing the strong breastplate relatively easily, with the belts in reach and set it aside, looking at the red phoenix on its chest. _What would you have done?_ He never knew him, but lord Vaeghun Taugere, some said looked like a Targaryen himself with his white hair, despite being born black of head. The stories told, that the change came suddenly and early, he had barely reached his twenties; but like all Taugere men he was bold and fierce, harsh and forthright, and indeed loving. But contrasting of his current namesake he was fond of tournaments and would compete when possible. It was with the king's own nameday that The White Phoenix was named champion, and he crowned the princess Daella Targaryen the Queen of Love and Beauty, winning her favour. Her father, was not at all displeased with the match. Raeghun lowered his head, spending a moment in silence, thanking all those who watched over him for bringing him back. Then he cleaned the sword once again, ensuring that the blade was clear and sparkling like a delicate layer of frost clung to the steel. He found it strangely calming, and watched the eyes staring back at him from the reflection, eyes of frost blue... Then he exchanged his seat on the bed for the chair, after which from a scribe box he took a parchment, a quill and a corked inkwell; and started to compose a letter bound for home while the days passed with less strain and more hope than they'd had a fortnight ago, and preparations were made to return to Riverrun. With noon, they rode again into the night; encircling the divided camp sites around the river keep and ended the siege on its walls, leaving the enemy broken and fleeing back to the Golden Tooth while their prisoners were freed, including lord Edmure Tully. But, the light of one new day was dark as devastation would strike at them again when they received the news of the south, and the hope they had was crushed. Lady Catelyn Stark moved through the camp erected around Riverrun in silence, and every man bowed to her in respect, offering their condolences for whatever comfort it may give. The lords of the Corridor did the same as she passed, but it seemed the world disappeared to her, and she simply walked forward in blind, torturous sorrow; and Raeghun watched as she entered into the solace of the sparse woodland near their camp site.

"The cruelties of fate..." he muttered softly, and heard his friend beside him.

"So what now?" he asked, and Raeghun shrugged.

"If not only for release, then for revenge as well, I suppose." another voice appeared beside them, and Gerald stood watching the figure vanish into the trees with them.

"Revenge, is as dire a motivation as it is a powerful one." Raeghun mentioned, wondering on the sudden turn of events while Catelyn removed herself from those looking on, and finally leaned against a tree to catch her breath; the breath that this horrible stab to her heart stole from her, and she still attempted to hold back the cries that lay so close. Then she heard the clanging of steel against wood, and hardened herself, preparing to move forward once again. She crossed the grounds, towards the edge of the trees to see her son, angrily attacking a wide tree like it was his nemesis; but the bark held against his onslaught like steel while instead the blade chipped and bent.

"Robb..." she called to him, but his rage would not end.

"Robb." she tried again, desperate for his attention which remained fixed on the tree, his only intent to slaughter it where it stood in the world.

"Robb!" then he looked up, his face flushed and the only thing left were the tears. She stood watching him, wondering what to say but decided that what he needed was her strength, whatever she could give.

"You've ruined your sword..." she finally managed, and the destroyed blade slipped from his hand, falling on the ground as he went to her. To the comforting arms that enveloped him in a mother's care.

"I'll kill them all! Every one of them!" he swore, the tears staining his reddened cheeks.

"I'll kill them all!" he cried into the safety of her shoulder, and she soothed him.

"Oh, my boy. They have your sisters. We have to get the girls back." she told him as her fingers gently stroked his thick auburn hair, her heart hardening under the pressing hatred.

"And then we will kill them all..." she swore with him in the shine of the sun, her words as true as the light spilling over the country. They remained like this until the bitter hurt passed, and then slowly made their way back to the camp, finally retreating under the gates of the river keep to replenish their men and their resources, and once again Raeghun was seated at a small table with a quill in his hand and a parchment in front of him while he thought of her. The calming blue eyes and the midnight hair. He reflected on the past as he wrote, the days were long, and the nights were deep as they waited for the time to pass. And it was going to be a long haul with men both tired and zealous for their future, the urge for vengeance and the want for justice. Whichever came sooner, would be better. And then a face appeared through the doorway bringing his attention away from the words.

"Rough day?" he asked, stepping through and closing the door.

"You ask that of me? But, our last visit here, reminds me of worse." Raeghun laughed as Berin sat down next to him.

"Something we will never forget; but luckily this time we came prepared." he added in a small jest, and Raeghun's eyes went back to the letter as he continued to write.

"How are our men?" he asked, and Berin breathed.

"They seem well spirited. The prospects have not changed their demeanour, despite our losses and their longing for home." he reported, and Raeghun nodded.

"I certainly share the sentiment. But we'll go home when all is done, we always do." he assured, and saw his friend nod.

"The lords have called a meeting for tomorrow at twilight, to discuss our way forward. And it seems, there is a debate on who is king." he informed, and Raeghun scoffed.

"If what we've heard is true, Stannis is to be the king." he told, and Berin looked at him.

"There are reports that Renly has also claimed the title." he smirked.

"Oh, too many kings and the world won't know if they're to kiss a hand or an ass." Raeghun said, and they laughed softly. Everyone wanted their titles, and each had to be greater than the last.

"Three kings, centuries ago there were close to a dozen." Berin breathed, sitting back on the bed.

"Yes, before Aegon the Conqueror united all the kingdoms under his single rule. I have to confess, he was ambitious." Raeghun said looking up, at the stars outside. It was one of his family's more successful failures. The Taugere men would never have yielded, but after both king Brygard Taugere and his first son Vaeldigar fell in battle against the dragons, it was left to a new bloomed princess Marielle who acted as regent for the youngest of the siblings who would be king, eleven year old Raederan Taugere, to end the bloodshed on their lands or refuse submission until there was not a living entity left. Wisely, she chose peace for the sake of their people. And when her brother came of age, he was named Lord of Flame as an alternative to Ardent King, Liege of the Corridor, and Warden of the Goldfields. Their family kept their position as lords paramount of the fertile passage between the North, and the rest of Westeros.

"A world divided, has become one. And for three hundred years people were content with it. But how long does this contentment last before people wish for their own ways again?" he breathed, feeling the fire in his blood. The true blaze of his line...

"Tell our men to tend to their needs, and rest well while we're here. I will give further orders after tomorrow's counsel." he instructed, laying the quill down and folding the letter.

"Very well. Good night, Raeghun." Berin greeted, standing to leave.

"Sleep well, Berin." Raeghun returned, sealing the letter to be sent home once again and then took a place on the furs to wait out the night. With the morning, he handed the letter to a messenger who set out with a selection of writings to far reaches, and continued to inspect their company, ensuring that the horses were tended to and their men were cared for as nightfall came closer, and the sun disappeared to yet another night amidst the banter of the soldiers. But in the safety of Riverrun's stone hall where the lords met, in counsel to discuss the matters at hand, some were more prominent than others.

"The proper course is clear! Pledge fealty to king Renly and move south to join our forces with his." one of the lords advised eagerly over the others.

"Renly is not the king!" Robb rejected the idea, and the lord turned towards him in surprise.

"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord. He put your father to death!" he reminded him, but Robb stared at him from his seat in the hall.

"That doesn't make Renly king. He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis." he reminded him in turn of the customary procedures of succession.

"Do you mean to declare us with Stannis?" the same lord asked, almost challenged him for an answer.

"Renly is not right!" another lord of the north added, siding with their leader. But then lord Greatjon Umber stood, and made his way to the centre of the hall where all could see him, and brought their attention to him solidly.

"My lords. My lords!" he called to them, over them, ensuring that he had their eyes, their ears and all of their senses set on him.

"Here is what I say, to these two kings!" he turned, and spat on the ground; a gesture that was known well among the men, bringing a snigger here and there from the silence of the hall.

"Renly Baratheon is nothing to me! Nor Stannis, neither! Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall? Or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!" he called, and more laughs rose from the people around him, fully engaged in the direction his words would lead them.

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the Dragons we bowed to! And now the Dragons are dead!" Greatjon asked as he unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming in the light of torches surrounding him; then brought the sword around him and directed it at Robb Stark.

"There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to! The King in the North!" He turned, and lowered on one knee as he honoured the young lord in the old way, hilt in hand with the tip of his sword resting on the ground as Robb rose to his feet. Another lord rose to his feet from lady Mormont's side and took his own sword from his side.

"I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle. And their iron chair, too!" he took a place next to lord Umber, in the same way he was.

"The King in the North!" he agreed, and Theon Greyjoy joined them as his eyes glowed eagerly.

"Am I your brother? Now and always?" he asked as he approached Robb, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.

"Now and always." Robb returned; they had lived, hunted, trained and fought together. They were as close to brothers as you could find, without sharing blood.

"My sword is yours, in victory or defeat. From this day, to my last day." Theon swore as he too, knelt to Robb Stark of Winterfell, who stood watching the people in front of him before noticing one more figure approaching, silver-blue blue eyes calm as always, and long silver hair tied together at the nape of his neck. A kind face covered by a full beard, and suddenly he stood in front of him.

"Our families have shared aeons in the same halls, in front of the same fires. Our ancestors have seen years of kinship, of loyalty and favour. Where you lead, the Tormonts will follow." he promised, removing his silver sword from his side seeming so much brighter than the others in the light and joining the others on his knee.

"The King in the North!" Greatjon Umber declared, loudly and deliberately; and all the others united, knelt in front of one of the oldest bloodlines in the known world; all except for a smaller group from where burning blue eyes watched on in what he felt was admiration.

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!" their voices carried through the hall, beyond the walls and into the night, far out from the stronghold. Then Robb looked up, meeting the eyes staring at him and moved forward through his people with Theon Greyjoy following eagerly, approaching Raeghun to face him. Berin studied him from his friend's side, the sudden zeal in his steps was close to foreboding of something. Then he stopped in front of them, the eyes light and energetic as Raeghun smiled.

"Am I expected to kneel in front of you, my lord?" Raeghun asked, and Theon stepped forward.

"It's 'your grace' now." he corrected loudly, but Robb raised his hand to silence him with a quick almost irritated glance.

"Some may expect it, but I won't. I know where your allegiance lies, lord Taugere." he assured looking back at the Lord of Flame.

"I have been named King in the North, and our families have shared a long alliance. You too, lord Raeghun have the blood of kings in your veins. What is there to halt you from reclaiming your ancestor's title as well?" he proposed and Raeghun stared at him in silence for a moment. This was rather unexpected, but then he smiled as he glanced away, his eyes taking in the stars in the sky as he seemed to consider the thought and both Robb and Theon waited anxiously for his reply to the suggestion.

"What a sight that would be. A return to the Age of Heroes, with an alliance of kings as it once was; and together we would remind the world of whom we were before Aegon forced our ancestors to yield, and bound the continent together." Theon's grin widened, his body pulsing with excitement. He'd heard the stories, just like everyone else. The only other alliance that almost came to equality of that of the North and the Corridor over the many centuries was that of Loren I and Mern IV when they faced Aegon Targaryen, but sadly they were vanquished in the clash known to the world as 'The Field of Fire'. But this would be different. There would be no dragons here... Finally Raeghun looked back with a modest sigh.

"Grand as the notion sounds, I will not reclaim the title of the Ardent Kings. But yes, our alliance is an old and strong one." he extended his hand to Robb,

"We will stand with you in victory, or ride with you to hell." Robb grinned, and took it in a firm gesture, secretly admiring the man more and more. There was no need for a title, when he was everything it represented.

"To victory, or hell." he agreed, to the cheers of the men around them, their ancient alliance once more reforged.

It was an overcast day, high grey clouds shielding the burning mountain from the rays of the sun. It was a joyless day that they received news of lord Eddard Stark's execution; and the worry for their people as the situation set the souls of men ablaze with sorrow, hatred and vengeance was an uneasy truth. But Robb Stark had been chosen as the King in the North, and they would see this through to the end of it. Shortly after, the white raven arrived from the Citadel to announce summer's end, and the maester showed the bird to the children, whom remained fascinated of the creature for a number of days. Claira sat on her chair in her common room, the embroidery resting in her hands while Milla and Bella continued with theirs under soft conversation while Falgon had taken Rychon out for his training as each other day, and Gavin continued with that of the Trentin heirs' in the inner bailey of the barracks; and Wymon stood guard at the doorway. Among others, the farmers had returned as ordered, and their dispute was resolved with an issue for repayment of four cows; and further temporary negotiations to divide the joint pasture with a gated fence until further developments took place. Her eyes took in the grey of the sky through the window where Wink scanned the outside world from the ridge, she felt tired and uneasy but as before sleep seemed to avoid her. It has only been a couple of weeks, and it had become a solid habit to watch the stars each night before pulling herself to their bed, but already it seemed so long. And there was something else, as well. A comet. Bright and burning and red in the sky, casting its light across the realm. The small folk had called it 'The tail of the Phoenix', that it meant her lord husband will return triumphant. The soldiers said that it was the Taugere banner, raised by the gods to the heavens for all to see. But some, had a more ominous view of it. Maester Adlyn called it a 'bleeding star', while Falgon saw only the colour of blood, and it only meant one thing. Death. But when she had asked him who's death, he was vague to answer... _Please, come home soon... I miss you, too much..._ The quilt helped, if only to mimic the sensation of someone beside her; the tunic provided that the false body next to her had his scent, but it lacked the life, the warmth, the comfort... And her nights remained empty and cold as too many times she found herself simply staring at the canopy of their bed, at the lion's head above their door, at the images on the tapestries, at the flames of the hearth as they slowly died, and at the stars outside their window as the sky slowly changed colour from black to purple to pink to the gold of sunrise and finally to blue as her days continued. But right now, if only for an instant, she felt light and snug amidst the many furs of her favoured chair and it seemed she was drifting on a raft down a river of memories. Good memories of their family together in the fields and at their tables as they discussed their days. Smiling faces looked back at her, and their lives were a dream of bliss. One she wished would last... The sudden sound of the sentry tower bells pulled her from the dream as a vile prickling replaced the feeling of floating and in a daze she stood in reaction to the baleful tolling over the fields, drowning a series of soft squeaks from the creature at the window. A call she knew. She moved forward, aiming for the doorway but oddly wayward and disoriented before gentle hands took her shoulders to steady her.

"Claira, it's al right." then the daze vanished, and Milla stood beside her as her vision cleared and she blushed, feeling laughable.

"I'm sorry, Milla." she breathed, but her friend smiled with an understanding only she could have.

"It's al right. Come." she took her hand to offer some stability to the sudden fright, and they hurried down through the halls with Bella following, holding the ferret in her hands to meet whomever came. They emerged from the castle doors to the voice of their tallest as a stable boy came to claim the reins of his horse.

"Bring the maester!" Falgon ordered as he dismounted, and reached up to bring Rychon from the pommel of Galeo's saddle while his own Nix followed, led by a rope leash and Claira's heart stopped.

"What happened?" she called as she rushed down the steps to meet them, and Rychon grimaced as he was brought gently down from the great steed.

"What happened?!" she called again as she reached them.

"Nothing, mother. I just fell, that's all." Rychon quickly reported, but the notion that he'd been injured struck her like the sting of a bee to her cheek.

"You fell? How did you fall?" she asked, looking at Falgon.

"He was running the maze, your grace. And-" he started.

"It's not serious. I just slipped." he quickly interjected, silencing the tall man holding him in his arms who spared him a quick glance.

"If it please, your grace. I should take him to see the maester without delay." he said, and she turned to lead them inside where the maester found them on the incline leading up to his tower, and he examined Rychon immediately, discovering a severely swollen ankle, but not much more save for small nicks and light bruises.

"Ser Falgon, would you please be so kind as to deliver young lord Rychon to my chambers, where I will tend to his injury." he asked, and Falgon nodded before moving down the hallway and up to the tower while Maester Adlyn waited back with Claira, who attempted to follow but was held back by the elderly man, still strong and capable for someone near his nineties.

"Maester, I have to be with him." she said, and then his hand rested on her arm.

"My lady, he'll be perfectly fine. The injury is not serious, and should be completely healed within a few weeks. I will have him delivered to your chambers once I have tended to him, he will have a good deal of rest for a while. Please don't worry." he eased her, and she breathed out.

"Very well... I... I should meet with Jeody, then." she decided, and slowly started down the incline again while the maester watched. Since the departure of the men, she seemed to become grim and restless. He hadn't seen her smile in days... And he hoped for improvement as he returned the way he came.

"You should have told her." Falgon said softly as he carried Rychon up the steps to the maester's chamber.

"If I told my mother that I got hit by a log, she'd never let me go out again." Rychon said looking up at the dark eyes.

"No, probably not." he agreed, and they laughed together softly.

"I just wasn't fast enough..." he breathed, but saw his teacher smile.

"You get better each day, but you are distracted. Distractions do not bode well, as you've seen." he advised, and Rychon sighed.

"I know. I'll try harder next time." he promised.

"I know it's hard, I too have had to watch my father ride over the horizon to war, many times. But he always came back. As will yours." Falgon assured.

"I can't wait to see it. Our banners flying over the fields..." he tried to picture it, what a wonderful sight it will be.

"Seeing it, is wonderful. But feeling it, the quake of thousands of hooves over the earth seeping into you, the sense that brings the return of your people... Nothing ever comes close to that." Falgon breathed as Rychon stared at him, the dark eyes nostalgic as a memory came back to him.

"How old were you, when you saw your first battle?" Rychon asked, intrigued by him.

"Not much older than you. I believe to have been ten and two. Most enter manhood around their fourteenth year, and more capable of battle nearer to ten and six, but mine came quite a bit sooner." he told, and Rychon looked down.

"Still that young..." it was as frightening as it was inspiring, and he tried to imagine himself next to his father.

"It was different for me. I was forced into that role." Falgon told.

"How?" Rychon again asked, hearing the tall man sigh.

"In order to protect myself, I had to take the life of another. Once you do that, you're no longer a child." he explained as they entered the maester's wide tower chamber where he met their people.

"What happened?" Rychon asked softly, cautious of the reaction; but again the tall man smiled.

"I don't remember, exactly. It was late at night, long ago..." he breathed, but then the eyes changed. Seemed to harden.

"My uncle tried to kill me. And I stabbed him through the heart." he told softly, like he was simply sharing a mediocre event; and Rychon stared at him. At the different, hard eyes.

"Falgon..." he started, but found himself without words.

"I don't know why. I never had any answers." he paused, the drowning silence settling around them; but then the hardness to the eyes vanished, and he looked up.

"Well, it seems it will be some time before we head out again. Rest well, as I assure you the training may intensify. You can only shape your awareness to it." he heeded, and then set Rychon down on the chair next to the small hearth.

"That's a relief. I was afraid you might change my routines." Rychon teased, and Falgon laughed.

"There's no chance of that, fortunately." then he knelt next to Rychon, gently taking his shoulder. "Regardless, your training cannot stop. It is the only way-" he started, the honesty in his eyes so clear Rychon had to look down, away from him.

"I know. I know it can't stop... I... I want to be strong, like my father. Like you... I have to be..." then the man in front of him smiled.

"You are. We must simply keep it that way. You've seen what happens to a man that lets himself go to waste." Falgon cautioned softly, their thoughts going to some of the men who have left the guards, "Big Farze" and Dolrey among them. The way they were now with rounded bellies and fleshy cheeks was a far step from the men who upheld their training routines vigorously. They shared another soft laugh before they looked back as the maester entered the chamber to further examine the injury, running skilled hands over Rychon's ankle and leg as he winced at the sensation of stabbing through the muscles.

"Luckily, nothing is broken. But you have badly sprained your ankle, tearing some of the ligaments. I suggest that you remain indoors for a number of weeks, and if you find it possible, refrain from walking." he advised as he dressed and bound the swollen limb.

"Thank you, maester." Rychon said, feeling the heat of the ointment flowing through the muscles and already ebbing the painful throb. Then watched as the maester made his way to a cabinet, retrieving a cane from the shelf before coming back and presenting it to him.

"To help you move around." he said, and Rychon scoffed.

"I'll seem an old man." he complained.

"Your father also rejected its use some years ago, but in the end he did use it as advised. And today, you would never have believed that he almost lost the use of his leg." the maester smiled, and Rychon took the cane in his hands examining it.

"This was father's?" he asked.

"It was; a gift from Riverrun. So, take care of it." maester Adlyn confirmed, and saw the face light up in front of him.

"I will." he promised eagerly.

"Well, best I deliver you to the lord's wing then." Falgon said as he moved forward, and took Rychon from the seat.

"Thank you, maester." he greeted before heading back down where Bella waited for them at the base of the steps to return an eager pet to his friend, and with her company he set Rychon gently down in front of the door to the lord's wing.

"Will you manage to get to your chamber, or shall I call someone to help you?" Falgon asked, and Rychon smiled.

"I'll be just fine. And thank you, for carrying me around. Good night, Falgon." he greeted, and the tall man bowed to him.

"Sleep well, young sire." he returned, and then proceeded back down to the Hall of Fire, likely to retake his place at the lady's side.

"What happened?" Bella asked softly, and he sighed.

"Nothing, I just fell." he repeated, feeling his ferret sprawl across his shoulders and cautiously sniffing his cheek and ear.

"Will you be al right?" she asked, with true concern.

"I'll be fine. Maester Adlyn told me to rest for a while." he sighed, and then turned towards the door.

"Fair evening to you, Bella." he greeted, and she nodded.

"Good night, Rychon." she started down the incline while Rychon made his way up to his room, wondering. Sometimes, the way Falgon spoke was strange, and the way he addressed others was strange, but no one seemed to mind. But his thoughts went back to his story, why he was so different from everyone. That had to be the reason. The hardships of life had come to him sooner, than what was the norm. With some time gone, he reached his bed and set the cane down next to the table before letting Wink down on the bed and falling onto the mattress, watching the effects around his room while his pet sniffed and playfully grubbed at the silks covering the bed; the golden sheets and fiery orange curtains, the tapestries, the shield on the wall with their sigil, the carved wood animals on the shelf of the hearth, Panora's chair close to it, a small table in the corner which always held a bowl of fresh fruit along with a goblet and a pitcher with fresh water, and a vase holding wild flowers on the dresser. Their home, where he would wait out the days that followed, however long they were as each flowed into the next and days passed to weeks, of which most were spent inside the hold with maester Adlyn for his lessons and to to reassess the mending of his ankle where it was inspected and rebound regularly. On another cool, clear day Rychon stared at a book in front of him, open on the maester's desk where he tried to absorb the words, that depicted basic medical substances and its effects while the maester scanned his wares.

"What is Essence of Nightshade used for?" the maester asked.

"It has a calming effect. Often used to help you sleep." he replied, turning the page.

"Good. Milk of the Poppy?" he further tested him.

"For pain. Enough could put you under for cutting, if needed." Rychon replied.

"Boiling and warmed wine?" Adlyn proceeded.

"Boiling wine is to clear out wounds, while warmed wine is given to treat cold fevers." Rychon said.

"Ginko leaf?" yet another question.

"Light-headedness, and headaches." Rychon replied.

"Licorice in vinegar-" maester Adlyn started, and Rychon looked up.

"Am I studying to become a maester?" he asked only just hiding the frustration, and Adlyn smiled back at him.

"You are studying, to become the lord of Mount Ardor. Whom, must also have a respectable knowledge of medicines, and poisons." he replied, watching the bright eyes glance away in defeat.

"Tears of Lys?" he changed the questioning.

"A poison, it mimics illness." Rychon said, turning another page.

"Widow's blood?" Maester Adlyn asked.

"Named so for its colour. A cruel poison that attacks the stomach." he said, sitting forward in his chair.

"Wolfsbane?" there was a short pause, and then a part of Rychon's attention went to the maester.

"Wolfsbane... also a poison. It attacks the mind. Death is rather swift." the maester turned towards him, noting that his attention was wandering.

"Rychon?" he tried to return it to where it should have been, but saw the boy smile.

"Did you know, there are some people who are immune to poisons?" he asked excitedly, and then looked up.

"Yes, some do have that advantage." Adlyn agreed, coming over to stand next to the young lord.

"It's written here, that the Stone Crows from the Vale, the Cave Dwellers from beyond the Wall and the Stone Men of the Sorrows have been known to resist poisoning." he added, and Maester Adlyn scanned the names listed in the book.

"Well, they are rather fortunate to have that rare characteristic." he breathed, and then looked out of the window at the sky outside.

"We may continue this tomorrow, you are free to enjoy the rest of your day." Adlyn allowed, and Rychon stood happily taking the cane next to him to depart the maester's tower, and limped down the stairs to find Renko waiting for him at the arch, who escorted him down through the hold like before as time continued until the next visit to the maester. Other days were spent on the bench in the garden with Bella while the others played and Wink lay sprawled over his shoulders or curled up on his lap, and they would simply watch the sun set on the blue rim of the world sharing idle conversation as Renko kept his watch off to one side. He was grateful for the respite from training, for all it was worth. But frustrated as he had to acknowledge that it left his body pulsing with uncommonly retained energy, gradually suffused into his core since his first year in the woods with Falgon, and he wished for the opportunity to release his strains again, if not for his still inept foot. Right now, more than ever before, he wanted the labyrinth in the forest; the intricate movements, the need for instant reflexes, the speed he required to avoid the logs, and the satisfaction of touching the sword to each of the twenty seven target posts set all throughout the complicated twists and turns that made him both strong and fast.

"Rychon?" he looked up suddenly at the pretty girl beside him.

"Yes, Bella?" startled from his reverie, he answered without much thought.

"Are you al right? You're shivering." she pointed out to him, and he looked away again.

"I'm fine." he answered, feeling a bit flustered; but then felt her hand touch his face.

"You're warm. Maybe you should go inside?" she proposed, but he scoffed.

"I said, I'm fine. I'm not sick, just restive. I can't wait to get back to training." he told, and she sat back.

"I thought you liked your intermissions?" she stared at him, bringing an uncharacteristic irritation into his limbs.

"For a day or two at a time. Not three weeks. I need to get back, I need to run, I need to do something!" he pressed his hands to his face, trying to push back the heat to his cheeks with his cool palms. And by chance, for no particular reason, he heard the words of his father in his head. _You are a lord of the burning mountain, Rychon._ _You must a_ _ct like it..._

"I just... I need to get better..." he breathed, weighed down by a defeat so subtle but so paralysing.

"You will. I know you will, but I'm worried about you." he heard Bella next to him, and then looked up at her.

"Thank you, but I'm afraid your concern is wasted on me." he glanced at Berterin, attempting to hide from his brother behind a flowered shrub; wondering if the strange sensations still plagued him.

"Seems Gavin's given your brothers the day off, as well." he noted, and Bella followed his gaze.

"He's gone to Hillfield to coordinate the guards there on ser Austinus's request, apparently there have been some or another small problem. He should be back by nightfall." she reported, hearing him sigh.

"He shouldn't send the sentinels around. Their place is here." Rychon said, and saw the green eyes come back to his.

"It's barely half a day's ride from here. It's not so bad." she tried to ease him again, despite noticing the hardness in the blue stare.

"Still. The sentinels are the protectors of my family, not his hem and haw carriers." he scoffed, watching the light of the sun disappear and the world change to a rich rose blush.

"We will be al right." she tried again, and he took the cane from the bench beside him.

"I just hope, he doesn't do it again." he breathed, letting go of the notion that passed through his mind, then looked at Renko calling him over.

"Would you help me inside?" he asked, and Renko smiled as he offered his arm to help Rychon to his feet while Bella lingered a little while longer, watching as they slowly made their way down the garden path, returning to the halls, and reflecting on how her friend had changed. Somewhere between a man and a boy, well on his way to a fine lord and she found herself smiling. Then she looked up at the high walls of the sunstone keep, to the height of the sun tower where Claira sat at the head of the table in the Hollow with her sentinel in her shadow watching the world through the window; a number of scrolls lying on the table and another letter held in her hand as she absorbed the words written in her husband's hand, repeating the last words over and over again to memorize them and keep them in her heart.

" _I love you, my Claira. I long to hold both of you again, and hope that we may return home soon. Do not fear for us, and keep watching the stars for me, until they are replaced with our victorious banners._

 _Raeghun."_

She smiled against her hand, again hopeful and then heard a soft knock to the door of the counsel chamber.

"Enter." the door opened slowly, and her friend's face appeared.

"There you are. I've been looking for you." Milla said as she stepped through, and closed the door behind her before coming over and taking a seat next to her glancing at the letter as her eyes lit up slightly.

"You've received word from the men?" she asked eagerly, and Claira nodded.

"They're safe. And planning to push further westward, as they've had three victories. Ser Jaime remains their prisoner, and hopefully the Lannisters will resign before too long, and exchange their captives; then they can all come home." she told, folding the letter again. It was a sad thing that a father would not return, but with his son leading as the King in the North there was promise for success, and Milla breathed out in relief.

"That is some good news." she uttered, her eyes set on the dark wood of the heavy table as she recalled the memories, and the promises. Milla glanced at the other letters lying on the table.

"What do you make of the rumours?" she asked, hearing Claira sigh.

"A third of the kingdom believes it, another third rejects it, and the rest just doesn't care." she said, placing the letter on the table. They'd received a raven from Dragonstone, where lord Stannis Baratheon lay claim to the Iron Throne of Westeros, and demanded the support of all those who were not traitors to the true crown; branding the current holder of that seat as illegitimate, not being Robert's blood. Yes, all of the queen's children resembled her strongly... perhaps too strongly. But was that so strange? Rychon resembled his father, strongly. Except for his eyes...

"In which of those three parts do you find yourself?" Milla gently teased.

"Oh, for now I'm just hanging in the air." she breathed, looking up at Milla.

"I'll reserve my judgement for later." then she smiled at her friend.

"You said you were looking for me?" Claira reminded, bringing the light green eyes back to hers.

"Oh, yes. Jeody has asked if we may send a request to one of the nearby farms for mutton, potatoes, carrots and some greens. And perhaps to the fisher's village for fish?" she asked, and Claira nodded.

"Of course. I'll have the request issued in the morning." she agreed, feeling her friend stare at her.

"Have you been sleeping?" Milla suddenly asked, noting the darkness once again starting to form under the striking blue eyes.

"Yes... But, not enough." Claira confessed, and felt a hand on hers. It was difficult to sleep, without her husband where he belonged.

"Perhaps you may consider asking the maester for sleeping drops, or even essence of Nightshade?" she proposed, followed by a short thoughtful silence before Claira slowly nodded.

"I just might do that..." she agreed.

Another night had come, and the prisoners were mounting. In counsel with the lords, Robb was seated at the head of a table inside a sizeable pavilion while a captive was brought before him.

"You are ser Alton Lannister?" he directed, and the young man nodded.

"I am, your grace." he confirmed mannerly, almost timidly.

"I offer your cousins peace, if they meet my terms. First, your family must release my sisters. Second, my father's bones must be returned to us so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts beneath Winterfell. And the remains of all those who died in his service must also be returned, and their families can honour them with proper funerals." he put forth his conditions as ser Alton Lannister took in the words, then nodded.

"An honourable request, your grace." he returned respectfully, but then noticed the blue eyes staring at him solidly.

"Third, Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claim to dominion of the North, including the Goldfields of the Corridor. From this time until the end of time we are a free and independent kingdom." he added purposefully, with no fear or caution.

"The King in the North." ser Rodrik breathed with pride, the king at the head of their table once a boy he watched grow up to the man he was now.

"The King in the North." others agreed with them, honouring the man they chose to lead them into their future, but for a moment heedless of the ardent blue glancing at the young man in surprise.

"Neither Joffrey nor any of his men shall set foot in our lands again. If he disregards this command, he shall suffer the same fate as my father. Only, I don't need a servant to do my beheading for me." he warned, and ser Alton shuffled about nervously.

"These are... your grace..." he started, searching for words to continue as Robb Stark rose to his feet.

"These are my terms. If the Queen Regent and her son meet them, I'll give them peace. If not, I will litter the South with Lannister dead." The King in the North promised, and ser Alton stared at him for a moment longer, finally deciding on a courteous reply.

"King Joffrey is a Baratheon, your grace." he corrected politely, and Robb smirked at the words.

"Oh, is he?" he asked sardonically, met with another uneasy silence.

"You ride at daybreak, ser Alton. That will be all for tonight." he gave his last instruction, and the prisoner was led from the tent with the written terms in his hand to enjoy whatever rest he may for the night before setting out at dawn, and the attending counsel made their way from the tent, all except for Raeghun who remained a moment longer as he stood beside Robb in the silence that surrounded them.

"If I may, your grace? Why count our lands among yours?" he asked, still somewhat surprised at the addition to his terms, and Robb turned to face him with a sure smile.

"Not too long ago, you told me that you were more north than south. Your country, and your people will fall under the protection of the north. But, you will not be counted among my vassals, instead you will be known as my ally, equal in all rights." he explained, taking in the blaze of the blue eyes, the wonder changing to something else he wasn't quite sure of.

"Consider it my return, of your favour." he bid, suddenly realizing the emotion behind the burning eyes staring back at him. It was requital, above a graceful smile.

"Thank you." the words were soft, gentle and true. Then he left in silence, away into the shadows of the camp to find his friend in their shelters for the night, and Theon returned.

"A word, your grace?" he asked respectably, and Robb looked at him in the shadows of the soft light.

"You don't have to call me 'your grace' when no one's around." he eased him, and Theon shrugged.

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it." he said, and Robb smirked for the thought. The transition from Lord of Winterfell to King in the North, was very sudden; and already rooted in place like it was never gone.

"Well, that 'someone's gotten used to it." he mentioned indicating his friend, and Theon scanned the many faces moving about the camp with him.

"The Lannisters are going to reject your terms, you know." he cautioned, not convinced that they would simply yield to the terms set out to them.

"Of course they are..." Robb agreed, just as aware of the pride of the lions, and knowing that it was true.

"You can fight them in the field as long as you like. We won't beat them until you take King's Landing." he advised, feeling that his friend would take his advice.

"And we can't take King's Landing without ships. My father has ships and men who know how to sail them." he further added, noting the eyes staring at him, rather heedful of the proposal that would follow.

"Men who fought my father." Robb reminded, bringing back distant memories from a time his father had to leave the safety and comfort of the grey keep for the islands to the west; and when he came home with a frightened little boy whom was to be his ward, and who in time became his closest friend aside from his half-brother.

"Men who fought king Robert to free themselves of the yoke of the south. Just like you're doing now." he changed the thought, and Robb reflected on it for a moment.

"I'm his only living son. He'll listen to me, I know he will." Theon continued to urge, and then looked back at the shadows moving up and down the passages between the tents.

"I'm not a Stark, I know that. But your father raised me to be an honourable man. We can avenge him together." he added, and it seemed to resonate with the young lord. Revenge, was as dire a motivation as it was a powerful one.

"The Corridor has a fleet. I am sure, that lord Raeghun will authorise it's launch." Robb breathed, and Theon turned towards him.

"And how many ships, in this formidable ally's fleet?" he asked, the words not sounding entirely admirable, or friendly and Robb looked at him with yet another annoyed sigh.

"He's a good man, Theon. His people would tell you, he's one of the greatest that ever lived. And there are enough stories to support it." Robb said softly, recalling a particularly captivating tale from a lively jester that came to visit their hall one evening.

"I've heard some of them, too. Quite fitting, to have 'The Lion Hunter' in your company." Theon teased, and Robb smiled.

"It is known that he killed a lion in his youth, but he's never made a big event of it; or claimed any praise for it. Actually... he very rarely speaks of it." he thought, and heard his friend laugh.

"It must have been something remarkable. And it could only help us." Theon suggested, and Robb shook his head with another breath.

"Anyway, I'm not sure about their fleet. Not as extensive as the iron fleet, or the royal fleet, I suppose." Robb tried to calculate it. The westernmost port of Boatwright in the Corridor housed their ships, but exactly how many he couldn't tell.

"Make the suggestion to him, I will leave upon your instruction." Theon proposed, and Robb nodded, finally agreeing to the notion. But perhaps, it might be wise to consult with his mother on the offer first, and he moved away to seek her out while Theon sauntered off into the camp. Imagining their triumph in his mind, when he led their ships set on the capital, and their walls broke much in the same way that Pyke did years ago when he was taken from his home. He ambled on, lost in the thrumming of murmuring and muttering soldiers between the tents, and even more so in the fantastic dream of grey sails over the sea, the sparks of arrows through the air and the dark smoke filtering into the sky from the city around the Red Keep while men called out his name with pride. He was after all, lord Theon Greyjoy of Pyke. Last living son of lord Balon Greyjoy, and heir to the Iron Islands. His father would listen to him, their people will follow him... Then he looked up, focused on two tall dark haired men sharing the warmth of a fire, lost in their own conversation, but what exactly the topic of that discussion was, was left to the mind to debate. Robb would not give the order just yet, but perhaps he could stir him up a bit.

"Lord Taugere!" Theon called, and the tallest of the men turned to face him, his eyes almost luminous in the light of the flames.

"How many ships do you have?" Theon asked as he approached.

"Forty. Why?" he replied, uneasy of the sudden questioning.

"Only forty? Not much of a 'fleet' is it?" Theon laughed.

"We've never needed more. If you have a point to make, then do it." Raeghun said simply. They weren't islanders, they've never had the need for a large fleet. Those they had, were enough for whichever purpose they were set to.

"I intend to negotiate with my father on his grace's behalf, to send the Iron fleet to help take King's Landing once the troops head further south. Your ships may be expected to join ours." he informed, hoping for some incitement; but all he received was a placid stare.

"You are too eager for bloodshed." Berin cautioned the young man, so desirous of conflict.

"Bloodshed is the purpose of being a man. And we will see more before this is over. The best men shed the most blood in battle, as I'm sure you know-" Theon told them, straightening his back to seem taller, but not quite reaching the eyes that looked down on him. Then Raeghun moved forward, the blue burning into him.

"You think you're this great warrior, boy? Any one of my sentinels would so much as look at you before you ran for the hills, screaming like a girl." Raeghun directed at him, irritated for his blood lust, but realizing in his heart that the words he just said, were not entirely true. His sentinels, all of them were fierce, strong and brave men to be sure. But not brutal, bloodthirsty beasts. They were gentle souls...

"Your sentinels-" Theon tried to start again, but quickly silenced by the lord whom had decided he had enough of this current illusion of a green boy born a lord, his fantasy of being at the head of a powerful armada.

"Go back to your friend. Receive his order, and your father's affinity first, then we'll see. And not before." he advised, and then turned to retake his place near the fire, and the shadow behind him disappeared back into the night, feeling rather defeated. Berin examined his friend, looking down at the flames; not really understanding why he did so, not being in need of the fire for warmth.

"You're uneasy with this?" he asked, and the eyes finally came to him.

"I don't know if I trust him..." Raeghun breathed, but Berin smiled calmly.

"Robb appears to." he indicated, the close friendship the young ones shared too similar to what he had known for the last twenty four years of his life.

"That just isn't enough for me." Raeghun said, still annoyed. Not just for the youngster's truculent approach, but for the simple reason that he just could not find a liking for him, no matter how adept he seemed.

"If the order is given, we will send word to Earndale to prepare the ships. But, they will not move south before we are sure of the course." he decided, turning Berin towards him; understanding the trail of his thoughts.

"In the event this turns, our fleet could be easily overwhelmed." he heeded, seeing the shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

"I know... But by any chance, it might be enough to discourage them, at least." he hoped. Following a good bit of deliberation among the commanding members, the decision was made to send Theon to the Iron Islands to present his proposal to lord Balon Greyjoy of Pyke, including a message bound for Earndale to prepare and launch the Corridor's fleet. And by nightfall, lady Catelyn and the King in the North shared their own discussion in a secluded tent.

"You don't want Balon Greyjoy for an ally." she cautioned him, handing a wood goblet with water to him and taking another from the table.

"I need his ships, they say he has two hundred. Lord Raeghun has agreed to send for the launch of the Corridor's fleet, which currently consist of only forty." Robb replied, weighing the gains against the losses of such an offer.

"They say a million rats live in the sewers of King's Landing. Shall we rally them to fight for us?" she asked as she headed back to a pail near the door, holding fresh water collected from a close-by creek, annoyed that her advice had gone unheeded.

"I understand you don't trust Lord Greyjoy." Robb started, and she came back after dropping the ladle back into the water of the pail.

"I don't trust lord Greyjoy, because he is not trustworthy. Your father had to go to war to end his rebellion!" she reminded him.

"Yes. And now I'm the one rebelling against the throne. And before me, it was father. You married one rebel, and mothered another." he teased her, but she stared at him with an indifference to his words, and his humour faded.

"I mothered more than just rebels. A fact you seem to have forgotten!" she turned away from him.

"If I trade the Kingslayer for two girls my bannermen will string me up by my feet." he breathed, more than aware of their opinions.

"You want to leave Sansa in the queen's hands? And Arya? I haven't heard a word about Arya! What are we fighting for, if not for them?" his mother challenged him.

"It's more complicated than that, you know it is!" he returned, bringing his solid stare at her which lasted more than a moment in a drawn-out silence, then she sighed and sat down on a small chair.

"It's time for me to go home. I haven't seen Bran and Rickon in months..." she decided, rather not wanting any further part in this endeavour.

"You can't go to Winterfell." Robb said softly, bringing her eyes back to him in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?" she couldn't bring herself to process the words she had just heard from him, then he looked at her almost apologetically.

"I'll send Rodrik to watch over the boys. Because tomorrow, you ride south to the Stormlands." he instructed, and she sighed cursing life for its unwanted turns.

"Why in the name of all the gods would you-" she started, but his words silenced her.

"I need you to negotiate with Renly Baratheon. He's rallied an army of one hundred thousand, you know him, you know his family." he told, and she stood starting to walk away, again frustrated by the situation.

"I haven't seen Renly Baratheon since he was a boy. You have a hundred other lords-" he stood, and approached her.

"Which of these lords do I trust more than you?" he asked, and she stopped to look at him, anew realizing how much value he placed in her; how much he needed her.

"If Renly sides with us, we'll outnumber them two-to-one. When they feel the jaws beginning to shut they'll sue for peace, and we'll get the girls back. And we'll all go home. For good." he vowed, fully intending to keep his promise. Then she looked up at him, relenting to his request.

"I will ride at first light." she agreed, and then he held her with his mouth tenderly against her brow.

"We will all be together again soon, I promise." he told softly, and she smiled with a sure pride.

"You've done so well. Your father would be... proud." she praised, and he nodded as he turned to leave the tent.

"I will ask lord Willmon to send Rhegard with you as escort. Give lord Renly my regards." he said, preparing to vanish into the night before her voice brought his attention back to her.

"'King Renly'. There's a king in every corner now." she corrected him, and then looked back at him.

"Best that I try to get some sleep, it's an early start tomorrow." she suggested, and her son left her to the silence of the tent, wandering through the camp site to seek out the Grey Tom. After a while, he found him with his sons near the east edge of their encampment, surrounding a fire, and for just an instant he admired them. All of them. Their strengths, their skills, their loyalty, their family bonds, much like those he knew. Then he sighed and moved forward, towards the light of the flames and their attention came to him.

"Your grace, how may we be of service?" Gerald greeted, and he laughed.

"I'm glad you asked." Robb's eyes met the silver-blue of the lord of Pale Haven.

"I have a favour to ask." he told, and the elderly man nodded.

"Ask away, your grace." he allowed, and Robb glanced at Rhegard.

"I'd like to ask that your son Rhegard accompany my mother to the Stormlands, as escort." he asked, and Rhegard smiled.

"Of course. When do we set out?" he immediately agreed, happy for an assignment of his own from their ruler.

"At first light." Robb mentioned, and Rhegard looked back at his father.

"Well then, best I retire. It's a long way to the Stormlands." he said, and Willmon nodded.

"Very well, good night." he bid, and the youngest of their party vanished into the night to find his shelter.

"He's eager." Berin chuckled, and Gerald smiled with him.

"That he is, and he is a Tormont. Whatever mission he's given, he will complete." he added, showing the pride of their name.

"Thank you." Robb said.

"You're welcome. Was there anything else?" Willmon asked, and Robb sighed.

"No, that is all." he breathed, relieved. Rhegard was the best escort he could think of alternate to ser Rodrik Cassell of Winterfell; he was capable, and skilled. He would keep her safe.

"Sleep well, my lords." he greeted them, and they returned his fond greeting before returning to his own pavilion to retire for the evening while they continued to share the warmth of the fire for a little while longer over soft, and lighter conversation; simply sharing unforgettable events and memories of their homes before surrendering to the night. With sunrise, lady Catelyn Stark and Rhegard Tormont was seen leaving the camp towards the south, off to meet with the youngest of the Baratheon brothers in hopes of an alliance; and time was passed with further plans and small victories further to the west and south as they waited for their return, and one late evening as the men shared a light evening Raeghun sat in a pavilion with Berin at his side, and others surrounding them, for once being able to share ale for the first time in months. When not received to host, (which was more than often) their suppers mostly consisted of a collection of bland stews and broths with carrots, turnips, onions, mushrooms, sometimes potatoes if they had any; flavoured with a handful of salt meat. And drink was left to waterskins from the creek, after seeing that it was fit for consumption. When luck was theirs they would share from the 'gifted' barrels of wine, ale or mead. "Gifted" they called it, but for where they came from, it really couldn't be helped. A northern lord approached, and Raeghun looked up to recognise the young features of one of the Umber sons as he took a seat with them, seeming curious about something.

"Lord Raeghun, you've never made any secret of your deep affection for your family, especially for your wife. It is very well known throughout the kingdoms." he suddenly pointed out, fumbling his fingers in front of him, leaving Raeghun confused at the direction of his question.

"Why would I?" he asked, and the dark grey eyes came up to him.

"It has never occurred to you that they might use that against you? What's to stop a cloak from entering your hold and taking either of them? Or both?" he asked, and Raeghun smiled understanding his thoughts. Most people would hide their affections from the world, would hide their deep connections with their family for fear that they will be stolen away and held prisoner, harmed or assassinated. But he had the fortune of not having that fear, knowing his family was well shielded by their sentinels.

"They could try. I'd love to see them try, actually. Unlike my father, with Robert's Rebellion, I did not bring the entire force of the Corridor with me. Three thousand fighting men has remained behind to maintain my lands, and of course, their sentinels. Among them, one of my strongest has remained at her side." he assured, and the concern behind the grey eyes vanished into an easier affluence.

"Then that is good." he breathed with a smile. He found that it was concern, and relief that changed the eyes in front of him, as the facts were. They were distant family, but family they were.

Claira was seated on the small chair next to the hearth in Maester Adlyn's chamber, staring at him through a barely hidden disappointment. It had been months at the very least, but it didn't seem to improve at all.

"I am sorry, my lady." he apologised again, deeply regretful for the outcome.

"But maester..." she started, not knowing how she would persuade him otherwise.

"I cannot allow more than two drops of essence each evening." he again stressed, and her head slightly dropped. The sleeplessness left her irritable, and exhausted. The essence helped her fall asleep, but for some reason could not keep her asleep for any more than three hours at most; and even after her sentinel played his most gentle songs for her, she would be wide awake again by the time she reached her bed. Then she felt his hand on her knee as she looked up, noting him leaning slightly forward, the deep brown eyes staring at her attentively.

"Claira, you are so small. Any more, will severely affect your health, or even kill you over prolonged use." he explained softly, and she knew it to be true. He wasn't being malign, but took into consideration her well-being before her simple desires. She wasn't particularly short, but barely weighed above one hundred pounds.

"I understand... I just don't know what else to do." she replied, feeling the warmth of defeat in her cheeks.

"I try to keep myself busy during the day to tire myself out, hoping that it would last the night. But it doesn't matter when I retire, I'm always awake after midnight. Unable to sleep again, and it leaves me riled at everything." he sat back.

"You're not only physically exhausted, but mentally. This may also impact your ability to sleep as it increases your mind's activeness. You may be trying too hard." he mentioned, and her hands went to her face to drive away the heat.

"I've tried everything you've told me. It just doesn't work..." she breathed, forcing back a sob.

"I'm afraid, there's not much else I can do. Except, for you to continue heeding my former advices." he further urged, and then she took a deep breath before standing and smoothing down the front of her orange dress.

"Al right. Thank you for trying, maester." she left his chamber, back down the winding staircase to resume her embroidery in her common room with the other ladies and trying to bring calmness to herself as the maester had previously suggested. She proceeded to fill the vine leaves with shades of green stitching, while Wink lay curled up and sleeping between the items of their embroidery basket; and she severely envied the little creature. Being able to sleep so easily and so comfortably despite the clutter of cloths, threads, and even needles. Then she looked up through the window again, at a cloudless blue sky and the late shine of sunlight where somewhere in the woodland Rychon had resumed his training; and he finally fell down on the grass, breathless but elated.

"Very good, you're doing well. If I'm not mistaken, you're faster than before." Falgon praised, and Rychon laughed happily.

"It feels so good to run again!" he jumped up, starting his way back to the beginning of the labyrinth.

"Again." Falgon took his arm, smiling.

"Easy, now. I am pleased that you are eager, but catch your breath. There's enough time." he tried to calm him, and Rychon took a deep breath.

"I've been restricted for weeks, I need this." he said softly, and a powerful hand rested on his shoulder.

"I know. In a moment." Rychon forced another few deep breaths into his chest, feeling the pulses leave his body and then looked up into the dark eyes.

"Thank you, Falgon." he breathed, easily and then watched as the tall sentinel looked up at the sky.

"Two more runs, then it's time to go home." he advised, and Rychon nodded as he returned to the labyrinth, taking another deep breath as he composed himself, clutching the sparring sword in his right hand and leaning slightly forward as he once more absorbed the path through the angled shafts with the logs swinging across his way. _One, two, three..._ And then he sprinted forward, steps sure as he went - dodge, right, left, dodge, dodge, target, left, dodge, right, left, dodge, target, right, dodge, right, target... faster with each step as he drove himself on, his body throbbing with energy as he bound and twisted through the maze, the feeling coursing through his limbs as the intricate weaves ended and he stood looking up at the sky, once more breathing hard but with a smile.

"Well done, Rychon. You are improving remarkably." Falgon once again complimented, curious about the boy's sudden enhancement. Perhaps, it may have just been the extensive amount of time spent indoors that made him seem different now.

"It feels different..." Rychon laughed as he looked back, and Falgon stared at him.

"In which way?" he asked, and Rychon's eyes went back to the sky.

"I don't know." he confessed, and Falgon walked towards him.

"Your body has been well attuned to the exercise. Perhaps, we could increase our focus more on your senses, than your movements. It is equally important." he suggested, recalling that they had not used the cover over the boy's eyes since before his accident, and Rychon nodded.

"Al right." then he turned, heading back to the start of the maze.

"Once more!" he called back, and Falgon laughed.

"Very well. Once more." he agreed, and stood watching as the boy took his place at the entrance of the labyrinth before sprinting forward again, once more faster than the last time before he fell down on the grass, his chest heaving as deep breaths flooded his lungs through excited laughs, as if he were strangely intoxicated by the activity, and he recalled something from long ago, once very similar.

"Fine work, Rychon." he smiled, pleased with the outcome and then looked up at the sky.

"Time to go home." he walked forward, holding his hand to help the boy to his feet which he took and stood up.

"Do you think we can bring father here, when he gets back?" he asked eagerly, and Falgon nodded.

"I'm sure he'd enjoy that." he agreed, and then after retying the ropes that held the logs in place for the next session as always, they found their horses to start their way home, passing beneath the castle portcullis in the sheen of twilight as stable boys approached to tend to the horses and the gates were shut. They entered the hold, allowing the strains of the noon to leave them while they waited out what was left of the day before meeting in the southern hall for supper before returning to their chambers for the night, and Falgon retook his place in front of the hearth to resume a book, reflecting on the day past and how proud he felt that Rychon was improving so well, and ultimately how fond he was of him. And he imagined that this could have been what it was like to have children of his own, despite it being something that was never meant to be his. He smiled, in his own secrecy again absorbed in the will to teach him, to watch him grow, and to protect him should he need to. Then he looked up for a moment at the dancing flames, but it was curious that the heir's abilities spiked so dramatically in such little time. Befallen in these thoughts, he was heedless of the passing time until the chirping and tweeting of birds drew his attention to a lightening sky. Deciding to visit the bath chamber to cleanse, he set the book aside to tend to himself before redressing and heading up to the lord's wing to await his queen while the handmaidens passed him into the wing. With the lord absent, there was no need to wait outside for him to depart the wing before they could start on their chores. Rychon was the first to emerge with Wink hung over his shoulder, and following a fond greeting he hurried down to enjoy his morning with his friends before their morning meal would be served. He continued to wait at his post, and with morning light spilling through the far window that parted the arch to the maester's tower and the steps leading up the sun tower she stepped through the doors, dressed in a flowing forest green dress with wide sleeves and silver detailing, her hair held back with two braids from her brow, the remainder hanging freely down her back, and the Heart of Hope glinting on her chest.

"Good morning, your grace." he bowed to her, and she looked up at him.

"Good morning, ser Falgon." there was a darkness under her beautiful eyes, and he glanced at the doors.

"Perhaps you may consider resting a little while longer?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Tempting as that sounds, there are matters that require our attention. Shall we proceed?" she declined, folding her hands in front of her, and he nodded.

"As you wish, your grace." he followed her down to the kitchens where she met with Jeody on their morning meal, then passed the morning in the garden where the children played and he returned to the barracks until he was needed again. But an uncharacteristic disturbance from the inner bailey drew his attention, and he headed out to inspect the clamour; finding their master-at-arms looking rather defeated while most of the younger guards taken into their service not too long ago fooled around, laughing and wrestling. He moved forward, taking a place next to the elderly man.

"Problems?" he asked watching the frivolous boys, and heard the master-at-arms release a heavy sigh. It sparked an uncanny annoyance, to say the least.

"Those who have been here longer, are well in routine. But the boys are becoming sluggish." he confessed, and then looked up at the tall sentinel.

"I just don't know what to do any more. I can't intimidate them, and I can't offer them rewards for better efforts. I'm at a loss..." he breathed, watching as the warrior suddenly walked forward and took a place among the boys.

"Is this a game to you? You think this is some joke?" his deep voice destroyed the atmosphere of the bailey, and all attention came to him instantly as the yard was taken by an eerie silence and it grew darker, like a cloud passed in front of the sun.

"Run back to your fields if you wish, but I will not have this fortress guarded by a flock of arrogant little cocks like you! The safety of this hold and its people is more important than your ego's, however small they may be. If you can't do your part, gather up what you have and return to whatever you left behind. Those who remain will give everything, or face my steel." he gave his ultimatum as they stared up at him. His eyes searched them, hard and sharp, the darkness weighing on them like the inevitable fall of a hanging cliff.

"Make your decisions, I want a count at nightfall." he ordered before turning and heading back, while the guards swiftly resumed their training, abandoning the former levity. Falgon returned to Austinus's side, and he tried to smother a soft laugh.

"Inspiring." he said, watching as the young men finally fully clashed with sword and fist, intent on increasing their abilities.

"If this is play for them, they don't belong here. Should we be attacked, they need to know what to do." Falgon scoffed, and saw the master-at-arms look at him, almost with admiration.

"They're afraid of you." he concluded, and Falgon looked back at the youngsters.

"Really?" and then the elderly man finally chuckled.

"With good reason. You are 'the rock', after all. The man who faced a hundred alone, and came back without a scratch. Or so the story goes." he told, and Falgon had to sigh.

"They exaggerated completely, there were little over forty. And I wasn't alone." he tried to correct, and Austinus's attention went back to the training men.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever the count was, you did face it alone. Berin only went back for you after-" he started, and then fell silent as the deep voice met him, apparently not wishing to relive that morning.

"You're right. It doesn't matter. This, here, now is what matters." he determined, and then turned to head back into the castle.

"Receive your count at nightfall, ser Austinus. I trust you will have no further difficulties." he called back, and then vanished into the halls of the stronghold while from a window above, two sentinels watched the bailey having witnessed the recent interaction, finding it somewhat out of place.

"I have never heard Falgon speak to anyone like that..." Gavin said softly, glancing at Wymon beside him who leaned against the edge of the window, his arms folded in front of him.

"He's not prone to aggression. But, how much do we truly know about him apart from the fact that he is a skilled swordsman, and used to be a mercenary? We know nothing of him from before that. If pushed far enough, we have no idea of what he could do..." he reflected, recalling some of the tales that he's heard. One hundred men with all the kinds of weapons one could imagine, and not a single injury. If he was not a magical being, then he had to be that skilled. No one would ever come close to him in a real battle, Berin seemed to believe as much; and it was something satisfying that he was still around to protect the castle. That evening, ser Austinus received his count after three boys left, bringing their numbers down to seventy three.

It was late into the night, but the soldiers moved on silently under the dark starless sky, shielded by the rain and the rumble through the heavens. The scouts had returned with a report that a Lannister battalion was situated not too far off to the west where new recruits were training, and with their plans set and a very fortunate discovery by the King in the North's direwolf of a hidden mountain path, they'd made it as far as Oxcross. Gerald Tormont led his unit in a wide arch through the darkness, circling the enemy on the south side while the men of the Corridor did the same towards the North. For an instant, Robb's memory shot back to several nights ago, where he found the lord of the Corridor in a heated argument with a number of others, openly livid. The story of 'The Lion Hunter' had spread through their camp spiritedly, reaching the attention of those beyond their borders as well. These tall tales of his vehemence, of no less than nine lion heads adorning his dungeon walls, of the notion that he preferred these beasts as prey for its excitement were unwarranted, portraying him as someone he was not, and he had blamed whomever spread these rumours of using the misfortune of others to create their own. But to Robb's relief, following a discreet discussion with the Grey Tom he seemed to calm down. The story had gone too far to be withdrawn, and all he could do was to accept it, but continued to retain his displeasure of the falseness. He sighed, glancing at lord Willmon who held his position next to Robb as they slowly closed the circle, happy for the calm control he had. Their men had been given strict orders for silence, and were to await their signal before storming the enemy in a surprise attack. Robb scanned the area through the shadows, noting two enemy soldiers close by, and could even hear some of their conversation.

"... gone up against the Mountain? He's our biggest. He's our strongest." one told, somewhere in the darkness in front of them.

"Bulls are bigger than lions. Doesn't mean I'd pick a bull in a fight." the other replied, and they continued to listen.

"Oh, then pull our fangs and claws out, would ya?" the other teased, and finally a better vision came through the trees.

"Al right. The Mountain, our man Jaime if he ever gets out." the second soldier said as the first joined his friend on a log.

"Loras Tyrell?" he suggested another name, they seemed to compare well known fighters among them.

"Loras Tyrell? He's prettier than the queen." the other laughed, while they tried to fill their night. A night that might end too soon.

"I don't care about pretty. He's better with a sword than any of 'em." the first soldier reminded.

"How good could he be? He's been stabbing Renly Baratheon for years, and Renly ain't dead." the other said and laughed again, and Robb looked towards Willmon next to him; who simply raised a finger in front of his face. He confessed silently that he was impatient, but learnt that the advices of his commanders were invaluable, and so they waited. There was an unexpected sound from the horses in front of them.

"The horses seem a little spooked to you?" the second of the soldiers suddenly asked, coming to his feet.

"They're horses. They get spooked by their own shadows." the other replied, brushing it off simply as the nerves of animals.

"Shhh." the soldier hushed him, focusing on the woodland as Robb again glanced at Willmon, whom still held back.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, his hand reaching for his sword.

"No." the first replied, still unwilling to admit that they were not alone.

"There's something out there..." the second soldier insisted, and they leered into the rain drenched darkness, searching for what they could not see, falling into an ominous drawn out silence; the first searching intently into the shadows until the strain was broken by a sound that would scare a boar; and the second soldier laughed loudly at his own childish prank, the other soldier disgusted to the point of slapping the other.

"Oh, you're a right little prick!" he complained, feeling foolish for being so paranoid.

"You should see your face! I'd swear you pissed yourself." his friend teased, and then drew his sword half out from its sheath.

" _Halt! Who goes there? Ughhh!_ " he mocked, and then replaced the sword before moving forward. The first soldier looked back again, scanning deep into the darkness, the feeling that they were not alone more than just a vague sense.

"There is something out there..." he insisted, but his friend laughed.

"Yeah, don't even try me." he warned, preparing to relieve himself on the edge of the camp site. Once more Robb glanced at Willmon, who did not raise his hand in front of him again, but instead nodded. The time to move, had come.

"Brennick." the soldier called, further agitated at the shadows now suddenly moving, and growing through the trees.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" the soldier called back, but Robb secretly smiled watching the shadows merge into the open space.

"Brennick!" It was already too late. Grey Wind the wolf leapt from the trees, sinking long dagger teeth into the unprotected neck of the crimson clad soldier, the final sounds they would hear the agonised screams of foes under lord Greatjon Umber's deafening voice that sounded the call.

"The King in the North!" answered by the voices of the north.

"The King in the North!" they moved forward, devouring the camp site from all sides, and flooding it with enemy blood; and by morning there was little left but a devastated field with bodies, and the remaining injured who lay moaning and wailing. Robb walked amidst it all with lord Roose Bolton and the Grey Tom at his sides while the Silent Sisters performed their duties among the wounded. The fallen of the enemy, will be retrieved later.

"Another victory brings us that much closer to our goal, your grace. And with Stafford Lannister vanquished, I believe our enemies have been left disheartened." Willmon advised, and Robb smiled.

"We have more to thank for this, than simply luck." Robb breathed, and then looked at Roose.

"So how did we fare?" he asked, and lord Bolton nodded.

"Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours. If we were to keep all these prisoners, we'd have barely enough food to feed our own." Roose reported as they walked forward, inspecting what lay around them.

"We're not executing prisoners, lord Bolton." Robb rejected the idea that his advisor hinted at.

"Of course, your grace. The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to Tywin Lannister's plans." he suggested, and Robb sighed.

"I doubt it..." he said, looking around at the field and noting all the different people. Friends, and enemies.

"Well, we'll learn soon enough. In my family we say, ' _A naked man has few secrets. A flayed man, none._ " Roose hinted again, and Robb's attention went back to him.

"My father outlawed flaying in the north." Robb reminded as Roose turned towards him.

"We're not in the north." he said, clearly favourable to the notion.

"We're not torturing them." Robb refused the thought again, and lord Bolton stared at him, the light eyes distinctive of a warning.

"The high road is very pretty, but you'll have a hard time marching your army down it." he cautioned, but Robb's thoughts went to something more important than his whims.

"The Lannisters hold prisoners of their own. I won't give them an excuse to abuse my sisters." he told, and then his attention went to a girl struggling with a wounded man on the ground just a few feet away.

"No! Don't! Don't! Please!" the young man cried as his boot was removed from his wounded foot, revealing a severely infected injury.

"The rot set in." the girl informed, laying the boot aside.

"No, don't! No, don't!" the man pleaded once more, his hands covering the wound from her sight.

"Please, don't. It will get better. It doesn't even hurt!" he denied, but as gently as possible she forced his hands away.

"The rot will spread. If we don't take the foot now-" she tried to explain as Robb walked forward.

"No, you can't!" the man pleaded again, and then brought his eyes up to the young king beside him.

"Ser, no please! Ser, I can't lose my foot!" he begged as Robb knelt next to him, and the girl continued her work.

"You'll die if she doesn't." he told the young man, his hands clasping onto Robb's elbows desperately.

"I don't want to be a cripple, please!" he implored, while lord Bolton stood some feet away watching.

"Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub." he suggested, and the girl looked up at him.

"Your men, are not my men, my lord." she told, intent on finishing what she started. Robb continued to push the man down on his back as the girl took up a bone saw in her hand.

"Put this in your mouth, and lie down. You don't want to watch." he instructed, carefully shoving a rag between his teeth as his final plea was cut short.

"No, you can't!" Robb's hands held him firmly, refusing his rise from the ground.

"Bite on it. It's better than biting your own tongue, believe me." he advised, and endured as the desperate pleas altered into agonised screams only barely drowned out by the cloth while the saw deftly cut through flesh and bone, and Robb stared at the girl in utter wonder. Hours later, with the men mended and the last of the injured loaded onto a wagon for transport, Robb approached the girl who proceeded to gather up her instruments.

"What's your name?" he asked, but she continued not bothering to meet his eyes.

"It's Talisa." she said as she finished repacking her effects.

"Your last name?" he emphasised.

"You want to know what side my family fights on?" she asked, assuming the route of the questioning.

"You know my family name, you have me at a disadvantage." Robb said, and then she looked up at him again as he took her in. A beautiful young woman, with dark eyes, long dark hair, a slender face and entrancing features.

"That boy, lost his foot on your orders." she told him.

"They killed my father." he defended, and the dark eyes challenged him.

"That boy did?" she directed.

"The family he fights for." Robb indicated, and she replaced the last of her tools.

"Do you think he's friends with king Joffrey? He's a fisherman's son that grew up near Lannisport. He probably never held a spear before they shoved one in his hands a few months ago." she scorned, and he sighed.

"I have no hatred for the lad." she stood, bringing the strap of the wooden box over her shoulder.

"That should help his foot grow back." she said, attempting to imitate a sense of relief; then turned and made her way to a waiting cart.

"You'd have us surrender, end all this bloodshed, I understand. Then the country would be at peace, and life would be just under the righteous hand of good king Joffrey." Robb returned, and she doused her hands from a container with water, washing her hands from the blood and soil of the battle field.

"You're going to kill Joffrey?" she asked, and Robb stood a few feet away.

"If the gods give me strength." he said, a subtle vow in the words.

"Then what?" she asked, turning back to him.

"I don't know. We'll go back to Winterfell. I have no desire to sit on the Iron Throne." he shrugged, and she stared at him.

"So who will?" she asked, and again he shrugged.

"I don't know." in all honesty, he couldn't care much about what the southerners did with themselves, after he had attained what this war initiated for.

"You're fighting to overthrow a king, and yet you have no plan for what comes after?" she challenged, and he took a step forward.

"First we have to win the war." he reminded, and then watched as she climbed onto the back of the cart, knocking on the box at her side to signal that she'd finished her work and was prepared to move on.

"You never told me where you're from?" he called after her, and she looked up.

"Volantis." he grinned, holding back a soft laugh.

"Volantis? You're far from home." he watched as the cart slowly ambled on over the field.

"The boy was lucky you were here." he called again, having to admit that he found an irrefutable admiration for the brave girl who spent these days on fields like what they would now leave behind.

"He was unlucky that you were." she returned, and finally he laughed, taken by the lovely features and the deep brown eyes. Then he returned to the remainder of their men, starting to prepare to move again.

"We've gained good ground, perhaps we could consider falling back to regroup; plan our way forward." Gerald suggested as he walked with Robb back to their horses.

"Gained ground, but lost men as well." Robb sighed, and Gerald scanned the faces.

"The wounded will heal, we have spirited soldiers. With the ground we gained, we won time as well. I do not believe that lord Tywin will rush in on us, he knows where we stand, and where he does. He knows our strengths, and his weaknesses." he calculated, and Robb paused.

"True, but we only have so much. We'll allow the men time to mend, I just hope that the gods grant us the same." he said, and Gerald looked back at him.

"We've had four victories so far, moving ever further in on them. They will be foolish to meet us head on. With any luck they will bide their time, trying to outfox us rather than overpower us." he said, meeting the light eyes.

"And with what we have available to us, in all likelihood they would take their time in devising some kind of plan." Robb smiled, and they moved forward.

"If that is the most we can hope for, we will work with it." he agreed, joining the soldiers where they found the lords of the Corridor preparing to depart the battle field, yet again fouled by blood and grime but otherwise uninjured. They crushed the northern side of the enemy camp easily enough, the screams and battle cries the loudest and most terrifying they've heard, as 'The Lion Hunter' led his men into a clash, and fear ripped through the site; almost as invigorating as it was daunting, but they made it through. Raeghun looked at Berin after securing his great sword to the saddle of his horse.

"Is everyone accounted for?" he asked, and Berin nodded.

"Yes, including the fallen." he assured, and Raeghun sighed.

"Have preparations made to bury them before nightfall. How many wounded?" he asked, and Berin paused for a moment.

"One hundred and sixty two, but still able to ride." Raeghun nodded, and then noticed Robb to their left.

"They will be tended to, to the best that is available." Berin mentioned, and turned his attention to the young king as well.

"The mighty Hunter." Gerald greeted, met with a silent stare that did not entirely conceal that he was still irked with the term, but then he sighed turning his gaze to the youngster.

"The course, your grace?" Robb watched them for a moment, they didn't seem much different than what they were when they left the gates of the burning mountain. _Always forward, indeed..._

"We fall back to the camp to regroup, tend to our men, plan our way forward. We might even make it to Harrenhal before too long." Robb informed, looking around.

"Good." then Raeghun looked at Berin again.

"Take the lead of our men; have Colbert and Derric with the wounded." he instructed as he mounted his black warhorse.

"Where are you going?" Robb asked.

"I'll circle the field with Saerus, and then we'll follow." he said, and then urged his horse forward to find the sentinel as Robb watched.

"That's interesting." Robb breathed, the figure growing smaller over the field.

"An old custom. For ages, the Lord of Flame would be the first to meet a battlefield, and the last to leave. They would lead their men to war, but only follow them home." Berin told as he took hold of his reins to mount, and noticed Gerald seeming rueful.

"He still doesn't like the name." He might not get used to it, and it might be better not to address him with it in the future.

"It was my fault, I shouldn't have brought it up." Robb quickly pardoned, intending to apologise to him for this later, when all was done.

"He is a great man. But our people respect him for who he is, not simply for his title." Berin sighed, and Robb looked at him.

"He is lord Raeghun Taugere, of Mount Ardor." Robb said, acknowledging that he knew exactly whom he was, but saw Berin smile.

"Who you are, is more than your name. Once the fighting is done, and you are on your way back home; you will find a farm just a league past the Honeysuckle Inn. Ask that man, why he loves his lord." Berin suggested, bringing the intention to the young king that he might just do that, and he watched as The Crimson Knight mounted his own horse.

"Was there anything you needed, your grace?" Berin asked, and Robb shook his head.

"No, we'll meet you back at camp." he excused, and Berin proceeded to move off to their waiting people to lead them back.

It was another deep night, darker than most as the sky was shielded with heavy clouds. Claira sat in her common room, away from others just watching the flames of the hearth. Again, she could not find sleep. She'd retired to bed quite early, but as always woke barely past midnight; and wish and curse as she wanted, sleep would not come again. She wondered why she found it so difficult, but attributed it to her empty bed. It was cold, and lonely, with her husband not where he must have been, and the warmth she had was little more than a memory in spite of keeping his letters close to her, stowed in a small basket on the table next to her bed. For a moment she envied her best friend as well, who must have found it easier. She was used to it, as her husband would be away from her side many times. She found herself with envy for everyone, that endured their nights with a better degree than she could. She listened to the thundering of the storm outside, only vaguely aware of the silver light that occasionally shadowed the room from the skies outside, rather focusing on the dance of the flames and the smell of ocean rain; wondering where they were and if he missed her as much as she did him. Not too long ago, the description of 'The Lion Hunter' met her ears, and she rejected it for the fables of drunk soldiers. But, one small relief was that the children were at ease, and continued their days like any other despite the long wait. Her hand went to her face, dousing a sudden rush of flames across her right cheek. _Please come home... Please..._ She tried to imagine him with her again, with his arms around her waist and his mouth to her cheek, wanting the heat for his touch rather than the building tears that would plague her. She breathed deeply, allowing the free air and salt smell to fill her, and then noticed a bitterness to the scent. The smell of leather.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she asked softly, and then heard the sure footsteps approaching.

"Shouldn't you, my lady?" the soft voice returned, but instead of facing the light grey eyes of her sentinel, she turned away from him.

"I can't sleep. Not with... Not with this storm." _Not with my husband away..._ would have been a truer answer, but she thought better of revealing such things to others, and the storm certainly didn't help.

"It's long past midnight. It might be better, to return to your chambers." he advised again, softly coming closer to where his hand rested on the backrest of the chair she sat on.

"I'd rather not upset my son, wandering around like a ghost." she replied, again not a completely honest truth, and it left her wondering why she chose this seat to spend the solitude of her nights for the past two weeks. Perhaps, when the sun rose, she would see the banners over the horizon? Nothing she did made it better, nothing she dreamed stayed longer than a fleeting moment, nothing she wished released her from the emptiness that surrounded her heart. But perchance, the dawn would bring something different... Then he knelt next to her, watching her intently.

"It's cold here. Shall I fetch a quilt for you, my lady?" he asked, and she sat back into the furs with a heavy sigh.

"No, I'm fine. You may return to the barracks." she told, and then looked up to meet his eyes as Wymon gently smiled.

"My lady, you shouldn't be left alone." his hand came down to the armrest, barely a few inches from her own.

"I'm not alone..." she denied it, cursing the hollow words that left her lips as his eyes remained on hers.

"It's been months, of course you're alone. Or at least, you're lonely. I wish there was something more I could do for you." he breathed, only for a moment glancing away at the dying lights of the hearth.

"Kind as your intentions are, there is nothing you can do." she said, the hollow tune of the words remitting a sombre bitterness and then she looked at him.

"You have heard the stories, I assume?" she asked, and he smiled gently.

"Your husband, our lord, is a fine warrior my lady." he praised.

"It's not true!" then the smile slowly diminished.

"It's not true... My husband is not violent. He doesn't enjoy conflict. He's not a mindless, murderous savage... Yes, he is strong and brave; but he is kind and gentle... He is good..." she told him as the tears came to her eyes and her voice rose to hide a sob, trying to change what everyone heard of him. But he nodded.

"I know... I know. We all know." He assured, trying to comfort her shaken heart. Of course they did, they all served in his house. They all knew how he was, who he was. Then his hand softly lay on hers.

"Lady Claira-" suddenly she stood, escaping from his condolence and making her way to the open window where the rain all but drowned the world, her arms folded across her chest.

"Please... Please go. You need to rest... These are long days, and they're only becoming longer... You need to go... You have to sleep..." the emptiness eluded that her emotions had taken hold of these nights, and he realized that her arms were not crossed for annoyance or frustration, but the warmth she so longed for; had he only noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. He stood and followed her, discarding the promise she had once made him. _Falgon may take both my hands, I don't care..._ He slowly brought his hands up, and gently lay them on her shoulders, absorbing the cold that passed off her ivory skin, and carefully stroked her arms to relieve the tremors, whether from the cold or the silent cries he couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It will be al right. They'll make it back home." he soothed, bringing his body close to hers to try and share what little warmth he had to offer. No man would ever be as warm as her lord, but this little bit he could give. Just something to calm her tattered being, but for the madness he wished for in that moment. Then he moved away, deciding that it would be best suited to part.

"Come, I will escort you back to the lord's wing. You need sleep more than I do." he urged, but she didn't move; and he found that she shivering had stopped, even her breath seemed to slow as she stared through the window and a single flash of silver lit the bay.

"Ships... Why are our ships in the bay?" she whispered, and he stepped forward to share her view of the dark waters in Blazewater Bay far below as another beam of light cut across the sky, and he noticed it too. At least three forms floated on the stirring bay, long bodies of black and grey and the realization struck him.

"Those aren't our ships..."


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20 – THE STORM

It was an easy morning on the Riverlands, with a lighter atmosphere over the northern army. The greatest of the clashes had ended, but they continued to acquire other small victories by relinquishing the western forces of livestock and other resources as they slowly pressed on to the south while waiting for word from their remaining proposed ally as the other was lost. With the death of Renly Baratheon, there was less hope of bolstering their forces. But, the soldiers greeted their king warmly as he passed, inspecting the conditions and well-being of their camp, mostly seeming to be in good order.

"There have been several raids, and counter-raids over the southern fields, but likely nothing more than to test our resolve. We'll be able to move on soon enough, and with our luck thus far, with little difficulty as our foes display less fervency in their attacks. And our wounded are mending well." Gerald reported from his left side.

"That is fine news. It is good to hear that our men are not losing heart in this." Robb agreed, and Gerald smiled.

"Most would sooner lose their limbs, than their heart. We all share this plight, this reason, this goal. And we will meet it, whether it be in victory or hell." Gerald said, and Robb chuckled for the irony. _In Victory, or to Hell..._ In the field far to his right, he noticed a unit of soldiers led by lord Rames, whom had just rejoined their forces, returning from one of their nightly operations while his men drove a relinquished herd of sheep into a temporary corral. There was indeed no scarcity of heart among those following him.

"Well, this is where I leave you for now, your grace." Gerald greeted before moving off, in search of something or someone, and then his attention settled on the girl sitting on a fallen log with a parchment in her hand, and Robb smiled approaching her.

"Lady Talisa." he called for her attention, and she looked up with a soft smile.

"Your grace. I'm not sure I'm a lady. Westerosi customs are still a bit foreign to me." she returned his greeting modestly, and he thought for a moment.

"It's hard to keep all the rules straight. But if I remember my lessons, a woman of noble birth is always called a lady. Unless she's a queen, or a princess... I could find someone who knows." he lightly teased as she stood to face him.

"Why are you so sure I'm of noble birth?" she asked, trying to conceal a smile.

"Because it's obvious." he told, taking in her posture and fine language, and of course the written message held in her hand. Clearly traits of a formal education.

"What if I told you my father sold lace on the long bridge, and my mother, my brother and I lived with him above our shop?" she hinted at a more mediocre existence, one he instantly cast off.

"I'd call you a liar." he replied immediately, not even pausing to question the notion, and she stared at him for a moment hiding a blush.

"Not very noble, to accuse a lady of dishonesty." she directed, and then he smiled as he nodded, indicating that she had just revealed her trueness. Then the hidden smile became a blushing laugh.

"I always thought I was a brilliant liar." she confessed, and he lightly shrugged.

"You're better at amputations, I'm afraid." he corrected her, and they shared a small easy laugh as he glanced around at the green field surrounding them.

"Quite a pretty spot." he mentioned, and she agreed taking in the enamouring scenery that was so out of place for the situation they found themselves in.

"Will we be here long?" she asked, in all honesty not relishing the thought of abandoning the lovely field, but his eyes came back to hers.

"I couldn't really discuss troop movements with you." he declined, as politely as he possibly could without offending his lady.

"I'm not a spy." she quickly denied, and he remained smiling.

"Of course, a spy would deny being a spy." he again lightly teased, bringing the lovely smile he enjoyed to see.

"You're right, you've found me out. I'm writing a letter to the Lannisters 'the young wolf is on the move." she teased back, unrolling the parchment in her hands and playing the role, then they both shared a small easy laugh again, before he took a step closer. He felt comfortable with her, and could name her a friend despite only knowing her a number of weeks.

"Perhaps you'd join me. If you've got time, of course." he suggested, again taking in the gentleness of her lovely face, the soft curves of her beautiful smile and the deep brown eyes.

"Robb?" a familiar voice drew his attention, and he looked back to see his mother, lady Catelyn Stark standing behind him along with Rhegard Tormont and a stranger he did not know. A tall woman with short blonde hair, stern unfeminine features but elegant blue eyes, garbed in sturdy hard armour.

"Mother." he greeted warmly as he raised his arm to her.

"Thank you, lord Rhegard. You may take your leave." he thanked as he smiled.

"You are very welcome, your grace." Rhegard bowed to him, and then left to seek out his own family to reunite with them, and Robb looked back at his mother.

"Mother, this is lady Talisa. She's been helping with the wounded. She's been very... helpful." he introduced, choosing the most suitable word.

"Lady Talisa." Catelyn acknowledged the girl, whom graced her with a sure nod.

"Lady Stark." she returned, while the lady of Winterfell stared at her.

"Lady Talisa?" she waited for more, and the girl finally looked up.

"Maegyr." she replied, while in her mind Catelyn brought up every noble name of this continent, having to admit it was not familiar at all.

"Maegyr... Forgive me, I do not know this name." she confessed, watching the pretty foreign girl in front of them.

"An uncommon name here. An old name in Volantis." she told, and then her attention drifted, seeming to would rather set her hands to something different.

"Excuse me, my lady. Your grace." she pardoned, and they watched as she moved off and disappeared between the tents, before Robb finally returned his attention to his mother with a smile just hiding the nervous pull at his lips.

"I've missed you." he said, guiding her back through the tents and she returned his smile, amused at his unnatural dismay.

"Yes. You look positively forlorn." she teased, scanning the camp site of the many different faces, countrymen and neighbours.

"You surprised me, that's all. I didn't think I'd see you today." he excused as he turned, his eyes again going to where the lovely girl disappeared between the shelters, and he heard his mother sigh softly.

"I wish that you are free to follow your heart." and it was true, to have the freedom to marry for love was a rare thing, especially for the high-born. Only a few were able to make that choice for themselves, The Grey Tom and his oldest son being two of the handful she knew.

"I know..." he muttered, his thoughts going to the day they were granted passage over the bridge.

"You have inherited your father's responsibilities. I'm afraid they come at a cost." she reminded him, and his eyes came back to hers.

"I know..." he repeated as she stared at him.

"You are promised to another. A debt that must be paid." she further added.

"I haven't forgotten." he assured, his voice soft and controlled despite the subtle ache in his chest, and then a figure appeared next to them seemingly with an urgent anxiety.

"Your grace. My lady. News from Winterfell." he called for their attention, and the darkness of his demeanour settled over them as well as he herded them to a tent where already, the lords of the Corridor were in a heated discussion which could not bode well.

"If my family, my country, and my people have been compromised in any way, I cannot simply wait here for news of the worst." he heard the Lord of Flame as he entered into the shadow of the pavilion.

"The word from Mount Ardor is that they were passed, and the gates have been ordered closed. It may be safe to assume that they are unharmed. The reports stated-" it was Lord Umber that tried to persuade him otherwise.

"If there has been word, you believe that all is well?" Berin challenged, equally vexed as the bright eyes watched them, burning as always.

"I'm saying, that there is no proof that they are in any immediate danger." he tried again.

"Immediate danger?" then Raeghun looked at Robb, staring at him.

"What's happened?" he softly asked, and Raeghun turned towards him.

"You haven't been told?" he asked, glancing at lord Bolton just behind him. He turned to him and took the letter, unrolling it and reading the message several times as he took a seat, the others waiting for him to accept the words.

"This cannot be true." Robb breathed as Roose took a place beside him.

"We've had ravens from Earndale, Longdale, White Harbour, Barrow Town and the Dreadfort. I'm afraid that it is true." he confirmed, glancing at Raeghun for a moment.

"I have to go back." he again insisted, starting for the entranceway to the pavilion with Berin trailing, but Roose sat back.

"There is no need. The Corridor has been left largely untouched, save for the fleet." he further reported, once more bringing the bright eyes to his as Robb looked up.

"Why? Why would Theon-" he questioned it as lord Bolton returned his attention to him.

"Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores." he told, and Raeghun scoffed. _I was right, not to trust him..._ His eyes were on the outside world, every instinct screaming to return and defend his own people.

"But it seems, they specifically targeted the North, knowing that the Corridor would remain well defended." Roose added.

"You would have me abandon my people?" Raeghun asked, and lord Bolton's eyes met his solidly.

"Your people are safe, it seems that the patrols you have set out is doing its job. The Ironborn were more set on the north than the Corridor." he told, and Robb looked up.

"My brothers?" he asked, and the lord paused for an instant.

"We've heard nothing of them. But Rodrik Cassell is dead." he reported softly, and lady Catelyn turned around sharply.

"I told you, never trust a Greyjoy!" she called out, and Robb stood preparing to leave, following the same notion as his ally.

"I must go north at once." he decided, drawing Roose to his feet to follow.

"There is still a war to win, your grace." he reminded, and Robb turned back.

"How can I call myself king if I cannot hold my own castle? How can I ask men to follow me if I can't-" he started, but the stony stare silenced him.

"You are a king! And that means you don't have to do everything yourself!" he told, and then looked at Raeghun as well.

"And you have several fine lords under your command, send one of them back if you must, but we need you and your men here." he directed as Catelyn moved forward.

"Let me go and talk to Theon." she suggested, and then Robb looked at her, the glint of fury in his eyes almost as daunting as those of the lord of the burning mountain.

"There will be no talk, he will die for this!" he vowed, and Roose approached.

"Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew. Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon. We have the Lannisters on the run. If you march all the way back north now you'll lose what you've gained." he advised, his eyes brighter than before.

"My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon's head." he said, and Robb took a deep uneasy breath.

"Tell your son that Bran and Rickon's safety is paramount. And Theon, I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why, and then I'll take his head myself." he told, and then Roose looked at Raeghun again.

"You said your strongest is watching over your family. We need you, and your men." he insisted again, making the ardent eyes look away from him in silence. _Stay, or go..._ Then he turned, heading outside with Berin at his side.

"The plan?" he asked, and Raeghun scanned the faces.

"Find Garrett. He and his men ride for Earndale immediately." he decided, praying that this was the right choice.

Claira stood watching the bay from the window of her common room, the waters left barren for a number of days. It was late afternoon and quiet, perhaps too quiet. The moment the ships were discovered, Wymon delivered her back to the lord's wing before seeking out maester Adlyn, and ravens were sent to their stewards at once to post parties of experienced archers along their northern coast, and the morning after a message arrived from Earndale that the fleet was near to completely destroyed and a great deal of those who manned the vessels lost, targeted as the ships from the Iron Islands passed them. Two or three small groups attempted to land on their shores, but by cause of the patrols did not make in further inland than a couple of miles. The gates were ordered shut except for deliveries, and otherwise for her son's training which have lessened somewhat for the perceived threat, but when they could they still kept to practice in the bailey with the others. She glanced down, wondering if her husband knew what happened, and then sighed. Of course he knew, how could he not? Nothing that happened on their lands were beyond his hearing, and she thought whether he would return himself to deal with the threat, or send someone else. But then confessed, even only to herself that he had a greater role to fill, than hammer down on these insignificant harassments that the remaining men were quite capable of handling, and it seemed obvious that the Goldfields were not their primary objective, and the incursions they've had thus far were only the raiders testing their luck, which to their fortune appeared to remain degraded. This was not reason enough for her husband to return home...

"Aunt Claira?" she turned, finding Bella behind her and she smiled.

"Bella, my dear. Do you need something?" she asked as she faced her.

"No, I just came to ask the same of you. Can I have some tea brought to you?" she asked, and Claira softly laughed. She'd been drowned in her thoughts so often lately, she barely noticed the world around her.

"That is very kind of you. I'm sorry for being so distracted, it's just that..." she started, and Bella took her hands.

"It's al right, I know." she comforted, and Claira returned the gentle pressure of her hands. She was grateful for her family, whom were so supportive. Bella examined her, the darkness under her eyes so blatant against the pale of her ivory skin.

"You still haven't slept much." she noted, but Claira smiled.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Once the men are back, everything will return to normal." she hoped, and Bella nodded.

"I hope it won't be long." she said softly, and the lady knew that she missed them just as much as she did. The world felt empty and silent, and dark without their presence. What they had were only the memories until they came home, and Bella moved back.

"I'll call for the tea. My mother is having the southern hall prepared for this evening." she told.

"Thank you." Claira breathed and Bella left the common room while Claira took a seat in her chair. Many have proposed that she restrict her activities, to bring ease to her withered senses, and she hoped that a cup of warm tea would help. The chair was soft and warm with its many furs, and again she felt herself floating on the river of memories as the fireplace chattered and splintered in the heat. A gentle tingling spread over her body as she drifted in the ambience until a shadow darkened the world around her, and she looked up to see a man standing against the wall, clad entirely in black, a hood cast over his features. He was smiling, and she realized she did not know him. He wasn't one of their guards, or in any order of their castle, and the gentle tingling became a stinging mass over her. She stood and stepped back as he came forward, not a sound from his steps. _An assassin?_ She tried to call to someone, anyone near by but found that her voice had left her, possibly from the fright, and he remained smiling as he walked calmly forward, still with no sound or even a spoken word. _Run! You have to run!_ She made for the door, and in an instant he stepped in front of her wrapping his arms around her in a secure hold, and her chest ached as she breathed, attempting to force a scream from herself as the gloved hand came over her face, a hand too large to be anywhere near natural as it closed over her mouth, nose and eyes; veiling the world in a darkness blacker than their deepest night. But she screamed, desperate for release. _Raeghun! Help me!_ Powerful hands took her shoulders, and the vice around her body vanished. Her eyes opened to register the dark stare taking her in.

"It's al right, I'm here." he soothed as he knelt in front of her, and her arms went around Falgon's shoulders.

"There's someone in the castle! Someone else was here!" she told, the ragged breaths filling her chest.

"There was no one here, your grace. You were asleep." he tried to correct her, but her arms grew tighter.

"There is someone in the castle! I saw him! I saw him!" she insisted, and his hands rested on her shuddering back.

"Al right. We'll have the castle searched." he agreed, and looked back at another standing in the doorway staring at them as she still shivered in his arms; frightened to the point of tears.

"Wymon, take twenty guards and search the hold. Every corner from the crown to the tombs." he instructed, and the sentinel nodded as he left down to the barracks to find his group. Falgon pulled slightly back from her.

"Your grace-" suddenly her arms tightened again.

"Please, please don't leave me. Please..." he held her again, perplexed that she could be this terrified from a dream, and then heard softer footsteps approaching before suddenly stopping.

"Did something happen?" Bella anxiously asked coming inside to set the tea on the table, and he paused.

"Her grace was asleep, it seems that she had a particularly frightening dream." he explained as Bella watched them.

"I saw him..." Claira whispered again, and Falgon looked up at Bella while still holding her.

"Lady Bella, have you seen anyone in the castle that you did not recognise? Anyone who does not belong here?" he asked, and she thought bringing every face into her thoughts.

"Not that I know of. Besides, the gates have been mostly shut for a number of months, since the lords left south." she said, but it nagged at her that someone might have been able to slip in with a shipment meant for the stables, the kitchen or their maester.

"Where is Rychon?" Claira asked, looking up.

"He's in the bailey, with Gavin and my brothers." Bella reported, still staring at their lady who remained distraught and clearly shaken. What kind of dream could do this? It was as if she truly suffered a shocking occurrence.

"Would you be so kind as to ask him to come up?" Falgon asked, and Bella nodded before leaving to find him, and Falgon drew back as he examined her again. When he came up, she was asleep in front of the hearth, and he had decided to leave just a moment before he heard her scream and rushed back. There was no one there, yet she had a firm belief that she was attacked by someone, and it still showed in her eyes.

"Your grace, I promise that there was no one else here. It was just a dream." he softly told her, and she stared without seeing, her arms still quivering as her hands held his shoulders.

"But... But, I saw him..." then she looked up at him, a questioning in the blue that almost made him feel guilt.

"Am I going mad?" she whispered, and he gently smiled as his hands stroked her back compassionately.

"No. But you are exhausted, and it is taking a toll on you. A heavy one." he said, wondering if there was anything he could do to make her feel more at ease. Anything in the world.

"I don't know what to do, Falgon... I want to sleep, I want to go about my days as normal; I want to just pass each day as the last until he comes home... But I can't. Nothing is helping me, nothing is calming me enough, not the quilt, not the aids, not your songs, nothing... I don't know what to do..." and he held her again, rocking slowly as she softly cried into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I wish I could help you. But..." then she breathed out, wiping the moisture from her cheeks.

"I know. I know you're trying, all of you. I'm sorry for being so difficult." and she pulled back from him.

"It was a dream... But it seemed so real..." She had called to her husband, knowing he was not here... Exhaustion had that effect, it could cloud your mind when awake, and create vivid dreams in the vulnerability of sleep. And with her husband away from her side, she felt severely vulnerable. Exposed, and unprotected. And in spite of knowing the loyalty of those sworn to protect her, every knowledge in the world could not change the way one felt, and there were some things that could not be controlled regardless of every wish or want to. All he had to offer, was his promise.

"Do you remember my first promise to you?" she stared at him, the tears coming again as she took another shivering breath, recalling his words that night, as clear as his unique eyes looking back at her. _I will never allow any harm to come to you._

"I do. I do remember." she assured, and one last time he held her close to him.

"Never let go of that promise. Never forget it." her fingers strained against the leather over his chest, and for a moment she felt better.

"Thank you, my Falgon." she breathed against him, covered in his ease and then he drew back.

"Have some tea, your grace. Before it gets cold." he suggested and she sat back, looking at the tray next to her on the table. With shaking hands she poured the tea into a cup, and used a small straw to stir honey with the liquid, and brought it to her mouth. Soon after, Rychon entered the room.

"Mother?" he watched her, and she looked up willing the previous fright away.

"Rychon, my sweet..." she replaced the cup on the table as he moved forward, kneeling in front of her with Wink hung on his shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Oh, nothing. I just... I needed to see you." she whispered as his hands took hers.

"I'm al right." he assured, and she laughed feeling silly.

"I know. I know you're al right, you are your father's son..." she saw so much of him in her son. In a certain way, he looked exactly like him save for his eyes that were hers. He stayed with her for the remainder of the afternoon until they were called to the southern hall to sup on poultry roast with greens and apple pie, and the children left the hall to return to their chambers for the night while the ladies lingered a little while longer as Claira shared that Rychon had chosen to spend more of his nights alone, giving Panora freedom to enjoy her days with peaceful evenings. A guard then came from the doors, lowering himself next to their lady to deliver a message; and with new fright in her chest she stood and followed him, asking Milla to have the hall cleared. They entered into the Hall of Fire, finding Falgon and Wymon with his party at the base of the grand staircase with a stranger, clad entirely in black. She stopped, staring at the man on his knees surrounded by her guards, and then Wymon looked back at her before stepping aside.

"My lady, is this the man you saw?" he asked, and she carefully came closer. She did not recognise him at all, the hazel eyes staring back at her with absolute horror.

"I... I don't know..." she said softly, and then looked at her sentinel.

"Where did you find him?" she asked, and Wymon glanced back with a contented grin.

"In the stables, under the hay." she examined the man on his knees, lean and pale and withered. Possibly a commoner. Wymon turned towards him again.

"So, why were you hiding?" he asked, but was met with silence as the eyes darted to him and Wymon approached him.

"Why were you hiding?" he asked again, and the trespasser looked down.

"Give him to the jailer as an intruder. He'll have more questions answered than you would." Falgon told, and Wymon glanced back with a shrug.

"Very well." the soldiers closed in, preparing to haul him away when his hands came up in defence.

"No, wait! Wait! Please, wait!" he suddenly pleaded, and glanced at the lady.

"I was hiding, because... I... I stole from the kitchens... and..." he started to tell, and suddenly Falgon walked forward towards him. The mass towering over him, and a shadow filling the hall.

"You're lying." he indicted, and the man stared at him as he came closer, utter fear showering him like the water from a fall. The tall sentinel's hand wrapped around his throat, and hauled him up into the air effortlessly, the stranger's hands wrapping around his wrist to relieve the pressure as his feet dangled and kicked well above the floor.

"Now again, where are you from, and why?" he asked, and the man gasped. The dark eyes cut into him like heated daggers, and he could only think of one thing to compare it to, splintering every sense into little more than dust.

"South of here... I was paid... Only to watch... Only to watch... I swear..." the fingers tightened painfully.

"To watch whom?" he asked as the spy strained.

"The lady... and her son..." he revealed, his fingers still straining and clawing in vain at the armoured wrist.

"A threat on the lady of Mount Ardor's life, or that of her children, is an instant death sentence." the intruder dangled in the air, his skin darkening.

"I wasn't... told... to do anything... Just watch... Just watch... I swear..." and Falgon sighed.

"Well then, I will leave the choice to you which to send back to your master. Your eyes, or your tongue." he released the man who fell on the floor hard, gasping and gagging for air.

"Take him to the vaults." Falgon ordered, and three guards dragged him away to the door leading down into the earth.

"No, wait! Please, wait! Please! M'lord, please!" he begged and pleaded, his voice dying away into the depths under the hold.

"I am no lord. I am not at liberty to grant mercy." Falgon confessed, but softly like he spoke to someone next to him and the darkness vanished from the hall.

"That might have been harsh..." Claira whispered as she approached him, and the dark eyes met hers.

"What do you suppose would happen, if he informed any enemy of your habits, your routines, and that of your guards?" he asked, and she looked away from his stare. It was true. They would wait for the opportunity, and either she or her son will be taken. Or both... He approached her, still looking down at her.

"My purpose is to protect you, and I will. At any and all costs." he reminded her, but against her great gratitude for her people and their fierce commitment to her and her heir's safety, could not help but feel pity for the stranger. Falgon looked at Wymon, on his way back to the barracks with the rest of his company to claim their belated supper, having completed his mission.

"Wymon!" he turned back, the light grey eyes waiting expectantly.

"Have master Austinus post guards at the noble chambers constantly." he told, and Wymon bowed as if to a high-born before making his way into the barracks to find the master-at-arms. Falgon returned his attention to Claira.

"May I escort you to your wing, your grace?" he asked, and she couldn't push away the smile. How instantly he changed from one role to another...

"You may, my knight." she breathed, and he raised his hand allowing her to pass. Later, having ensured that she was safely inside and the guard finally at his post he returned to the guard's hall, taking his place in front of the hearth while staring at the flames, retaliating each act that may come to them before a figure drew his attention.

"You're good at commanding." his former challenger complimented.

"Only until lord Berin and our liege returns. Then I will resume my normal ways." he said, and Wymon sat down next to him.

"You're not as... blunt as Berin. But, you're good at what you do, when you do it." Wymon said, and then sat back.

"We were rather fortunate to find the intruder." he mentioned, watching the stern face rise.

"We know we have enemies, but not how close they are." he mentioned as Wymon stared at him.

"He said 'south of here'." he reminded, the dark eyes still not leaving the flames.

"Yes, 'south of here'. That could be anywhere from Garde's Post to Dorne, he wasn't specific." Falgon clarified, revealing that he had a greater view of threats than the named enemies so many others thought of first.

"You're suspecting someone from our own lands?" he asked surprised.

"I might have a notion..." Falgon muttered, and then looked at the grey eyes.

"Who is our best runner?" he asked, and Wymon's mind went through the members of their order.

"Avery." he identified, a young man of four and twenty with light sandy hair and tanned skin. Thin as a reed, skilful, inconspicuous and fast.

"I want him sent to Bristlemane. Watch their activities for a while." he said, leaving Wymon utterly confused.

"Bristlemane Stronghold is a seat of the Corridor, and lord Berin's ancestral home. Why would his father-" he started.

"The current lord of Bristlemane is not Berin's father, and has not hidden his objection of the rights that lord Berin still holds over that keep. Also, he once threatened this house. This may be just the chance he was waiting for." he explained, recalling the words. _I will watch as the lives of these people crumble before me!_ And then remembered his own promise.

"I see. Al right, I will have the runner sent first thing in the morning." he assured, and then Falgon looked away from him again.

"Good. And have Medus meet with me as well." he added as the sentinel stood.

"The kennel master?" for an instant he was lost.

"I want the hounds included in the patrols of the grounds with the guards. They will have a better chance of identifying strangers than we." he explained, and Wymon smiled. Of course, the hounds will not at all be trusting of those with the intent of intruding on their home.

"Will do. Good night, ser." Wymon greeted as he turned to leave.

"Sleep well." Falgon returned, and then took in the silence that fell over the hall.

It was mid morning when King Robb stood at the head of the table in the counsel pavilion of their camp, their messenger brought to him with the royal reply.

"And what did she say?" he asked as ser Alton Lannister stood in front of him, his eyes scanning the contents strewn on the table nervously.

"She... admires your spirit, your grace." he replied, choosing his words carefully.

"What then?" Robb asked, waiting for the answer and the young man thought of the action that happened in front of his eyes.

"She... uh..." he started, wondering how he could reply honestly without prompting the worst outcome.

"If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, ser Alton. We'd all hang." Robb told, attempting to bring a sense of ease to the messenger, and he did ever so slightly.

"She tore the paper in half, your grace." he revealed, and Robb sighed. The answer to his terms a rejection as blatant as one could imagine.

"You've acted with honour, I thank you for it." he said, and Alton nodded while Robb looked up at a lord waiting behind him.

"Lord Karstark, see that ser Alton's pen is clean. And give him a hot supper." he ordered, and the elder man straightened at the command.

"Ser Alton's pen is occupied, yer grace. The prisoners from the Yellow Fork." he informed, and Roose Bolton interjected.

"Too many prisoners." he said, their stockades bursting with captives.

"Is there room for ser Alton?" Robb asked, and lord Karstark breathed heavily.

"Does he need to lie down?" he asked, and Robb leaned forward with his hands on the table.

"Have the men build him a new pen, put him in with the Kingslayer for now and have your boy watch over them." Robb suggested, and lord Karstark glanced back.

"Torrhen." he called, and a younger man stepped forward to escort the messenger to the pen.

"That will be all." Robb dismissed those in his presence, and they started to move off with lords Bolton and Taugere lingering a moment longer. Raeghun stood to one side, his arms folded over his chest as he pondered over their situations.

"We need to find a better solution to your prisoners. Perhaps have them jailed in a hold, instead of herding them around like cattle." Raeghun proposed.

"That might be a better option, but we don't have that at this point." Robb agreed.

"We can't release them, you won't execute them, and it's a strain to keep them." Roose identified, and Robb sighed.

"As soon as we have the means, we'll have better conditions. For everyone." Robb said, and glanced at Raeghun.

"Will the men you sent back return?" he asked.

"As soon as the threats have been dealt with, they might." he supposed, and then started to turn while the girl who travelled with them to see to the wounded stopped just outside the pavilion.

"Your grace, a moment of your time?" she pardoned, watching as the tall lord left the tent to rejoin his own. He whom was known as both the Lord of Flame and 'The Lion Hunter', for good reason. The discernible heat coming off him and the marked burn of his blue eyes left her almost... faint-hearted; and she could fathom why men were frightened of him. Lord Bolton looked at Robb, wondering about the same situations for a moment and then also took his leave from the king's presence and she stepped closer, for a moment glancing back at the departing men.

"I've been treating your wounded men." she advised, and he smirked rolling a parchment in his hands.

"And my enemies, as some of my bannermen are fond of mentioning." he added, and she stared at him indifferently.

"They are not my enemies." she told, and watched him smile confidently.

"That's what I tell my bannermen." he eased, and she breathed in deeply.

"I've already run through the supplies I've brought with me. Some are easily replaced, egg yolks, turpentine, oil of roses..." she started, and he could predict the direction of her request.

"But some are not?" she looked up, more comfortable with her request.

"I need silk, for stitching. I need fennel root for those with fever, willow bark. Mostly, I need milk of the poppy. You saw what it was like to amputate a foot without any." she told, watching him come forward around the table and then glanced back at the little book in her hands.

"I assume there will be more loss of limb before this war is over." she assumed, and he nodded.

"If you need help finding it-" he started and she looked up sharply.

"I know where to find them." and then she paused, feeling a sting of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't interrupt you." she apologised quickly, but he smiled at her.

"Continue, my lady." he allowed, seeming to calm her again.

"You're riding to the Crag to negotiate a surrender?" she had heard from others, and he nodded.

"Yes." he confirmed, and her hands folded in front of her.

"The Crag will have a maester, and he will have what I need." she told, as the King in the North nodded again in agreement.

"I expect he will." she stared at him, her deep brown eyes taking in the blue staring back at her.

"If I could write a list-" she started, and then he stepped forward finding a more suitable notion.

"Come with me to the Crag." he suggested, and she turned following his figure as it passed her, taken aback by his words.

"I don't think that would be-" she tried to decline, but he still smiled as he turned to face her.

"Let the maester show you his stores. I want the wounded men to be treated well." he said, taking a step backwards.

"All the wounded men." he added, leaving her with a grateful smile as he bowed his head and departed to finalize the arrangements to ride for the Crag; and by noon he was seen leaving with a party of guards and the lady at his side. It brought several opposing persuasions from the members of the force which some indulged and others spurned. Night finally assumed its place in the world, and the site was lit by torches situated around the area, and Raeghun retired to the shelter of their tents. Berin sat with him discussing the past weeks, and then stared at him, examining him.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and Raeghun looked up.

"Yes. It's been a long day, that's all." he replied, feeling surpassingly warm. He did not deny wishing for the cool of his wife's skin, the heat that constantly emitted from his phoenix core left him tense and rather spiritless. But then smiled, grateful for the company of his close friend and Berin nodded.

"I heard, that a trespasser was in our home." he mentioned softly, seeing Raeghun's hand clench.

"There was. But, thanks to my lady's sentinels, he was swiftly dealt with." he returned, but his friend could sense the unease.

"I'm sorry." Berin muttered, but noticed the contrasting glow of the grand eyes.

"It's al right. I'm not worried. Falgon will keep them safe, I know he will." he assured, and Berin laughed.

"There's no need to try and convince me, Raeghun. He faced over forty men on his own to protect your family; and he'd stand in the way of an entire army to keep his promise to you." he agreed fully, and then looked out through the opening of the entrance at the stars.

"They know who he was? Where he was from?" he further asked, hearing his friend sigh.

"No. He could have been from anywhere, could have been there for any number of reasons. I am simply thankful that he was found before harm could be brought to my family." Berin nodded. Raeghun often spoke of _his_ family and it made him feel happy, because sometimes by his family he meant more than just his wife and son. His family was every life connected to his, from the head of his sentinels to the sentries holding the borders. But it was a sadness that he felt the weight of responsibility for all of them, and silently he swore he would help him bear that burden.

"My son will have seen his tenth name day..." Raeghun mentioned, bringing Berin's attention back to him, and he shared the thoughts.

"Well on his way to being a splendid lord, he will make you very proud. All my children have seen another year of their lives, and my little girl will be ten and one." he added, as his friend looked up.

"She's not so little any more. She's become a refined young lady, and you've taught her well. You've taught all of them well." he praised, and they laughed.

"We should bring gifts back for them." Berin hinted, lightening the air.

"A token of war? I'm sure they'd love that." Raeghun laughed, looking up at the shelter cast over him.

"I remember my own tenth name day. My father let me taste wine for the first time." then he laughed again.

"I hated it. Too bitter." he recalled, and Berin laughed with him.

"Didn't stop you from passing over to dark ales." he teased, bringing the burning eyes to his.

"I got used to it. Besides, it made me feel lighter." he justified it, and Berin recalled a different experience they had.

"And for your sixteenth, we both got so drunk we woke in the mint bath just before dawn. The gods graced that we were able to return to our chambers before the castle did." he laughed, and the lord's voice joined his in the small space.

"My father would have had us whipped like dogs." then he sighed, bringing up happy times of their youths. The feasts, the hunts, the rides, here and there a more discreet occurrence. But to his humility, simply the goofy whims of youngsters and nothing that ever placed their name in jeopardy. But then a darker memory surfaced. The reason for his now irritatingly celebrated brand.

"And two moons later, I tore that poor creature's jaws apart..." he remembered it, every moment of it. The terrifying roar, the hard impact with the ground as the creature took him down, the fierce eyes, the desperate claws, each protruding bone through the ragged pelt, and the stink of death and blood. His own racing heart, the pain of tearing flesh, the despairing screams that echoed only in his mind as he expected to die that day; and finally the fire that burnt through his limbs as he chose to live. Everything after that, was merely a collection of blurred images. He had no idea how they got back to the keep, or even how long it had been before he woke to throbbing pain, but with maester Adlyn, his mother and sisters next to him, wrapped almost entirely in balmed linen bands smelling of every healing herb one could imagine.

"That lion nearly killed you." Berin breathed.

"I know." a finger ran over the scar of his brow, where one of the sharp teeth cut through skin.

"I was lucky, that's all." he returned modestly as Berin stared at him.

"Lucky? It was more than simply luck. People swore that the Warrior's spirit entered you, but were it not for your strength that day, it would have." Berin told, and Raeghun scoffed.

"It was already weak and dying." he again said, a random thought of a knight's assessment coming back to him. _L_ _eaner muscles make for sharper claws..._

"Say what you like, Raeghun. Almost every man knows the truth of it, or a little bit more. And if you killed a great and powerful beast so easily, every crimson clad soldier that knows will turn and run the other way." Berin said lightly, standing from his seat.

"You have that much faith in me?" Raeghun teased him as he brought the stone cup to the table and set it down.

"Even more, my lord. Your line is well famed, and I'm sure by now Vernon has spread his story fervently." he said, and Raeghun sighed.

"I'm just a man, Berin." he muttered.

"I know. But believing more doesn't hurt." he said smiling.

"Good night. I'll see you-" he suddenly turned, angry intense voices coming from outside, and somewhere the harrowing scream of a man that cut the night like a flaming blade.

"Oh, what the-fuck now?" dread filled him, and a warm mass passed him quickly into the darkness as he followed. They tracked the screams, and found a mass of soldiers clustered around a holding pen, two men lay dead on the ground, one's skull crushed with a stone, and a devastated lord Karstark on his knees next to another strangled with a chain.

"Torrhen... Torrhen, my son!" he cried, holding the lifeless head in his hands.

"What happened?" Raeghun asked a nearby soldier, met with silence as he stared at the event in front of them, and then in frustration Raeghun's hand found the neckline of his armour and yanked him closer.

"What happened?" for an instant, the man seemed dazed and afraid.

"The Kingslayer. He escaped." he quickly reported, and Raeghun's hand came away from him.

"Has anyone been sent after him?" he asked, and the soldier was left shaking his head.

"I don't know..." he said, and Raeghun turned.

"Send twenty men after him, he couldn't have gotten far." he instructed, and Berin rushed off to find their fastest riders, moments later scattering over the fields surrounding the encampment before returning to his side.

"They'll find him." Berin tried to ease as Raeghun's eyes wandered over the camp, and the abrupt chaos of it.

"They'd better." he breathed, the warmth in his fingers already reaching up to his elbows as he still heard the despairing wails in his head. Two sons that have been stolen from him in a single campaign, he couldn't imagine how hard it must have been...

"Come. There's nothing more to do, than wait. They'll find him." Berin urged, and with a reluctant nod Raeghun followed back to the shelters where they endured the night in each other's company without finding sleep until the sun lighted a clouded sky. Berin stared out the entryway from his seat, rather comfortable as one foot rested against the edge of a chest.

"You know what will happen." Berin softly suggested, and Raeghun looked up.

"Yes, I know. We'll simply have to face it." he returned, and Berin looked back at him with a smile.

"Undaunted as ever." he admired him, and his friend smirked.

"Well, what good would I be to anyone if I was otherwise?" he joked, and then looked back at the sky outside.

"And simply for that, I'll follow you anywhere. Into the face of madness or the shadow of death." he promised.

"You're a brave man, Berin." then he looked up with a teasing smile.

"Or a foolish one." he altered, and Berin laughed.

"There's a fine line between the two, I suppose we'll find out which it is later." he replied, and noticed the oncoming storm of enraged voices as Raeghun stood.

"Into the face of madness, or the shadow of death, was it?" he breathed, and Berin stood with a shrug.

"Whichever." they left the tent, moving down to the oncoming horde where men unsympathetically dragged Jaime down to the encampment, the chain binding his hands held by a mounted soldier as those around continued battering him with clubs and belts, kicking and bludgeoning as they went, calling for him to be gutted, hanged or beheaded; demanding justice for the murdered Karstarks. They pushed and pulled, with the intention of inflicting harm until he finally fell down on his knees with a furious lord Karstark approaching, in his hand a drawn sword.

"I want his head!" he called out, focused on the man on his knees before several figures blocked his way.

"Enough of this!" Berin's voice sounded over all of them, the mad shouts dying out.

"Any man, who stands between a father and his vengeance, asks for death!" lord Karstark marked as Raeghun stepped forward, the hilt of Quill clearly visible above his right shoulder as the ardent eyes flamed in defence.

"Stand I will. But his head will be yours today as much as death will be mine." he countered, unafraid of any opposition and another figure took a place beside him. His father by bond.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, and the enraged eyes darted to him, defiant of their presence.

"Lord Karstark! This man is our prisoner!" lady Catelyn had come from her shelter, her words directed at the northern lord.

"This monster killed my son!" he justified himself as he stared at her.

"And crippled mine! He will answer for his crimes, I promise you. But not here!" she retaliated, and Willmon attempted to reason with the infuriated man.

"Having him alive as our captive is our best chance to bring an end to this war." he told, and the face came back at him, eyes hard and raging.

"Do not mean to sermonise me, lord Tormont. You still have both your sons!" he sneered, but the Grey Tom took a reassured step forward, his silver-blue eyes as ferocious as those staring back.

"Four sons. For all, whom I would do the same as you if I was given the opportunity." he replied, and the dark eyes took in anew the four black haired men standing behind the lord facing him, creating a bitter sting in his throat.

"Yet you stand before me!" he accused.

"You weren't given the opportunity." Willmon pointed out, and the lady stepped forward.

"This is not the time for this!" she interjected, bringing the dark eyes to her again.

"I will have his head! And if you try and stop me-" he started, but she silenced him.

"You will strike me down? Have you forgotten me, ser? I am the widow of your liege lord, Eddard Stark! I am the mother of your king!" she reminded him as he breathed in.

"And where is our king now?" he challenged,

"You know very well. He has gone to the Crag to accept the surrender!" he nodded, but the eyes still glinted with fury.

"Aye, gone to the Crag. But not to negotiate! He brought that foreign bitch with him!" he told, and she stared at him. Shocked that such words would come from one of their closest vassals, another family that shared ancestry with them.

"How dare you?" suddenly the tall armoured woman with short cut blonde hair behind the lady drew the sword from her side.

"Threatening my lady is an act of treason!" she told, leaving the elderly lord baffled.

"Treason?! How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?" he asked, and lady Catelyn sighed bringing calmness to her blood.

"I understand your grief, my lord. Better than most, I understand it. But in the name of my son, The King in the North. Stand down!" she ordered, and lord Karstark took a defeated step back.

"When your son returns, I will demand this murderer's head!" he promised.

"Wise men do not make demands of kings." she cautioned him, watching the eyes change from hate to sorrow.

"Fathers who love their sons, do. I will have his head!" he promised her again, and then left with his men following him as an easier air settled over them. Jaime looked up, at the men who stood for him and the lady that defended him.

"Thank you for fighting on my behalf, lady Stark. I would have come to your defence but..." he motioned to his hands, bound together in front of him as she acknowledged him.

"Take him to the stockades, bind him with every chain you can find!" she ordered, and two men pulled him to his feet.

"You've become a real she-wolf in your lady years. There's not much fish left in you!" Jaime called back as he was dragged away.

"And gag him!" she added, wishing to drown out his irritating words. The day passed slowly under the voices of soldiers, arguments and threats. Whatever possible was done to see to the safety of their prisoner, however it could not be guaranteed to any degree; and as the sun disappeared darkness fell over the encampment, the temperaments of the men increased to a point bordering physical violence. Lady Catelyn and her companion stood in the darkness, taking in the rising voices and angry calls as just a couple of feet away yet another confrontation developed, like so many others over the drag of the day.

"They say your son returns at dawn, my lady?" the lady's companion, identified as Brienne of Tarth asked, and heard Catelyn sigh.

"So they say." she hoped it would be soon enough.

"The Kingslayer won't last the night. The more they drink, the angrier they'll get." Brienne cautioned, watching the men just down the pathway struggle with one another.

"And when the Karstarks draw their swords... Who wants to die, defending a Lannister?" the confrontation came to an uneasy end as others came to intervene. Then Catelyn looked up at the armoured woman with her.

"Come." she urged, and quickly they made their way through the darkness towards the place he was being held, hoping. And then, rounding a curve to the east she met the silver-blue eyes of the Grey Tom in front of her, staring down at her.

"Lady Stark." he greeted, calm and controlled while she stared back through the stinging in her stomach.

"Lord Tormont..." she breathed, and he smiled softly.

"I realize your intentions." he revealed, and the stinging became a burn through her as her nerves splintered and flamed.

"My daughters are hostages. If there is any chance-" she started to explain, perhaps she could reason with him. He who had suffered plights in his past.

"I won't stop you. But I need you to understand, that I cannot defend you either." he suddenly said, his voice soft and low, compassionate but a warning behind the words. She glanced down, accepting what may come.

"I understand." she agreed, and he paused for a moment before bowing his head to her.

"I hope that your gods agree with your judgement, my lady." he breathed, and then walked away towards the centre of the encampment while they stared after him, the silver vanishing in the shadows between the torch lights.

"He could have stopped you." Brienne recognised, and Catelyn watched until his figure disappeared between others.

"He could have. He should have..." she said softly, again realizing how she admired the lord of Pale Haven.

"Why didn't he?" she heard Brienne behind her, and then turned to face her with an appreciation she found rarely understood, but by those with families, and children of their own.

"Because lord Willmon Tormont of Pale Haven is a brave and loyal man, but not a single minded one. He understands people, and he understands the world. And he understands sacrifice." she told softly, and then hardened herself for what she had decided must be done.

"Robb needs him to help coordinate attacks and group the men. If he helps me, he'll be branded a traitor. There is one punishment for treason. I will not expect him to stand for me when he has already allowed me this..." she sighed. He gave her the freedom to do what she felt she must, and she will expect no more. She could not risk any chance that he might be connected to her actions, his skills were far too valuable; and if she could rather have it so they never met tonight, that might have been preferable. Then she turned away again, looking towards the holding pen.

"Quickly." she urged again, intent on what her heart cried out for while Willmon rejoined his sons in their shelter, hoping he allowed the right thing. Loyalty and honour would have decreed that he stopped her, that he returned her to the tents with a warning. That he notified others to intensify their guards, and to keep watch knowing her intentions... But he couldn't. Somehow he couldn't deny her this single opportunity however small it could be, to regain her daughters safely and without further bloodshed. He remembered the Stark girls, the youngest always running about with others chasing after her, sneers and laughs for her wild spirit. And the brilliant auburn hair and pretty blue eyes of a girl that once sat on his knee many years ago with a feast in the hall of Winterfell while he conversed with her father...

"Father?" he looked up at Rhegard next to him.

"It's late, you should try to get some sleep. There are hard days waiting for us." he mentioned, and Rhegard nodded.

"Al right. Good night, father." he turned to Gerald, who stood and came over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Good night, father." he greeted, and the regal face glanced up to smile at them.

"Sleep well, my sons." they left into the night, and the inside of the shelter fell into silence as lord Willmon Tormont stared at the flame of the candle on the small table in front of him. _Please... Please be the right choice... Please let them be delivered to their mother safely..._ Morning came, to the dismay of the camp. Their prisoner, ser Jaime Lannister was gone with no sign of a struggle. The guard who had been charged with watch over him, had little choice but to reveal that the last person to have been left in his presence, was lady Catelyn Stark; whom was now held in a pavilion awaiting her son's return while one of the soldiers were sent off to find him. She stared at the table, mulling over her actions. He should have stopped her... He should have... But she didn't see any other way. There were no other choices... Voices caught her attention, and moments later her son entered, disappointment and anger altering in his stare as he came to a stop in front of her.

"Tell me this isn't true." he begged, and she sighed. _I need you to understand, that I cannot defend you either..._ He allowed it, but this was her choice. Her actions... Then she looked up at him, no regret, only guilt.

"Why?" he demanded, and she gently shrugged.

"For the girls..." she confessed, and his eyes hardened.

"You've betrayed me." he accused, and a bitterness wrapped through her chest.

"Robb-" she wanted to explain, wanted to make him see why. Was there no way for him to understand?

"No! You knew I would not allow it, and you did it anyway!" he continued as she stared at him. _How can I make you see?_ She sighed,

"Bran and Rickon are captives in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King's Landing. I have five children, and only one of them is free!" she told him, and lord Karstark stared at her from Robb's side.

"I lost one son, fighting by your son's side! I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain! And you commit treason because your children are prisoners? I would carve out my heart, and offer it to the father if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell." he accused as she looked at him, but there was no way to change what had been done.

"I grieve for your sons, my lord-" she started, but the discontent remained in his hard, dark eyes.

"I don't want your grief, I want my vengeance! And you stole it from me..." he directed at her, and another deep breath filled her chest, only subtly aiding the stinging to her nerves.

"Killing Jaime Lannister won't buy life for your children, but returning him to King's Landing may buy life for mine." she decided, her eyes coming back to the stare of her son.

"Jaime Lannister, has played you for a fool. You've weakened our position. You've brought discord into our camp. And you did it all behind my back!" he further accused, and she had to look away from him. He would not understand. He couldn't... Then he turned.

"Make sure she's guarded, day and night." he gave his order to nearby soldiers, who accepted and she stood to follow him.

"Robb!" she called to him, but he did not turn to face her again, and she realized that she had lost.

"How many men did we send in pursuit of the Kingslayer?" he asked, and the soldier straightened.

"Forty, your grace." he reported.

"Send another forty, with our fastest horses." he commanded, as he left the tent.

"Robb!" lady Catelyn called again, but he vanished into the masses of the site with no thought of her desperate voice behind him.

It was another dark night, the halls of the burning mountain as dark as the sky outside. The torches resembling the distant glint of the stars strewn across the endless heavens which she continued to watch every night... endless as their wait for their loved ones to come home, and each time The Lord's Moon passed in the sky she prayed anew for their safe return. Following the return of lord Foch, preparations were set out to start repairing the damaged regions of their port town, and further provisions to rebuild the ships lost in the sudden attack. Yet, once in a while they were brought disturbing reports of increasing discontent and a number of attempted raids and pillages as the patrolling soldiers passed, where after there was less and less word from the North; save that the great stronghold of the north Winterfell was taken by the Ironborn, and the terrible rumours that leaked from the borders. Something they hoped, were nothing more than rumours... But she found herself eased that there were no more alarming encounters since Falgon had the dogs keeping watch over their grounds along with the guards, and the animals reactions to those visiting the hold was closely heeded. Some of the hounds were even allowed inside the keep, to see to the halls and the families living within. Now, past midnight, Claira again sat on her chair, her sentinel against the wall with the lute in his hands. He'd played for her near to constantly for some weeks, and she was infinitely grateful that he did not tire, or find her to be an annoyance. The terrible irritation that she found herself to be. She looked up at him, he was still the same as he always was, having to acknowledge that the safest and calmest she ever feels with her husband away at war, was in his presence.

"Falgon..." he brought his eyes to hers, the striking darkness that she found captivating.

"Yes, my queen?" he gave her his full attention, and she had to scoff.

"I'm not a queen." she reminded him once again, but saw him smile.

"You are mine." he insisted, as he always did. Was there any point in arguing with him about it any longer? Then she breathed out slowly, wondering how she would ask him.

"Do you... remember the song, that was played when Raeghun danced with me on his twenty first name day?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I will never forget it. You were so happy... So beautiful..." he brought it back, the lovely red dress she was wearing, the delicate strands of hair hanging down her back, and the peace he felt watching them circle their feast hall.

"Do you think, you could play it for me?" she softly asked, trying to hide the tender blush and he brought his hands to the strings of the lute.

"I will certainly try, your grace." he promised, remembering the melody. The highs, the lows, the flows, the tenderness of the tune. There was a short silence as he recreated that night in his mind; and then the lute sang as sweetly as she'd ever imagined. Her eyes closed, and the room changed; the darkness fading away as she smiled, a sure warmth settling over her... And he was dancing with her again, their hall filled with the light of the fires, the shine of the heavens; and their family and people happy and smiling around them while his beautiful burning blue eyes stared at her, his strong hand holding hers while his other surrounded her waist, covering her entirely in loving warmth. She wished for infinity, to remain here for the rest of her days until they finally came home. It was peaceful, it was reassuring, it was everything she hoped for; but like everything it had to come to an end. Drowsily, she looked up at Falgon, wiping at the right side of her face, and a hidden tear.

"That was beautiful. It was perfect..." she whispered, and he sat back against the wall.

"I was born with one extraordinary gift, and that is my memory. To recall important events as easily as taking a book from a shelf." he mentioned. This was a wonderful ability, for the happy memories. But, it was also a dire curse for the darker moments of his past, those he would rather have cast to the farthest depths of his conciousness... and he saw her staring at him. Stricken by his words.

"Our dance was important to you?" she asked, and saw his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath as he stared back at her.

"It was." he confessed, and then he smiled. True and honest and soft.

"Because I could see you smile." her hands covered her face as she held her breath, desperately trying to strangle the cries. _You are being so selfish! These people all care about you! This man has given everything for you! Your family is depending on you, and here you sit like some fucking husk!_ She cursed herself, and then felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You can go, you must be completely wasted on my whims. You should sleep." she told him, struggling through the tears and heard him kneel next to her.

"I don't mind. I will stay with you, until you are calmer." he assured, and she exchanged the sobs for laughter.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm being so ridiculous. I shouldn't be like this, I am the lady of Mount Ardor. I must be strong. I must be-" she started, and then she felt gentle pressure to her shoulder.

"I really couldn't care what you must be. My concern is what you need, and you may be anything you need in my presence without fear of judgement. I belong to you, my purpose is to protect you, in every way." he comforted, and she eased despite the tears that came freely; and finally after drowning his shoulder in tears once again she felt better. Lighter. A bearable degree of peace.

"Thank you, my Falgon. I'll try harder, I promise." she breathed, and then sat back seeing him smile at her, the same way he always did.

"It's al right. I know it's difficult, so don't be so hard on yourself. I know you are trying." he soothed her again, and she laughed instead of yielding to the new onslaught of tears. He was always so calm, so reassuring, so understanding...

"Why won't you ever scold me? Tell me how foolish, and laughable I am. Tell me how ridiculous I'm being." and he stared at her, seeming almost shocked for the idea.

"For what? For being a mother, and a wife who misses her husband? Or for being a woman, a human who feels?" he asked, and she surrendered pressing her hands over her face. _You are not the right person, to be doing this..._ She wanted some harshness, someone's scorn to harden her fragile heart. But knew she would not have it from him.

"We should... go to bed. It's late..." she decided, and then stood to return to the lord's wing with him following. Seeing her safely into their sanctuary, he bowed and then headed back down to the barracks while she lay herself down on their bed. She watched the canopy of the bed, tracing the edges and forms of the phoenix above her to pass the time that seemed so endless. But eventually, she felt the world dissolve and slipped into something like sleep when the sky started to change colour from black to deep purple, to soft pink before a gentle knock to the door was met with silence. The heavy wood creaked as the door edged open, and Milla cautiously peered inside; noting the still form on the bed then decided to leave and return later. Perhaps just a little time before their morning meal will be served, and grant her the sleep that was so reluctant to visit her dear friend. Heading down the steps, Rychon emerged from his own room with Wink held in his hands, and smiled as he looked up at her.

"Morning, aunt Milla." he greeted, and she joined his walk down to the lord's hall.

"Good morning, dear Rychon." she returned, and glanced up the stairway one final time.

"I hope you had a good night?" she asked, and saw him nod.

"It was fine. And yours?" he fumbled for an instant as Wink slipped from his grasp, and clambered onto his shoulder.

"Oh, same as most nights. But I am relieved to see that your mother seems to be well asleep, for once." she sighed, passing the vacant bed chambers on their way down to the lord's hall.

"You don't think she's sick, do you?" Rychon asked, looking up at her.

"No, just exhausted. We'll leave her for a little while longer." she told.

"I wish there was more we could do for her." Rychon said softly, and Milla nodded. Unfortunate as it were, they could assume every assignment on her behalf and have her locked in their chamber; but if she couldn't find the peace to rest, there was nothing that could be done. And not even force would bend some things to your will.

"All we can do, is to help her where we are able. Everything else is hers. But perhaps it will get better, soon." she hoped, but if there was not much improvement after a year, there was little promise for it in any instance. True, she did not complain and simply endured their days mostly in silence; but it was unnerving to see her slowly dissolve over time... like a winter rose bereft of the gentle sunlight that was meant to nourish it. She hadn't truly smiled in a long time. They departed the lord's wing, and Rychon hurried down to meet his friends to spend their morning together, while on her way down the incline, Milla met three handmaidens on their way up to the lord's wing who greeted her warmly and she instructed them to resume their chores on the chambers, but not to disturb the lady and leave her to wake on her own. After which she met with Jeody on their morning serving of savoury pastries with sausages, tea and fruit press before having the feast hall cleaned, choosing flowers for their tables and having them laid with feast ware. The nights were lonely, and her bed felt barren, but keeping herself busy with tasks and the company of her darling children made the days seem shorter, yet it did not lessen the emptiness of their halls despite the guard count slowly increasing to the current eighty six. She looked up at the doors leading to the great gardens of the burning mountain, aware of the many sweet scents filtering through the hall, smiling as she saw the boys run across the grounds in some kind of game while Rychon hid himself behind a tree trying to stifle his breaths, forcing himself to be silent despite the pounding in his ears. Having left Wink to explore the shrubs he held his breath, listening to the footsteps nearby slowly trudging up the pathway before they stopped. He thought of running again, trying to find a better hiding place but then heard the footsteps sound over the path again, seeming to head away. He listened for a moment more, trying to indicate the direction of the footsteps but as he moved just an inch forward he met the face of Berterin smiling at him.

"Found you." he said, delighted at his victory and Rychon scoffed moving away from the tree.

"You always find me first." he complained, and Berterin shrugged.

"You're the easiest to find." he mentioned, and then looked towards the other side of the garden where a mass moved through the shrubs, still trying to conceal himself as Rychon's eyes followed his.

"I hide better than Vaellion." he told, and Berterin looked back at him with a shy smile.

"You can hide yourself behind a mountain, and I'll still find you." he sighed.

"That's unfair." Rychon said, clearly disappointed.

"It's just... I see you better." he tried to explain, but it was hard to describe how he saw people. And having to put into words the bright flames that raged around the lord and his son was particularly difficult, these brilliant dancing fires that could not be hidden by anything... and he was the only one that could see them. He tried once, but it was dismissed as simply his vivid imagination, and he realized that others would not believe him. The awareness never diminished, if anything it increased but he rather kept the sensations to himself, and could confess that he admired the swirling brightness, and the lovely glittering sparkle. Only, the dark wings still left him feeling... strange. Uneasy, and almost sad.

"Come on. I have an idea." He suddenly grabbed Rychon's wrist and dragged him along further into the garden with Wink following along in his usual hop-like bounds. They hid behind the hydrangea bushes, and waited as they listened to Vaellion cautiously moving among the flowers, and then settling somewhere. But still they waited, and then heard him move again slowly emerging from the leaves and looking around. He scanned the garden, searching for them as he slowly stepped out, standing on the pathway. Rychon crept forward, silent and careful before hesitating a moment, calculating and planning before jumping forward and taking Vaellion down, and they tumbled on the grass before Berterin joined them in a laughing cluster over the ground.

"Get off me!" Vaellion cried, trying to squirm away. They struggled a moment longer, and the boy finally found his footing to stand; but his brother's hand found his shirt and pulled him down again.

"Stop it! Let go!" he complained, proceeding to writhe his way free.

"If we were lions, you'd be breakfast." Berterin joked as Vaellion stammered to his feet.

"Oh, shut up. You're not lions." he replied, brushing the dust and grass from his clothing.

"No, but still. You should be more careful." Rychon laughed standing up and doing the same before helping Berterin up.

"You're mean. You're both bigger than me." Vaellion grumbled.

"Just trying to toughen you up a bit, little brother." Berterin teased him, seeing his hands clench.

"I don't need you to toughen me up! Father said it won't happen overnight. He said-" he started.

"Father said, to train hard." Berterin reminded him. Vaellion wasn't distinctly timid or passive, if yet a bit slow moving; but at almost nine years of age they could dare to challenge him a little bit more. He moved forward, noting his brother's shoulders drop slightly.

"Father's not here..." Vaellion breathed, and a hand lay on his shoulder.

"They'll be back soon." he tried to assure him, and the deep green eyes came up to him.

"When?" he asked, and Berterin had to acknowledge that he had no idea how long it would last.

"Soon." he said again, and then a frightened scream drew their attention. They ran for the hall, quickly down the path to find little Maynlid crying on the grass, staring wide eyed at Wink rolling in the ferns, struggling with something big and black. Not pausing for thought, Rychon grabbed Berterin's shoulder.

"Get to her!" he ordered, and Berterin ducked forward while Rychon then looked at Vaellion.

"Find one of the guards!" and the youngest ran for the hall while the heir then proceeded forward, placing himself between his friends and whatever threat this was. He watched his pet leap away, thankfully unharmed but his nerves froze and his heart stopped as he saw the creature Wink was previously struggling with twist and coil as the little ferret hopped and bound in front of it, intent on keeping its attention fixed on him. It was a snake, the scales black as obsidian and the unblinking eyes a fearful deadly yellow. _What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?_ His mind would not respond beyond the question, as frigid as the churning in his gut. _What do I do?_ The snake struck forward, aiming poisonous needle fangs for the dancing fur; the little animal nimbly leaping away and planting a bite to the body of the slithering being, but the scales so hard that even the fierce little ferret could not break through. And then Rychon finally smiled, realizing the small animal skipping around in front of a terrible foe. Battling to protect his family. _You're barely bigger than my arm, and already a greater warrior than me..._ Then he moved forward, quickly but carefully trying to target the snake's head. If he could only take hold of the body behind the jaw, it may be left immobile, and he could throw it over the edge into the sea. But how to get to it? If the snake struck again, he could try. He watched the creatures, hoping for an opportunity; and then it came. The snake struck forward, and Wink sprang away, and Rychon threw his weight forward onto the snake, his hands wrapping around the cold body; and he felt the mass slithering and wiggling beneath him. Holding on tightly, he took a deep breath and looked up to see the creature curled back, lurching and snapping only barely out of reach of his arm, as Wink continued to assault it with small nips to the scales.

"Wink, stop it!" he was trying to help, of course. But whatever he thought he was doing, was not having much effect. _If I move, it could get to me..._ He struggled for what to do, and then Milla appeared on the garden path gasping in horror with her hands over her mouth and flushing white.

"Rychon... Rychon, just... Just don't move... Wymon is coming..." she managed to force from her chest before stepping closer, and he could see the fear in her light green eyes.

"Al right." he focused on breathing, the head still jerking next to the skin of his wrist. _Please hurry..._

"Aunt Milla, would you mind taking Wink up, please? He's being a bother." Rychon asked, unable to hide the quiver of his voice; but she came closer and knelt grabbing the little ferret around its waist as it hopped back and hauled him up against her chest, clutching him as he squirmed to free himself. His muscles started to ache from the firm hold, but he would not loosen his grip. _Please hurry..._ Mercifully, the grey haired sentinel appeared around the curve of the garden path, his sword already drawn and followed by Vaellion urging him on. He stopped, watching what was in front of him before coming closer and kneeling, his stare on the young lord.

"Hold on tightly, and do not move." he instructed, and Rychon lowered his head. _What do you think I'm doing?_

"Very well." he breathed into his arm, and then felt the cold steel slide along his wrist, carefully at first and then quicker before a sudden weight struck the ground. He felt the body beneath him twist and coil and writhe and shudder, but then a hand lay on his shoulder.

"It's al right, you can let go now." Rychon looked up, the head that was biting at him a few moments ago was gone, and he suddenly released the body shoving himself back and falling on the ground, watching as the mass slowly quivered, stuttered and died as he breathed; the heat leaving his muscles and life coming back to him. For a moment, he felt like crying before gentle and caring arms wrapped around him, and he pressed his face into the fabric while his pet nestled himself into his lap and the sentinel continued to examine the thing on the ground.

"Thank goodness you're al right..." Milla breathed into his hair as she held him, and then drew back.

"What happened? What were you thinking?" she suddenly asked, and he looked up at her.

"I don't know. We heard Maynlid scream... I didn't know what else to do..." he whispered, the warmth dying away into a cold shiver; but then she held him again. Wymon stood, the body held in one hand and the crushed head in the other.

"This is a Bloodletter. Severely poisonous. If its fangs as much as grazed you, you would perish within a day." he informed, and Rychon looked down.

"I'm sorry." but the sentinel smiled.

"Most people would see your actions as foolish, my lord. But I would tell you, you were brave. You did it, to protect another." he eased him, and then glanced at Milla.

"With your leave, my lady. I should dispose of this. And we will have the garden searched this afternoon for more." he motioned to the items in his hands, and she nodded before he passed them, towards the back reach of the harden to offer the body to the sea. Rychon just sat for a while, with the calming arms around him and then looked up.

"Thank you, aunt Milla. We'll be more careful next time." he promised, and felt her arms tighten slightly.

"Good. I wouldn't know what to tell your mother." she tried to joke, but then pulled back.

"She has to know." she decided, but his hand suddenly took hold of her arm desperately.

"Please don't tell her. Please?" he begged as Milla stared at him.

"Rychon-" but his eyes stared at her with a pleading she could not reject.

"Please? Not now, at least. I don't want her to be worried." he added, and she sighed having to relent to his request.

"Al right. Not now, at least." she agreed, and then stood helping him up.

"Your first heroic deed. Saving a young damsel in distress." she lightly teased him, and he could share her soft laugh.

"Won't be my last, though." they started down the garden path back to the hold, wishing to ensure that everyone was unharmed, and further awaiting the morning's serving in the feast hall where the lady of the hold joined them. But it left her wondering, where a creature like that would come from. The gardens of Mount Ardor were normally very safe, and they would have no objections to leaving the children to play freely during the days. The edges of the garden were shielded with high stone balustrades under stone arches, separated from the Sunset Sea by a sheer cliff. And the only access to it was through the great doors of the southern hall, and a smaller door from the kitchens. A creature like that should not have been there...

It was a dark night with clouds drifting past as Berin stood staring down at the flames of a fire, lit in a stone circle to bring light to the shadows. For some days, Robb had grown increasingly vexed with the silence from the North and they were given the order to stand their ground until they received word. It was a slow day, and Raeghun had already retired to the shelters for the evening, hoping to relieve himself from the strains this brought, and he had to confess that the air was growing colder. For now, things were quiet with small encounters scattered over the fields. Their wounded were healing, and their spirit had not been left diminished, constantly fuelled by the desire to support their liege and lords. They had eager fighters, and despite their numbers dropping they remained at their side. Lord Rames stood with him, covered with a fur cloak for warmth and comfort, and Berin for a moment envied the lord of Hurlton Fortress for his thick, long brown hair reaching below his shoulders and a full beard that hung to his chest, keeping him warm where clothing could essentially be a bother, while his own was considerably less even now. Then the lord looked up with a sullen sigh.

"Most of our men can sense it. And I confess it is cause for concern. He's been riled, and enervated for some time now. You don't suppose he's ailing?" he asked, his rough voice enveloping them in the darkness, truly concerned. But Berin held back a laugh. _Have you forgotten, that t_ _he lords of the burning mountain never get sick..._

"No. This has become a drawn-out affair; but as soon as we're back at Mount Ardor, he'll be fine." he tried to reassure him, but the clear blue eyes stared at him, unconvinced of his calmness.

"There's nothing we can do?" he asked again, but what could be done for the isolation of one's heart? Some men would relinquish themselves to the comforts of the women of the taverns, even if it was only for a single night. But the honour of the Taugere name meant more than a forlorn impulse, and his friend loved his wife far too much to barely notice any other woman. He looked up to the eyes staring at him, forcing a small smile that managed to ease the man at his side, and himself.

"Not right now, I'm afraid." he breathed, and then saw the blue eyes go away from him, the lord's attention wandering over his shoulder to something behind him in the dark.

"I... I could tend to him? Give him something for any afflictions?" a soft voice suggested, and he turned to see a fair young lady with a soft face, dark hair and deep brown eyes behind him. He identified her as the girl that accompanied the king to the Crag; since their return and with fully replenished supplies she was happy to help everyone with whichever qualms they had, and their men found fine improvement for their injuries and conditions. Berin glanced at the shelter several feet to his left, the inside still lighted by the flames of candles. He might still be awake, and by the odd chance, the gentler presence and a few soft words of a lady may be a better comfort than the austere company of his men. Just a little bit...

"That's not necessary, lady Talisa." he declined, but she remained staring at him.

"I want to help." she insisted, and he sighed. _Please don't hate me, my friend..._

"Very well. He's been rather irritated for the past few weeks. But, you can go in. I don't believe he will be offended." he allowed, and watched as she stared at the entrance of the tent, hesitating as perhaps she thought of retrieving her box before entering. But then she moved forward, carefully stepping through the opening to find the liege of the Corridor on the small seat next to the table with a quill in his hand, bringing ink to parchment in front of him. It was strangely warm inside the shelter, and he was dressed unnaturally lightly, in simple boots and breeches, and a loose fitting ivory tunic. He didn't seem to notice her standing at the entrance, and the thought occurred that it might be better to leave him be. She started to turn, but then paused to take a deep breath. _What could he possibly do to me..?_ Then she faced him, bringing some strength to her heart and stepped forward.

"I am sorry for interrupting you, my lord." she pardoned, softer than what she wanted and betraying the fear that still tugged at her nerves. But saw the corners of his mouth just slightly draw up.

"It's al right. What may I do for you, my lady?" he asked, still not bringing his attention to her as he continued to write, near to thoughtless of her presence. He sounded tired not irritated, and she took another few tentative steps forward.

"I couldn't help but hear, some of the men are worried about you. They say that you're not feeling well?" she hinted, and then saw that the draw to his mouth was a soft smile.

"It's just a headache, it will pass." he assured serenely, and she cautiously brought her hand to his face, only briskly letting her fingers touch his brow, feeling the skin burn against hers before stepping back, and an instant of shock struck her. _He's burning up!_ With a fever like this, he should barely be able to sit up, let alone ride into battle.

"You're feverish, I can get you something-" she started to turn, intent on retrieving her medicine box and instantly thinking of the fresh fennel root in her stock.

"It's not a fever." he silenced her, and she turned back in surprise, staring at him like she could not understand; then he shrugged she heard him chuckle.

"I'm just warm. Always have been... Something long attributed to my family." he explained, and she turned to face him again. Then he did look at her in silence as they finally met in more than just a passing glance, and she realized something different about him. Something that the stories did not tell.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked softly, and she sat down on the chair opposite from him, newly registering the black hair, the scars over his brow and jaw, a black beard that he continued to maintain as well as he could under the circumstances, and his eyes brilliant and burning in the candle light, taking in his soft smile, feeling the warmth that came off him. A gentle warmth, something almost soothing. That was the reason for the slightly higher temperature of this space.

"I was. Until now..." she confessed, returning the kind gesture. He wasn't at all like the stories of the unmerciful Lion Hunter made him sound. He wasn't vicious or ruthless... or even mad. But, he was withdrawn.

"You're known as The Lord of Flame?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yes. Another of my family's aliases." he confirmed, and she thought back to her home.

"Even in Volantis, there were stories of the men of fire." she mentioned, recalling one or two of the magical tales.

"Must be very old stories." he assumed, bringing his attention back to the parchment in front of him. Their name was wide spread, but he didn't think it reached over the waters of the seas.

"Some are. I never thought I would actually meet one." she told, and watched him for another moment.

"Still, you seem wan." she noticed, and he glanced up at her again.

"If there's anything wrong with me, it's only my longing for home." he told, and then continued to write as she nodded and quickly scanned the letter.

"You're writing to your family?" she asked, having a new interest.

"My wife, and my son." he revealed, and she breathed in looking up at his striking eyes.

"You only have one child?" as a norm, noble families would have several children. But she saw him nod, a distant sorrow behind the ardent blue.

"He was named Rychon, for our fathers. We would have had more, but an illness that befell my wife years ago stole them away from us." he told, and she felt the weight of despair for him. He was a great man indeed, as all the stories told. But more than that, he was a husband and a father who missed his family.

"You love them very much." she realized, and he gave her his attention again.

"More than anything." he breathed, with a truly calm smile as he thought of them.

"When I saw my wife for the first time, fourteen years ago on our wedding day; everything else dissolved, and nothing was left but her." he recalled it, and saw her staring at him, taken by his words and perhaps trying to envision her.

"She must be very beautiful." she said, looking at her hands in her lap and imagining the lord's lady somewhere far away.

"She has an extraordinary appearance. Tall and small; pale ivory skin, eyes blue as the rime, and hair of midnight and starlight. But, people have different opinions. Some have branded her a witch, while others call her the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms. With the latter, I agree. True, she's an exceptional woman, but she's just her... Moreover known to others as the Lady of Frost." he described, bringing each feature into his mind as if he could see it right in front of him as he smiled.

"Frost and Flame..." the lady in front of him brought it together, and then her eyes came back to his.

"Quite fitting, don't you think?" they shared a laugh, easy and comfortable; and then he sighed looking back at the letter.

"You... remind me of her. You don't look alike, but you care about people. So does she. She has always made the time to visit our sick and injured, and some of my men have sworn, that when she touched them, their fever faded away." he confessed, being able to appreciate the lovely girl's presence among their people. It brought comfort to their men, and hope of returning home.

"What is her name?" she asked, leaning slightly forward to rest her elbows on her knees as he looked up and smiled at her.

"Claira. Her name is Claira. She is lord Willmon Tormont of Pale Haven's eldest daughter." he told, and she could identify the elderly lord with silver-blue eyes and long silver hair; having seen him a couple of times. Someone she'd come to look up to as he was always kind and reserved, despite having great respect from the north.

"Such a beautiful name, too. I'd like to meet her, one day." she found herself with a desire for it, to meet the Lord of Flame's Lady of Frost, and again heard the lord softly chuckle.

"Perhaps when the war is done, you may find yourself welcome at the burning mountain." he offered, and she couldn't hide a delighted face.

"Your home?" It sounded enormous, and of course this man's house would be absolutely grand.

"Mount Ardor, seat of the Phoenix." he identified, and she looked back at her hands clasped together excitedly in her lap where he could not notice them.

"I look forward to it." and she truly did, trying to imagine a castle with high towers and strong walls; and then she stood, deciding to leave the rest of the evening to him to try and find some rest, and relief for the headache that plagued him.

"Well, I'm sure you'll see them again soon." she assured, and he nodded.

"Thank you, my lady. Good night." he greeted, and she lowered her head, having found that she rather liked him. Everything the stories told, and even more.

"Good night, lord Raeghun." she returned, and then stepped away to leave the tent. Before departing, she stopped and turned back.

"And for your headache, drink plenty of water." she advised, and saw him look up from the letter.

"I will." he promised, and then she left into the night; only one of the lords who had previously stood around the fire now remaining, possibly retired to their own shelters for the night. She looked up at the sky, now a starless darkness over them and the smell of rain on the wind and then stepped forward as the deep green eyes of the man still absorbing the warmth from the fire came up to face her.

"How is he?" he gently asked, and for just a while she shared the warmth of the fire with him.

"He'll be fine." she assured, watching as he nodded taking in the words. She usually saw them together, and he was close to his lord.

"You're quite fond of him." she mentioned, and heard the man next to her laugh softly.

"He's my best friend. My brother. We grew up together, faced every struggle together." he told, bringing back happier memories.

"Shall I escort you to your shelter, my lady?" he asked politely, extending his arm, and she agreed easily, strangely happy for the comfort she found with the people from the Goldfields.

"Thank you, lord Berin. You are very kind." her fingers rested on his elbow as they entered into the night, sharing light stories of their homes, their families and how they came to be where they are; of how his own assumed name 'The Crimson Knight', was really a reminder for his father's sigil which was all but discarded after Vega assumed his ancestral home. Bristlemane Stronghold was the seat of the Trentins who'd been a smaller but close vassal of the Taugere's for hundreds of years, a known name honoured for their gallantry in battle but not nearly as renowned as Foch, Rames or Violet. But as he was an only son, barely three years old when his father passed, others had persuaded his mother to marry again and her husband seized his rights. Vega was not a name of the Corridor; having come from somewhere on the Shield Islands only just a couple of decades ago. And he would retake his ancestral home, when the war was done and when the time was right so his sons may hold its lands in their lord's name as was their place. Then he bowed his head to her as he left her at her tent, bidding her a fair evening before retreating back to his own for the night and enduring yet another day, awaiting word on how to proceed. Encounters between their people and the enemy had lessened, and they could mostly move without consequence; but holding their units together seemed the best approach for the time being. Groups were sent out to win resources, and expand their foothold while the greatest part held ground here; but soon enough they would make for the southern reaches, pushing their way forward. It was a slow day, much like the one before and the wait seemed endless; but the sun passed like it always did and by evening both lord Willmon and Roose were called into counsel with Robb, trying to decide how to approach the current challenge that still needed to be dealt with in the heart of the north. But there had still not been any tidings, and Roose looked at Robb from his seat at the table next to him.

"We've sent a dozen ravens, none have returned. My bastard is only a few days from Winterfell. Once he captures the castle-" he started to explain, but the decision to lay siege to the walls left the young king anxious.

"Theon has my brothers. If we storm the castle-" he started, worry outweighing the desire for a quick end to this.

"He wouldn't dare hurt the boys. There is only hope of escaping the north with his head." Roose continued, followed by a short thoughtful silence before Robb glanced at Willmon, standing next to another table.

"Any advice, lord Tormont?" he asked, hopeful for an outcome.

"Pale Haven is one day's hard ride from Winterfell, but both my sons are here. Most of my men, with any amount of battle experience, are here." then he looked up, coming forward.

"I could send Rhegard back with a unit of men. But that would take time, and we don't know how much we have before an onslaught comes at us from either side." he glanced at Roose.

"And unfortunately we cannot, with any amount of certainty, guarantee the safety of your little brothers." then he sighed.

"As such, and with our current circumstances, I must agree with lord Bolton's suggestion." he relented, and Robb slowly looked at the ground in front of him; the anger burning away at his composure.

"Send word to your son. Any Ironborn who surrender will be allowed to return safely to their homes." he ordered, and the stone grey eyes stared at him.

"A touch of mercy is a virtue, your grace. Too much-" he started with a warning, but then the blue eyes came back to Roose across from him

"Any Ironborn, with the exception of Theon Greyjoy. He betrayed our cause. He betrayed me... We will hunt him down, no matter where he runs." he finished, the rage, disappointment and hurt swirling together in his gut in a frustrating burn, but bringing a satisfied grin from the man sitting with him.

"I expect his countrymen will turn on him the moment they hear the offer." he said, and then noticed Robb looking up at a figure in the doorway. The lovely girl that saw to their wounded, and she folded her hands in front of her respectfully as she glanced down.

"Your pardon, my lords. Your grace." she brought their attention to her, and Roose stood as both he and Willmon returned her greeting. Willmon glanced at Roose before moving forward, making his way out of the pavilion as Roose followed him into the night, leaving the king and the lady to their conversation.

"Lord Tormont." Willmon turned back to the voice calling him, and watched as Roose approached him.

"You mentioned that Pale Haven is a day's ride from Winterfell?" he asked, and Willmon nodded.

"It is." he confirmed, and then remembered. Their father had been there, and his brother... But lord Roose Bolton never came with them.

"Your brother used to visit us a lot, but you've never seen the white hold." and Roose nodded.

"I wanted to join him one time, for Gerald's wedding. But, I had other matters that required my attention. Perhaps if I had, he may still be alive." he sighed.

"I grieve for what happened, it is difficult to lose your family that way." they walked together up the narrow pathway through the tents.

"They never found the cut-throats that jumped him?" Willmon asked, but it appeared that lord Bolton remained indifferent to it.

"My brother was an audacious fool that acted without much thought, and often placed himself in dangerous situations." he told, and Willmon stared at him. Did he believe, that Charle deserved what happened to him? It was a four day travel between Pale Haven and the Dreadfort; but incidents were rare. Even so, the death of Charle Bolton did not incite a great deal of unrest as one would expect.

"With you and both your sons here, who is managing your hold?" Roose asked, rather curious.

"My wife is quite capable of keeping order in my absence." he told, and Roose smirked.

"For a wise man, you place a lot of trust, and value in the women of your house." he mentioned, and Willmon stopped turning to him.

"Without our wives and daughters, we may have as many names as we'd like. But no future. And in all respects, our home is protected by the gods, I have every faith that they will remain safe until our return." he said, growing wary of the sudden interest. But the stone grey eyes stared at him, giving no indication of any emotions or intentions.

"I'm sure they will be. One day, I might have the honour of visiting your halls." he said, and then issued a small smile.

"Good night, as per your advice I should see that my message is sent." he pardoned, and Willmon nodded.

"Good night, lord Bolton." Willmon greeted, and watched him move away into the night. Why was he wary of the questions? They were a noble house of the north, just as they were. Their families shared times of peace and growth. Why did it feel so out of place? He sighed, dismissing it as an unwanted paranoia that he had no use for and returned to his tent for the night.

Rychon stood in the woodland, easing deep breaths into his chest, just enduring the world that was now a deep dark blackness. They've been concentrated more on his senses for a couple of weeks now, which required him to be calm and focused. Falgon urged him to identify more things each time, and his advice to see the landscape around him, recreating it in his mind using the sounds helped a lot.

"What do you hear?" his teacher's deep voice met him, as tranquil as the existence around him as he listened.

"A bird singing in a tree to my left." he could see it, a high green pine with a black and red Cardinal calling for his mate.

"The ropes straining behind me from the swinging logs." they screeched and groaned as the logs swayed over the maze, first left and then right.

"Crickets in the grass to the south." the small black insects that gathered on the lush green, to drink up the sun while they chattered and chirped in the light.

"The stream behind you." where water flowed and trickled slowly down to the sea, churning over the stones, big and small.

"The horses grazing between the trees." just a little bit up to the north, where Galeo and Nix trudged around, ripping reeds from the ground.

"Good. What do you smell?" Falgon asked softly, and another deep breath filled him.

"Wild flowers." he identified the sweet smell, somewhere around his training grounds there was still a patch of daisies, a cluster of pansies or a vine of foxglove.

"Pines." the round clusters with their unique and pungent scent, hanging from the trees and others hidden in the foliage.

"Dust." the small particles rising from the earth as the wind swept it up in its passing, and then he smiled.

"Rain. I can smell rain." he enjoyed this smell, the essence that brought life and growth to their land.

"Excellent. Now, what do you feel?" the voice came again, and his attention went to his skin.

"The breeze, from the west." it was just a gentle sensation, caressing his right cheek, and the heat from above him, passing through the leaves sheltering them.

"And the sun." he identified, followed by a short silence.

"Good. And?" he stood wondering. _And? And what? There's nothing else..._

"And..." he started, trying to make sense of it.

"Go deeper. Focus, Rychon." Falgon urged softly, and he tried. But he couldn't find anything.

"There's nothing else." he said, but heard the soft chuckle.

"There is. Find it." he insisted, and again Rychon breathed taking in the ambience around him. Everything he'd mentioned before; then he lowered to himself to place his hand flat on the ground, supposing he might be able to 'feel' better against his skin. And he did. Tiny tremors through the earth. _An earthquake?_ No. Too inconsistent. Then he smiled.

"Hooves. Hooves over the ground." he stood, taking the cloth from his eyes as he smiled at the sentinel, seated on a rock and smiling back.

"Very good." he praised and stood up from the stone, and then they heard it as well. Their attention went to the shadows of the woods behind the training grounds, where a herd of elk rushed swiftly past.

"How did you know?" Rychon asked, holding back a laugh.

"Because I've had years more than you. But you are doing well." Falgon told as he took a place next to the boy.

"You will find that you use every sense, for every situation. All of them, or singularly depending on the circumstances. From hunting, to scouting to actual battle. The more of these senses you are familiar with, the easier it is to apply them. And the easier you apply your senses to the world around you, the greater you will be in your actions." he told as they watched the deer pass, some big, some small; some with antlers, tall or stunted, and others without.

"How old were you when you started?" Rychon asked looking up at him.

"Younger than you. Much younger." Falgon replied with a laugh.

"Really?" Rychon continued as Falgon turned towards the grounds.

"Three. Maybe two, I don't know. My entire life was spent preparing me for an important role, much like yours. I was meant to be a great warrior, a champion to lead our men into battle in times of war. My training continued well into my tenth years, but the honour of my family's sword came to me when I reached twenty. Even after my father no longer took us out, I continued my training on my own when I could." Falgon told as he retook his seat on the stone.

"Why?" Rychon asked, curious of his persistence.

"Because I wanted to be better. Austerity is the greatest trait you will ever possess, and it takes a great deal of effort, but it goes a long way." the tall sentinel concluded, and then glanced up at the sky as Rychon remained staring at him.

"Go do your runs, then it's time to go home." he instructed, and watched as the young lord moved away rather happily to take his place at the start of the maze. He took a moment to compose himself, preparing for the movements as he filled his chest with a deep breath; and then he sprinted forward through the intricate series with significant ease. Once, then twice, and then three times before falling down on the grass exhausted but happy for his improvement, it was a good feeling. The sensation rushing through his limbs, the tingling coursing through his veins... and then his eyes opened to a darkening sky, with the shadow of his teacher above him.

"Come on, let's go." he urged, holding his hand for Rychon who laughed as he took hold, and Falgon pulled him to his feet.

"Am I going to face you, one day?" he asked, making the sentinel shrug.

"You might." he told, and it left an excited surge in Rychon's chest.

"When?" he asked eagerly, to the gentle smile looking back.

"When you're ready. It's still several years away, though." he told, and they secured the ropes to the trees before they headed back to find the horses to start their way home, passing under the great gate with the darkness of dusk settling over the land and the heavy hit of the iron as the double gate met the earth behind them, and the entryway to the great castle was sealed. Boys came to stable the horses, and they entered the hold to meet with the other members, servants passing on their routes and the high-born gathering in the southern hall where Falgon left Rychon at the door to the hall to go to his mother's side where she, Milla and his friends were already seated, and Wink was conducting his own investigation of the waiting table for something to eat. Shortly after, with the little ferret happily lounged on his young lord's shoulders, the family shared their stories and activities of the day, they supped on honey glazed parsley goose with steamed vegetables and maize while the fires from the hearths burnt brightly, and Claira glanced at her son.

"How was your day? Did you learn something new?" she asked, and Rychon smiled.

"I did. Falgon is having me focus on my environment, experiencing it without seeing it. I felt a herd of elk passing us before we heard, or saw them." he reported happily, watching her nod as she took in his words. He thought she seemed better than what she was a few moons ago, but still worn.

"That sounds like something special." she mentioned looking back at the plate in front of her.

"It is. But it's hard to put into words..." he tried, again feeling the tiny vibrations edging up his arm from his fingers, and recalling what Falgon told him several months ago. ' _Seeing it, is wonderful. But feeling it, the quake of thousands of hooves over the earth seeping into you, the sense that brings the return of your people... Nothing ever comes close to that._ ' And he hoped for that when his father came home. To feel his return before seeing their brilliant banners emerging over the horizon, the beautiful blazing phoenix rising from the edge of the world, and he couldn't resist the fluttering through his gut that remained until well into the night even when he lay sleeping, dreaming of the future while Falgon again held his vigil in the guard's hall. Renko passed, on his way up to his chamber when Falgon looked up towards him.

"Renko, do you know if Avery has returned yet?" he asked, and Renko paused for a moment thinking.

"I don't. Haven't seen him since Austinus him sent off." he reported, and Falgon nodded as he looked back at the flames of the hearth. He thought that he might be somewhat impatient, but it's been weeks; and although the silence was serene for now he didn't trust this illusion of safety.

"Are you worried?" Renko asked, coming closer to the light of the hearth.

"I'm not sure. The hold he's been sent to, is only a couple of days' travel from here. It probably shouldn't take this long." he breathed, hoping that the boy was safe. His nagging tenacity for caution may have cost them more than was needed, and against the tightness of his gut he wanted for this to be simply his wish for closure. But despite his desire, somewhere in the desolate reaches the young scout sat in the cold, dark silence of a remote cave; his back against the moist wall and his fingers numb. He'd been on his way back from Bristlemane, confident that its activities were not particularly incredulous... and to the contradictory, quite lifeless with a great deal of the population away to the south. And he'd been well away from the castles, rather isolated when they found him. That might have been his mistake, to remove himself from the eyes of others. Had he gone by the road he took, he would have been safely home long ago. Back with his family, but now he was left thinking of the plate nearby that had been barren since dawn, or at least since what he supposed may have been dawn, and the discomfort in his stomach. He'd surrender his left hand for a bowl of his wife's veal stew, which she prepared whenever the farmer she worked for gave her some meat for their home... Then he looked up, a light driving away the shadows but it was not a welcome vision. A torch floated down to him, carried by a skinny, haggard man with dark dishevelled hair, a long face that made him think of a crow and deep grey eyes. He was always smiling, but it was an empty smile bereft of warmth and kindness. There were five of them, or at least he could identify no less than five different voices through the darkness when they spoke with each other, but he didn't understand the words, distinguishing them as foreigners. Avery watched as the stranger hauled a small crate closer, sitting down on it before shoving the torch into the ground next to him.

"It took us a while to find you." he said, showing his yellowing teeth as his smile widened. Even his voice was hoarse and raspy, like the call of a crow... This was the one they called Rook. Avery glanced at the ground beneath him, cursing himself for the misfortune. A misfortune he had created by taking a road that could save him half a day. _I was careless..._

"What do you want?" he asked, and Rook leaned forward staring at him.

"Just information, for now. We know a few things, but I'm betting that you know more." he stated.

"There's nothing I can tell you." Avery breathed, and Rook cocked his head.

"You have a wife. What's her name..." he started, and the scout's heart skipped a beat.

"No..." they couldn't have been watching him, they couldn't.

"Oh, yes. A milk maid on a farm just a little ways off Garde's Post." Rook continued, bringing the painful pounding of his heart to his ribs as he looked back at the smiling face.

"No!" they couldn't have known. Why would his family be targets?

"That's it. Lilly. Lovely, little Lilly." Avery watched him, the empty smile still plastered over the rugged features as the stranger scooted slightly closer.

"Mount Ardor is not the only hold with adept runners." They did come from a hold. But which one?

"If you touch her, I will kill you." Avery threatened, but to his dismay Rook laughed at the words.

"Oh, come now. You're a scout. Not a warrior." Rook pointed out to him, and it was true. He could use a dagger if he had dire need of it, but as far as standing in a thorough clash between armies, he would be close to useless. Again the foreigner leaned forward, resting his weight on his legs.

"Unfortunately, we've had some difficulties getting into the grounds of the burning mountain. Now, how many guards hold the castle?" he started with the questions, his leering eyes expecting honest answers.

"If you think I'll tell you anything-" the runner started, but another soft laugh made him stop.

"You will. Unless you're eager for your wife to join you. Pretty young thing; brown hair, green eyes, lovely smile. Her veal stew's even better than my mothers." his nerves splintered, and his heart shattered. They did know. They knew his Lilly, they were in their home and she offered them a meal because she was good and kind and trusting. The grey eyes cut into him confidently, knowing that he had absolute control over him.

"How many guards?" he asked again, and Avery tried to remember the count when he left, but it would not be of any use.

"I... I don't know. The guard count grows, if it was sixty yesterday it could be seventy today. I don't know." he told, which the man opposite from him seemed to accept easily.

"How many Sentinels?" he asked, more specific and Avery thought he might be able to unnerve him a bit.

"Six." he said quickly, but still saw the empty smile as Rook brought up a long, thin blade held in his hand, casting it a quick conceited glance.

"I used this knife to gut a deer a few days ago. I found a fawn, still in her belly. Perfect, a wondrous creation of the gods... Shall we see what's growing in your Lilly's rounding belly?" It wasn't working. He couldn't deceive him, he couldn't intimidate him and he couldn't dissuade him. What choice did he have left?

"Four! Four sentinels..." he corrected, cursing himself again and Rook lowered the blade, resting his arm on his knee.

"Which four?" he asked, his focus going closer to their ultimate goal.

"Gavin. Wymon. Renko..." Avery named them, and then paused.

"And?" the stranger urged, and he looked up at the curious stare with a smile.

"The strongest of them all..." this wasn't a lie, he could say it with hope.

"Falgon of the Fire Hall. You'll never get past him." he assured, but the smile did not leave the dark face in front of him despite a ponderous sigh.

"Well then, we'll have to find some way to get rid of him instead." Rook decided, and then lifted the thin blade pointing the sharp tip at the throat of the young man, stressing the shine of the honed edge.

"Now. You will do exactly as I tell you... lest I discover yet another little fawn." he directed, and the small degree of confidence he had left him as if being bled out of him...

In the days that followed, word reached the northern army that King's Landing had been attacked by lord Stannis, who suffered a defeat when lord Tywin Lannister ploughed into the invading army. They suddenly left south not long ago, surrendering Harrenhal to a smaller party under command of Ser Gregor Clegane, the man known as The Mountain to hold it. With a limited unit of men in charge of the ruin, this may be the opportunity they needed to get a foothold closer to the Crownlands. And also, there was an apparent lure to the notion that the King in the North shared a closer bond with the foreign lady for a while now. The soft words and gentle presence did indeed give his demeanour a much appreciated improvement, perhaps more than others understood. So, when darkness came over them, Robb made the decision to reveal his intentions to his mother, and now sat in her company inside the tent she was confined to for the remainder of their journey while she struggled with his words.

"Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross." she warned him, but his mind would not be changed. Not on this.

"I know that." he assured, with a sullen sigh.

"And you mean to do it anyway?" she asked, and his blue eyes came up to meet hers.

"I love her." he confessed honestly, again thinking of the pretty girl who captured his heart so securely.

"I know that seems important to you-" his mother started.

"It is important to me." he insisted, watching her take another deep breath.

"Your father didn't love me, when we married. He hardly knew me, or I him. Love didn't just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years, stone by stone. For you, for your brothers, your sisters, for all of us. It's not as exciting as secret passion in the woods, but it is stronger. It lasts longer." she told, hoping he would listen and think better of his stubborn decision.

"And that is what would be in store for me with one of Walder Frey's daughters? What you and father had? What lord Taugere and his wife has?" They didn't marry for love, but they did love more than anyone else.

"Why not? Because she's not beautiful? Because she's not exotic, and exciting?" His mother was known as a beautiful woman, since her youth. Lord Willmon Tormont's daughters, especially the eldest, had always been described as lovely. Lord Walder Frey's daughters however... Well, that was left to be debated.

"I know, you're arguing just to argue. Because you arranged it." Robb breathed, trying to indicate that this agreement was her doing, and not his to begin with.

"And you agreed to it! You gave him your word. Treat your oaths recklessly, and your people will do the same. If your father lived his life for one thing-" she started, reminding him that he had as much part in this engagement than she did.

"My father is dead. And the only parent I have left has no right to call anyone reckless." he directed, everyone made decisions whether it be for a good cause or not. Choices that had effects on not only themselves, but those around them. Sometimes, long lasting effects. Then he stood and left into the night, two guards posted outside the tent to keep their vigil. He wandered around the camp for a while, silently debating with himself on the path that lay before him. He found himself at a crossroad, go this way and follow every instinct that told him to heed his heart and live a lasting life that would be happy; or the other way and heed his word that would seal an alliance and risk going through his days in a union that was loveless at worst, and only a show of courtesy. He watched the flames of a torch as he passed, wondering what to do and eventually sat down on a stone somewhere in the camp listening to the soft, low voices in the distance. What would his people think of him if he did this? Would they continue to follow him? Or would they abandon him for a choice that had an effect on his life only, not theirs? How did they have any right to expect him to build his own existence, on the wishes of others?

"You seem troubled, your grace." he suddenly heard a voice next to him, and looked up into the face of the Grey Tom next to him.

"I'll be al right. I'm just thinking..." he replied softly.

"Might I sit with you?" the older lord asked, and Robb nodded watching as he took a seat next to him. They shared the silence, but his presence was calming. Comforting...

"Lord Willmon?" then the silver-blue eyes came to his. Could he talk to him? Could he understand? What would he think of him? But the eyes remained clear, and patient.

"How do you know, when you're making a right choice?" Robb asked softly, and then saw the corners of his mouth rise up slightly in a gentle smile.

"By accepting, that you don't know." he said as the King in the North stared at him, utterly confused. He hoped for wisdom, not chagrin. For some direction where he found himself now, not... Wait. Why was he smiling?

"I don't understand." was there more? There had to be more.

"Choosing to murder your brother because you envy him, is a wrong choice. But to murder an enemy soldier, so you could return to your family is a right choice. Wouldn't you agree?" he asked, and Robb nodded slowly.

"I suppose so..." it seemed logical, but then again it was a matter on which side you stood.

"But then we are forced to face the reality, that there is no true right or wrong in this world. What is right to one, is wrong to another, so who is to determine these right or wrong decisions? In the end, there is only the best option, and the worst; further we sometimes need to make these choices, knowing we may hurt someone. But we make these choices to protect the ones we love, to the best of our intentions." he explained, and Robb smiled. There was the guidance he needed.

"You married for love, didn't you?" he asked, and Willmon nodded.

"I did. Against my father's wishes. I was to marry a lady Manderly from White Harbour, but I chose to follow my heart, for the woman I loved. He hated me for it, but it was a choice that I lived with, and will continue to live with until the end of my days." he told, his voice soft and near to nostalgic.

"Have you ever rued it?" Robb asked, and saw the lord's eyes go up to the stars above them.

"Never." but then his mind seemed to change.

"But only one of my children had the freedom to choose for themselves. The others, my Claira, Rhegard and Carissa married to suitors I chose for them. To houses that would provide for them, and have us rooted in the North; houses that would bind our people and strengthen our families. And they are all happy." he told.

"Except for Claira, who married the lord of Mount Ardor." Robb corrected him.

"Yes, except for her. But circumstances were different, we needed a powerful ally and had little to offer. But by giving her... my most precious, we secured that. And I was relieved to find that her husband was good to her, and still is. Despite the arrangement, they truly love one another. There is nothing in this world I am more grateful for." he added, and then looked at Robb.

"Whatever you decide to do, it is a choice you will live with. Others may only accept, or reject it. But, I want to advise you to think carefully before you make your final ruling, as someone you care for may be hurt. You will have to live with that, as well." he told, and Robb nodded.

"Did you and your father ever make peace?" he asked, curious about that outcome.

"Unfortunately, no. It is the one regret I am left with." he said, and Robb felt the stab of heartache for him. He had to live with that, even now...

"I am sorry for that, my lord." he said before they shared another moment of silence, just staring up at the stars. His mother might hate him, lord Frey will definitely hate him. Was that something he could live with?

"I assume we will reach Harrenhal soon, it might be best to get some rest." Willmon said, and then moved to stand up.

"Good night, lord Willmon. And thank you, for your words." Robb greeted, as the elderly man turned to face him.

"You are most welcome, your grace. Sleep well." he returned, and as silently as he came disappeared back to the shelters, leaving the king to his thoughts and his decision was concluded one night beneath an ancient tree where he pledged himself to the woman he loved. Many were not happy with it, while others remained indifferent, and a handful were delighted for him. But the force pressed on, heading south-east towards the enormous ruin built by lord Harren the Black, famous for its misfortune and perilous history. The days were spent moving, and warding off raiding attacks, and the evenings in torch-lit camp sites, trying to redeem their strength and spirit. But it was an uneasy night when the men of the Corridor were assembled on the far west. Robb walked with his wife back to their pavilion, stopping at the entryway and bringing her hands to his mouth.

"Go on, I'll be with you in a moment." he assured, and allowed her to enter alone, giving her a few moments to herself before they would share the night. He listened, the voices coming through the dark raised and heated; one voice in particular seemed loud and enraged. He had wondered how many would leave his side for his choice, and earlier this afternoon he heard one of the soldiers mention that the lords of the Corridor appeared to have lost their regard for this campaign. Perhaps they were planning on leaving, their numbers have diminished by at least half since they set out despite the return of the largest part of the men sent to deal with the threats in the Goldfields, having brought the remainder of those who were supposed to man the destroyed ships along as well. Robb moved through the camp towards the noise, hoping he might find a way to convince them otherwise. Then he emerged from the tents, witnessing the mass of warriors, their attention fixed on a single point. Their liege lord, whose voice shook them all following someone's excuse.

"Just winning the battles, is not enough!" there was an instant of silence, and even the King in the North could feel the energy, like a wave of heat.

"With each clash, we lose men. Men we cannot simply replenish!" They'd lost people, too many. Their insistent skirmishes and increased negligence around the fields to keep the greatest party of the northern army intact chipping away at their strength.

"The parties will remain within a mile of the force, I will not permit anyone to go off 'hunting'. I intent to make it back to my home, with as many lives as possible. Is that understood?" he instructed purposefully, to the averse compliance of the others while Robb stared at him. Were the rumours he heard true? Or did the soldier simply overstate? _Intend to make it back to my home..._ He walked forward towards Raeghun as the others departed.

"Are you going to abandon our cause?" he asked, and Raeghun turned to face him, the hard blaze still visible in his eyes.

"Why?" he asked, not obviously surprised of the question.

"One of my men heard you talking to yours, he heard you say-" Robb started, and Raeghun moved towards him.

"What I said, was that I do not have a particularly high regard for those who treat an oath as a flight of fancy. But it does not mean that I will treat mine as such." he stated, and a silence followed as the world around them was left empty. He could only think of one reason, that he would say that.

"You are offended by my actions?" Robb asked, not entirely sure if he should feel proud or ashamed. But Raeghun smirked, passing an almost amused grin.

"I admire your will, for abandoning your words for your heart. But a man's worth, is as good as his word, Robb. Always remember that, for everyone else will." he told, and Robb looked away from him.

"You sound like my father." he breathed, but the burning eyes did not leave him.

"Because of my age? Or because that is something he would tell you?" the lord asked, and the king looked back at him.

"Maybe a bit of both..." But no, it was more the words. It did sound like something his father would have told him, had he been here.

"You should get back, your lady wife is waiting for you." Raeghun reminded, but the lingering question in the young king's stare made him breathe out slowly.

"We won't leave until your sisters are safely recovered. However, at this moment I cannot make any promises for more." he tried to reassure the youngster, but the alleviation was minimal.

"And for now, I will not expect more." Robb replied, and a moment was held in silence as they watched each other. The wolf and the phoenix, not scornful, not biased, not at odds, not at peace... only even until the next hill might tip that scale.

"Harrenhal is not far. Go get some rest, whatever you might." Raeghun urged again, and Robb sighed as he turned. His choice riled many, but he didn't expect that his ally would be one of those who were nettled.

"And you." he replied, moving back the way he came into the encampment and Raeghun returned to his own to try and rid himself of the warmth that chewed at him, stripping the clothing from his body and emptied a waterskin over himself, soaking his skin and the ground beneath him. He looked up, and forced several deep breaths into his chest. _The sooner this is over, the better..._ They could go home, gather up their men and items and ride for the Corridor at daybreak. But that wasn't their way. Never has been. To victory or to hell, regardless of everything else. Then he looked down at his hands noting that they were shaking, the course of the heat through his veins. _My Claira..._ _I miss you so much..._

"Raeghun." he looked back to see Berin pass through the entrance of his shelter.

"I expect that our men have their instructions clearly." he sighed, taking up fresh breeches from the chest.

"They do. No one will go out tonight." Berin confirmed, watching his friend redress before falling down on the small chair.

"Good..." Berin moved forward, stepping over the plash left on the ground where Raeghun stood to take the seat opposite from him.

"Have you slept at all, the past few weeks?" he asked as he sat down.

"Not much. But I'll manage." he replied softly, seeming to settle down from the day's difficulties.

"And you?" Raeghun asked, looking up at Berin.

"I'll sleep better in my own bed, next to my wife." he confessed, and Raeghun nodded.

"I want to go home, Berin. I want to return to my wife and my son. I want us all to wake up in our own land with our loved ones around us and continue to live our lives in peace." he confessed to his friend, in the safety of his shelter.

"We could, you know." Berin replied, not seeming to oppose the notion.

"Don't tempt me. You're supposed to help me uphold the honour of my house." Raeghun told, and he had to strangle a small laugh.

"Honour seems to have various meanings the past while." Berin teased.

"I don't care what it means to everyone else. Only what it means to us. What it means to me." Raeghun added, and Berin stared at him. He didn't want to be here any more than anyone else did, had he the freedom to turn around and march home he would do it without any hesitation. But he made a promise to his ally, and the lord of Mount Ardor was known for his promises. It was one of the great things that their house was built on, that a man's worth is as good as his word; and these were great men throughout the centuries.

"We'll go home, Raeghun. Once our endeavour is done, when the Stark girls are safe and king Joffrey has answered for his crimes, we will go home. We will see our families, and sleep in our own beds, and watch our children grow and succeed us. And we'll make love to our wives each night until the sun comes up." he promised sincerely, and to his relief it did bring a hopeful smile to his friend.

"What a way to encourage me, lord Trentin." he managed to tease, and Berin smiled back.

"It is the closest truth I can give you." then he stood.

"Then I will hold on to that truth..." Raeghun promised, easier than before.

"Good. Sleep well, my lord." Berin greeted, and left the shelter to return to his own for the night. Dawn came slowly, but they forged on with the sunrise over the landscape with the horses trudging across the earth, banners caught in the breeze of their movement; and the high walls and broken, melted towers came into sight. Robb Stark halted his horse on the road approaching the gate to the ruined keep, with Roose Bolton and Gerald at his sides.

"It looks deserted." Gerald mentioned, and Roose spared him a fleeting glance.

"We should set the siege lines a thousand yards from Harrenhal." he proposed.

"There won't be a siege, the Mountain can't defend a ruin." Robb told as he watched the empty walls.

"I imagine that the Mountain will defend whatever Tywin Lannister tells him to defend." Roose cautioned, but the castle was as lifeless as the grave.

"The Lannisters have been running from us since Oxcross. I'd love a fight. The men would love a fight. I don't think we're going to get one." Robb said, recalling that was their last great battle apart from smaller raids, clashes and scattered skirmishes. Then watched riders pass, led by lord Taugere towards the shadow of the keep, heedless of what may still be there. It was the only castle in the realms that was known, or at least said, to be greater than Mount Ardor. When Harren the Black took to building the giant that was now a ruin for all its fame, he certainly did not do so sparingly. Then they decided to follow, soon abandoning the horses and entering into the darkness of its haunted halls. In silence, they took in the sight that they found in Flowstone Yard, some of the lords moved through the devastation while others held back in the shadows. Lord Rickard Karstark's hard dark eyes went over the yard, the horror that lay there.

"Two hundred northmen... slaughtered like sheep." he breathed, the desolation too hard to pass as sorrow. Two hundred northmen, some of them from the Corridor under lord Seigre's son... Lord Bolton watched the yard, taking in those moving and those not.

"The debt will be repaid, my friend. For them, and for your sons." he promised, not noticing the dark eyes go to a slender figure among those before them.

"Will it? They rot in the ground while their killer runs free." he doubted him, it has been weeks that there was no word, or even a sighting of Jaime Lannister.

"The Kingslayer won't remain free for long. My best hunter's after him." Roose eased, still watching the slow activity throughout the yard while Raeghun, Berin and Ernaldus stared at the body of one of theirs, the throat opened deep enough to reveal a severed trachea.

"Hunald." Raeghun recognised him as lord Seigre's youngest son; several years their junior but a spirited warrior and eager leader with ginger curls, blue eyes and strong hands like his father, but the soft round face and gentle voice of his mother.

"This is horrible..." Berin whispered, over the past years they'd shared a hunt or two when they came to court or attended the Horn Festival. He was a pleasant man.

"Was this done to try and strike fear into us?" Ernaldus asked, counting the men they lost.

"This was done out of careless fear. Kill everyone and flee. How foolish..." Raeghun gathered. Why murder everyone and then abandon the castle? Because they were afraid. Because they would rather risk the scorn of their masters than face the force of the north. Foolish and cruel indeed, as The Mountain was known to be.

"Gather up our fallen, we'll have preparations made as soon as we can." Raeghun instructed, moving further into the yard and noticing Robb with his mother and wife not far off where they too, found a familiar face.

"Mallister." Robb identified the sigil, where a dagger was plunged into his chest breaking the silver eagle of their house.

"Ser Jaremy... My father's bannerman..." Catelyn recognised the fallen man, grieving the demise of someone she'd known most of her life. Robb looked at her, wishing things may have been different.

"Find her a chamber that will serve as a cell." he ordered two soldiers nearby, watching as they escorted her further into the castle to find some suitable room, and Talisa stepped closer to him.

"She's your mother." she reminded him softly, and he sighed.

"She freed Jaime Lannister. The Lannisters robbed them of their sons, and she robbed them of their justice." he defended his reasons. Something he could not change, no matter how he wished to. Suddenly a rasping cough drew their attention to a lean, grey haired man garbed in black that miraculously stuttered to life. Robb and his wife rushed to his side, where she inspected the wound opening the side of his neck.

"This needs to be cleaned and closed." she determined, rushing back to retrieve her medicine box while Robb offered him water from a skin, which he swallowed eagerly.

"What's your name, friend?" he asked, watching the gasping man.

"Qyburn..." he replied as Talisa returned, covering the wound with a clean cloth.

"You're lucky to be alive." she told him with a compassionate smile, and he seemed dazed as he too, registered the death around them.

"Lucky..." he repeated. Yes, he was. He must have been... The northern army settled into the great stronghold, preparing for the days to come. Hard days, that they will endure.

Wymon sat with Falgon in the guard's hall, well into the night. The days were long and quiet, with less and less to fill them with. The guards had their training, the children had their games, the ladies had their embroidery, the cook has his kitchen, the maester has his medicines and their current overseer had his books as Wymon stared at him.

"What are you reading?" he asked, and the stern face rose slightly.

" _The Shadow of Serenity_." Falgon named the book, and Wymon sat back.

"What's it about?" he further asked, hearing the tall sentinel sigh.

"About people. About how they try to be happy, but just couldn't be despite their wealth and fortune and stature. But in the end, they found it in simple things." he told, and Wymon stared at the book open in his hand. He wasn't past the first half of it.

"You've read it before?" he asked, and Falgon smiled.

"Twice." he confirmed as Wymon laughed.

"It's that good?" then Falgon looked up at him.

"It is. You might want to take it up yourself, sometime." he suggested, and Wymon brought a horn of ale to his mouth.

"Maybe later. When you're finished with your third time." he teased, and then swallowed from the horn before lowering it again.

"You too, find joy in the small things." he assumed, and Falgon nodded.

"I do now. It makes every breath I take worth it. To appreciate each sunrise I meet here, to watch this great house grow, to see its future with them for as long as my eyes will see. To teach the heir all I can, and to keep their lives safe..." he revealed.

"Or being in lady Claira's company." Wymon pointed out specifically, followed by a short silence.

"Or being in her grace's company, yes." and for him, that was the best place to be. Where he could see her smile, where he could be her shield. Better than any place in the known world he'd been since walking into a red sunrise... away from that place...

"You've never called her by her name." Wymon again noted.

"Why would I?" Falgon asked, the light grey eyes staring at him in amusement.

"Because she has one." he mentioned, a slight teasing tone in his smile. He knew her name, of course he knew her name. He'd been her shadow for years, how could he not? She had one of the most beautiful names that could be spoken, it was just...

"The stone does not cry out for the moon. I have no right to use her name." he told softly. There was no way to make others see, how could he be deserving of using her name, even when it sounded so sweet? He was nothing, just a stone; when she was his queen. His moon...

"You are very strange." Wymon laughed softly.

"Don't try to understand me. You'll only injure yourself." Falgon finally teased back, and the younger sentinel's thoughts went to other nights. Peaceful nights.

"I sometimes hear you sharing happier memories with the others, but you never talk about what happened to you, to your family, to your home. You are not the only one with a tainted history, Falgon. I lost my sister, years ago..." Wymon started to tell, but the face next to him displayed little interest.

"I am sorry for your loss. But, mine is a darker past than yours. And I will not speak of it." he refused, and Wymon stared at him. Why was he so secretive about his history? Everyone had their stories, everyone had their stains, their pains. Something happened, something terrible. But, it was a hole in his past. A black stretch of emptiness in his history.

"But still..." Wymon tried to urge.

"It is no longer important. My future here, is. As it is, that time and what happened doesn't exist." Falgon told, stubbornly. _It was that bad, eh?_

"Al right. Good night, Falgon." he stood to leave, and Falgon's eyes went to the flames of the hearth.

"Sleep well, Wymon." he greeted.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21 – THE STRANGER

The northern force held position in Harrenhal for a fortnight, clearing and reinforcing what they could and then the ravens arrived. More devastating news from the north, that the winter keep was set aflame and left in ruin; and that lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun left this world for the next. It was like the world itself had turned dark, and dead. The decision was made for the lords to return to Riverrun for the late lord's funeral, while a force under command of lord Roose Bolton, and half of the strength of the Corridor under command of lords Foch and Reubel along with Haslinger's son, along with the sentinels Colbert, Saerus and Hilfert remained behind until their rulers returned to press on further south. It could have been past noon one cool day when Lord Karstark watched from Robb's side as their men passed, feeling frustrated at the turn of events.

"We're at war. This march is a distraction." he muttered.

"My grandfather's funeral is not a distraction." Robb rejected, watching the banners flutter by.

"We riding to battle at Riverrun?" Rickard asked.

"No." Robb replied,

"Then it's a distraction." the lord determined again.

"My uncle Edmure has his forces garrisoned there, we need his men." Robb explained, hearing the elderly man next to him sigh.

"Unless he's been breeding them, you don't have enough to make a difference." he pointed out.

"Have you lost faith in our cause?" Robb asked with a smirk, and Rickard looked at him.

"If it's revenge, I still got faith in it." he decided, and Robb's eyes met his.

"If you no longer believe-" he started, but the dark eyes remained on him.

"I can believe till it snows in Dorne. Don't change the fact, you've got half the men." he counted their numbers, brought down since their initial march south.

"You don't think we can win?" Robb challenged him, then the eyes went away from him as their attention went back to the passing soldiers.

"May I speak my mind, your grace?" he asked softly, almost timidly.

"Have you not been speaking your mind, lord Karstark?" Robb bit back a laugh, teasing the free-spoken gentleman at his side with a grin.

"I think you lost this war, the day you married her." he indicated the lovely girl, riding her grey mare down the pathway next to lord Tormont and his sons, following the mass of soldiers and finally stopping in a small clearing to rest.

"Until our march continues, my queen." Willmon greeted, and she smiled.

"Thank you for the company, lord Tormont." she returned, and watched them move off before dismounting. When not at her husband's side, she chose to ride with them. She seemed to favour it. Perhaps for their tranquillity, or the lighter atmosphere that hung around them as opposed to many of the other lords who were hard and stern and fierce and gruff, while those under the feline banner had a certain degree of elegance to them. They disappeared around the bend, coming upon the banners from the Goldfields moving down an adjacent road through the trees, led by their lords; but they seemed to settle down on the grounds as soldiers and nobles started to dismount, allowing the horses to graze and drink from a small stream through the foliage. Gerald searched the faces, and then found his brother far to the north of the party, his black warhorse seized by a soldier and led away with others to sate his thirst while the Lord of Flame and the head of his Sentinels claimed seats on stones and logs. He approached them, watching Raeghun claim a loaf of bread from a bag before breaking it in half and handing one piece to his friend. Gerald smiled as he halted his horse next to them.

"There room for one more?" he asked, and Raeghun motioned to an unclaimed stone.

"Help yourself." he allowed, and Gerald dismounted so his own courser could be tended to and sat down on the stone with Raeghun and Berin, entering the discernible sphere of warmth circling them and watched Raeghun break another piece from the loaf of bread, before offering it to him.

"Oh, go ahead. I'm not hungry." he declined politely, just for a moment wondering if his brother whom was a high lord even noticed that he intended to surrender the greatest part of it.

"I'll admit, the field rations are becoming a bit stale, but it will do." Raeghun breathed, bringing the bread to his mouth.

"We might reach the Inn of the Kneeling Man tonight, and make it to Riverrun late tomorrow." Gerald reported, going over the faces of the men trying to enjoy a moment of peace in the woodland. Derric and Edur were conferring with different groups not too far away.

"Your sentinels seem to have some distance from you, lately." he noted, then looked back at Raeghun, wondering why in times of increased danger they would do that.

"That is because, in times of war their roles change. They become my commanders, rather than my personal defence. Each with leadership over their own unit." he explained as Gerald glanced at Berin.

"Except for Berin?" he indicated, and they laughed.

"Except for Berin. For which I am very grateful. He has as much command as me, but because we understand each other so well we stand stronger, and fight better together." Raeghun told, watching his friend beside him. _The ultimate defence_ _after all_ _..._ The trust they had, went deeper than mere friendship, it was brotherhood. Years of lives shared created this kinship, and there was nothing more reassuring than having that confidence in another, and they could face the world with pride and hope. Unexpectedly, the sensation of trickling down Gerald's spine drew his thoughts away, and he looked up at the sky. High white clouds passed over them, but it was severely warm, and he noticed the men opposite from him clothed rather lightly, save for the armour.

"I didn't think it would be so warm here." he mentioned wiping the moisture from his neck, and Raeghun laughed.

"It's not. That's just me; my condition has been overly warm for some time now, and I confess I'm having difficulty bringing it down." he told as Berin stared at him. Also one of the reasons for his heated demeanour, and there was little to be done about it.

"Perhaps some good ale, and a quick soak in water may ease you?" Gerald suggested, rather eager to reach the little indulgence the inn might offer.

"It helps, but it doesn't last long." they watched a party of men passing, laughing as they obviously discussed their plans for the night.

"The gods only know, if I could have my Claira with me, if only for a moment..." he breathed, deeply wishing for her cool hands against his skin, for her frost to smother and still the uncomfortable searing blaze he felt raging in him.

"This will be over soon. With our hold over Harrenhal, we'll see the end of this before too long." Gerald assured, and they nodded. They spent a while in the woods before pressing on, reaching the inn after nightfall and shelters were erected around the grounds for the men, and with limited lodging available inside the structure, many chose the seclusion of their tents. Following the entertainment of the tavern, with a bowl of vegetable stew and bread, songs and stories of grand adventures, most retired, and on their way back to their pavilion Berin paused, looking back at the group of men they saw passing them this afternoon, simple men who were under orders of lord Violet, escorting a girl with them. A young woman from the tavern, dressed in the finest dress they were able to dig up between the rags, and strands of her dark hair coated with a light wax to mimic a white shine. _Oh, fuck no..._

"Go on, I'll catch up." Berin quickly told his friend, hoping he could dissuade the approaching party before they got themselves killed. He made his way to them, swiftly blocking their way forward, staring at the grinning, drunk faces.

"Don't." the eyes of the first man stared at him, indifferent to his intentions.

"He'll be happy for it." he determined, and Berin's hand found his chest to hold him back.

"Don't!" he warned again, but the soldier shouldered him aside and proceeded with the other two behind him, and the girl following meekly. _Oh, fuck no..._

"Lord of Flame!" the first man called out, and Raeghun turned to register the men coming up to him.

"I've brought you a gift, to ease your burden." he said, the words heavy and slurred, but Raeghun faced them evenly, perhaps even curiously. Then the man lifted his hand, and looked back.

"Your Lady of Frost." he revealed, bringing the girl forward ungracefully and she stood blandly, staring at Raeghun. An acid sting rushed through him as he watched her, the flames burning and eating away at him. Were they taunting him? But he had to concede, that they tried very hard to give her the appearance of his wife. She forced a smile, but her light green eyes deceived her fear.

"Go back to the inn, girl." he commanded, and she bowed her head before leaving quickly back into the night while the others stared after her.

"Now why'd you do that? It took us-" the first soldier asked, but the sear did not leave his muscles, and his hands clenched to bring the shudder in his fingers under control.

"She won't be able to help me." it was maddening, the rise in his blood becoming overpowering.

"But you might..." he added, the heat increasing to stinging over his senses as he took a step forward. Suddenly Berin appeared at his side, taking hold of his left shoulder.

"Raeghun, come on. Let's go." he told urgently, trying to guide him away.

"Girls ain't your taste in the field?" the soldier laughed, and Berin's fingers pressed into the flesh.

"Not in the least." Raeghun muttered, sending a weal of warmth into Berin's gut. There was one other thing that could calm the blaze, but he'd hoped it would not happen here. Not now. At another time he would have berated them harshly before dismissing their drunkenness... but with his temperament as it was for the past weeks there was no chance of that.

"Raeghun-" but his voice was left to the wind as Raeghun struck forward, his right fist connecting with the inebriated face solidly. The next moments were utter turmoil as his right fist hammered into flesh, again and again and again. There were voices, screaming around him, but it was liberating to release himself. There were hands on him, fighting for a hold and pulling desperately as the fire erupted through him before diminishing, and finally the full strength of five men pulled him away from the body on the ground, barely moving. He breathed heavily, recognising the faces staring at him in complete shock; the faces of Berin, Willmon and Robb beside him as the others rushed back to their friend.

"What happened?" Robb asked, still confused.

"Take him away!" Willmon ordered, and the others lifted the man from the ground, hurrying off to a tent to assess the state of their companion.

"Come." while Robb sought out his wife for any aid she could give, Willmon and Berin started herding Raeghun off to their tents on the far side of the encampment, entering under the shade of the pavilion.

"What happened?" Willmon asked in the safety of the shelter.

"They... I don't know. They were absurdly drunk, they thought they were trying to help, I suppose. In the most insulting way." Berin tried to explain.

"If they thought for an instant, that I would blacken the honour of my house, of my wife, for a night with some fucking tavern wench they were sorely mistaken!" Raeghun declared, taking a clay cup from the small table and flinging it across the space where it shattered against the chest, a dark liquid staining the wood and canvas behind it.

"Raeghun, you need to calm down!" Berin tried, and the burning eyes came to him. The rage had still not left him.

"What would you have done?" he turned, coming back to them.

"What would you have done?!" he demanded again, but even in this fury his friend did not retreat.

"It's over! I believe you've made your point." he said, and then the eyes cleared slightly as Raeghun turned, running a shaking hand through his hair, and he heard him curse.

"It's al right. We'll sort it out." Willmon eased him, when a new face suddenly appeared into the tent. The hard, brown eyes of lord Violet darting between them.

"Did you do this?" he suddenly demanded, and Raeghun faced him.

"You want an apology, go find it from your runts!" he told, not a slightest hint of regret for his actions.

"If anyone was in the wrong, it was your men for challenging my son." Willmon defended.

"These were your people. Your temperament has been ignitable of late, they were trying to help." Florentius said.

"If they wanted to help me, they would have had better luck trying to drown me." Raeghun countered.

"They left their homes on your orders." Florentius mentioned.

"They can return to them, for all I care! And if you insist on questioning my actions, you can find yourself a new one as well." Raeghun determined, and the lord stepped back, seeming to accept the outcome.

"You have the highest regard for integrity, but this might have been overdrawn." he breathed, more cautiously. He understood why, but this was the second time their liege reacted violently towards someone. It was rather out of character for him. Then the rustling of the pavilion canvas covering the entryway caught their attention as Robb and Talisa joined them, seeming morose.

"How is he?" Berin asked, and the lady sighed heavily.

"He's suffered a broken jaw, and some of the worst injuries I've ever seen... He will never fight again." she reported, thinking of the instances that she'd seen damage close to these, caused by hammers, maces and clubs... but never from fists. Florentius stared at Raeghun, the hardness to his eyes renewed.

"If you cannot control yourself-" he started, perhaps intending for it to resemble a threat; but no force of words could compare to the frightening energy.

"Tell your men to control their urges! I don't give half a fuck what they do with themselves, but the next man that provokes me, will die." then Raeghun faced away from them.

"Now get out, all of you!" he ordered, the others departing the shelter away from the crushing heat. Berin walked at Talisa's side next to Robb, wondering what to do. His friend was not ordinarily like this, as a norm he was very reasonable, some would argue more so than his father. But vexed as he was, this change in him was alarming to say the least. And then he looked up.

"Your grace, might I ask you for a favour?" he asked, turning her way as she looked at him.

"Of course." he hoped, this would work.

"Do you have essence of nightshade?" he asked, and she paused as she mentally searched through her wares.

"I might have some left." she thought, and they proceeded to another tent where the King in the North and his queen spent their nights. She took a moment to rummage through her box, and picked a small vial with a light violet liquid, bringing it to him.

"Thank you. Lord Raeghun has always been opposed to the use of medicines, but perhaps a night of decent sleep might be what he really needs." he told, as Robb glanced between them.

"I don't think that he'll take it, then." if he was adverse to the use of aids, why would he suddenly do so now? But Berin smiled.

"Don't worry, I'll get him to drink it." he assured, clasping the small bottle in his hand.

"Remember, no more than three drops." Talisa reminded, and Berin nodded before leaving back to the inn to request another two horns of dark ale. _No more than three drops..._ But his elevated temperature may burn through the substance in a matter of a few hours. He paused in front of the pavilion to add the essence to the ale, and then entered to find his friend on the small chair next to the table, resting his head on his hand, the elbow balanced on the surface of the table.

"I thought you could use one last drink?" Berin offered as he came over, setting the horn on the table in front of him and the burning eyes opened to look at him.

"Thank you." he took the horn, and brought it to his mouth as Berin watched in anticipation; but before drinking he lowered the horn again.

"I'm sorry, Berin..." he muttered, and Berin stared at him.

"Why are you apologising?" he asked, sitting down on the small chair on the opposite side of the table, examining his friend.

"I can't control it, on my own. I can't control the heat..." he breathed, and Berin sighed looking at the horn in his hands. Were they all too stupid to see the obvious reason for that? Why his father was accepting of the northern lord's offer within less than a night? The fire in him burnt warmer and brighter than any other, it made him ireful and he was easily swayed. He needed her to calm it, and she was not here... There just was no other way.

"You protected yourself, and your house. Don't you ever apologise for that, no matter what anyone else thinks." then he smiled.

"I would have done exactly the same as you, and so would many others. Don't feel sorry for it, don't feel guilty for it. The stupidity of others, shouldn't end up as your responsibilities. They should carry the weight of their own actions." he told, and then brought the horn up.

"There is only one difference. I wouldn't have damn near killed the man, because I'm not as strong as you." he tried to joke, hearing his friend sigh.

"If it hadn't been for you, and the others... I would have killed him. And now, because of me, he'll live a life of suffering." he told.

"He should have thought of that before he dragged that poor girl before you. Being from our own lands, he should have known better." he decided while the blue eyes just stared at the horn in his hand.

"Still..." Raeghun whispered as Berin sat back.

"Stop trying to condemn yourself. Now, drink your ale." he urged, waiting as Raeghun sat for a moment before bringing the horn to his mouth and swallowing the dark liquid easily, unaware of the extract added to the rich fluid. Together, they finished the ale and before long, Raeghun seemed to appear listless, and Berin chuckled in relief. It did seem to work, finally.

"Get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow." he urged as he stood, and Raeghun nodded.

"Very well, good night." he greeted, exchanging the seat for the simple bed, and falling asleep quickly, and easily while Berin lingered, deciding to retake his place on the chair. If the essence had the effect he hoped for, he couldn't risk leaving him alone. In the event that anyone entered with ill intent, he wouldn't be able to wake on his own to defend himself. Right now, his pride didn't matter. His position didn't matter. Just for tonight, the head of the sentinels will be the lord of flame's protector, his only defence.

It was raining hard when Milla walked down a long hallway towards the common room, well past noon. She remembered the time they spent in Riverrun after the attack on the road, the Tullys had been very kind to them; and they too grieved the loss of the fine gentleman. She entered the common room, where Claira sat on her favoured chair with Rychon seated on the armrest next to her and Wink on his lap, watching the children trying to teach each other how to dance to a gentle tune, something they often resorted to when confined to the hold. A soft smile settled on her features as she observed them, floating like butterflies on the breeze in the common room, where Bella led her brother Berterin, showing him the steps and Vaellion guided Maynlid easily, although theirs wasn't any identifiable dance. She crossed over the room to resume her own place on her chair, happy for the comfort that this place still offered them as the light and warmth of the hearth covered her, and the rain fell unhindered outside as Bella stopped.

"You have to look at me." she told her brother, looking down.

"If I look at you, I can't see my feet." Berterin replied.

"You're not supposed to see your feet." Bella said, and then he looked up.

"If I can't see my feet, I'll step on yours." he said, and she scoffed.

"That's why I'm teaching you how not to." she reminded, and their hands came up again. She started to guide him, _one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three..._ Then he stumbled, his foot catching on the thick carpet.

"Pick up your feet." Bella told, and Milla sniggered softly.

"Feel the movements, Berterin." his mother suggested, and they started to move again. Slowly, step by step following the soft melody from the lute. O _ne-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three..._ she started to turn into an arch when Berterin stumbled again, releasing her hands as she sighed. He tried, but didn't have a great love of dancing.

"Rychon, why don't you try?" Claira proposed, and he sighed with a nod handing his pet to the lady of the hold before making his way to Bella.

"Try not to step on my toes." he teased her playfully as he held a hand for her, and she smiled taking it.

"I'll do my best, my lord." she teased back as her right hand rested on his shoulder. They started to move, easily in the space as a serving girl came from the kitchens with a tray holding a plate of fresh crispels and tea, which she placed on the low table before departing again. The song took them in weaves as they smiled, and then a sudden loud crash of thunder from outside made Bella stagger, her weight dropping slightly. Rychon stared at her surprised, she was a far better dancer than he was by any rate, but she blushed as she looked up at him, her fingers tense against him.

"Sorry about that." but he laughed as he helped her steady herself.

"It's al right." the music stopped as one of the guards appeared in the doorway.

"My apologies for interrupting your afternoon, my ladies." then he looked at Falgon against the wall with the lute in his hands.

"One of our scouts have returned." he informed, and Falgon lay the lute down before standing.

"With your permission, your grace. I should receive his report." he said with a formal bow, and she nodded.

"Of course." she allowed, so he left the common room down to the Hall of Fire to find the young man trying to dry himself with a small towel offered by one of the serving girls, drenched through but seeming in fair condition.

"Welcome back, Avery." he greeted, and the runner looked up at him with a smile.

"Thank you, ser. It is good to be back." he breathed, handing the towel back to the girl and ruffling his hair, droplets still released from the damp strands.

"I just came to give my report." he told as the tall sentinel glanced at the great open doors, and the heavy rain outside.

"In the middle of a storm like this?" it was rather odd, he could have gone home and come with his report in the morning when the rain stopped. Unless something was wrong.

"The sooner the better, I think." he insisted, and Falgon sighed.

"Very well. What have you found?" he asked.

"Bristlemane is quiet, nothing appears to be out of place; and the people come and go as every other day. Word is that Lord Vega has remained behind to hold the castle himself, although I haven't seen him. As far as I've heard, his sons have gone south with the rest of the men." he explained, and Falgon nodded, accepting the news. But... it took him weeks to observe the activities of a keep where apparently nothing happened, and then braved a storm to give the information that there was nothing amiss. Or was there?

"You took some time, to gather this?" Falgon asked, and Avery smiled again.

"I was held up on my way back, that's all." he eased, and then looked at the girl still standing next to him.

"I thank you for your service in this. You are free to return to your home." Falgon allowed, watching the scout take a deep breath.

"And thank you, ser. But perhaps I may beg your cook for some warm cider before I head back." he suggested, and she smiled with a nod.

"As you will." Falgon turned, and headed back to the common room. So, there was nothing at fault after all. All the many years spent in the wilderness or in the foreign, mostly among strangers had made him overly cautious, and wary of everything. Perhaps it was time to finally let go of that, and embrace the peace he found here for the past several years. This would last, and he'd see the last days with these people happy and smiling. Until he was reclaimed by the earth, and returned to dust. They spent the remainder of the afternoon in the common room with the children playing on the carpet before being summoned to the feast hall for supper, and then retiring to bed where Bella lay on her bed with a book late into the night, missing her father terribly. The rain hadn't subsided, and she could still hear it showering down on the keep, and she found it difficult to sleep. She looked up at the window, following a flash of silver light through the sky and the sudden loud thunder left her tense. These were the kind of nights she hated, gentle rain and soft rumble sent her off to sleep easily enough, but this... A soft knock at her door startled her again, and she listened for anything from the outside.

"Bella?" she heard her best friend's voice, and stood to meet him. She cautiously opened the door to find Rychon scanning the hallways.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, and he smiled softly.

"No. I'm sorry for waking you." he returned, and she laughed.

"You didn't. I can't sleep." she said, and he breathed out relieved.

"Me neither. Do you want to do something?" he asked, and she smiled. Perhaps some activity might tire her out enough to sleep.

"Sure." she stepped out into the corridor carefully, and started following him down the hallway.

"Where are the guards?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Don't know. They might have retired for the night, because of the rain." he told.

"How did you get out of the wing?" she asked softly, and he glanced back.

"I crept out after Panora fell asleep. And maester Adlyn gave my mother essence, she's asleep right now as well." he replied, and she sniggered softly. Evidently, she wasn't the only one to escape the confines of her chamber at times. They made their way silently up to the common room where Rychon added another few logs to the dying hearth, waiting as the heat of the embers seeped into the wood, and small flames drew their first breaths.

"So, what do you want to do?" she asked as the hearth started emitting light into the chamber.

"We could play a game?" he suggested, and she looked around.

"Like what?" he followed her attention around the room.

"I don't know. Dice? Checkers? Chess? Knucklebones?" she spotted a wood board with small carvings on a table against the wall.

"Let's go with chess, for now." she decided, watching him move to the table to claim the board which he came back with and lay on the carpet, so they sat down on opposite sides.

"Light wood, or dark wood?" he asked, and she stared at the pieces.

"Light, I suppose?" he turned the board around, arranging the light pieces in front of her.

"When you're ready." Rychon smiled at her, and she took a moment to think. Light always moved first, then she took a pawn and moved it two spaces forward. He did the same. She moved a piece, and he moved a piece. Then she moved again, and so did he. She claimed one of his pieces, and he took two of hers. She took two of his, and he took one of hers. She took one of his, and he took three of hers. The night dragged on in the light of the hearth, and the ever pouring rain, the hard crack of thunder breaking her concentration on the game several times, and she ended up in check mate. Three more rounds followed, each with the same outcome.

"I won't win against you, will I?" she sighed, and he laughed softly.

"I'm not really trying, I think you're just tired." he replied, and she looked up at him.

"I am trying." she told, and he shrugged.

"My grandfather is the Grey Tom, maybe understanding strategy is in my blood." he guessed, and she stretched to bring life back to her body while he stood to return the board to its place before returning to help her up. Another strike of thunder made her hands tense suddenly in his, but he smiled.

"Are you al right?" he asked, and she blushed.

"Oh, I'm fine." she assured, and he glanced at the hearth starting to die down.

"You know what? We never finished our dance." he recalled as he looked back at her.

"No we didn't, but we don't have any music now." she agreed, but he raised her hand in his, laying his other on her waist.

"I don't need music." he assured, and her smile brightened, happy for another chance to dance as her hand rested on his shoulder.

"Al right." they started to move again, gently and slowly in the dying light. It was easy to be with her, and he found himself hoping she would remain happy here with them. They stepped and arched, and rounded the chamber; then another thunderous crash made her stumble and her weight rested against him, and his arms held her. No, she didn't stagger. He looked down at her against him, dressed in a blush pink dress.

"What's wrong, Bella?" her hands strained against his chest, and she sighed.

"I don't like the thunder, it's too loud. It scares me..." she confessed, and then looked away.

"I miss my father. He used to sit with me on nights like these, it made me feel safe and I could sleep." she told him, and his arms circled her to comfort her.

"It will be al right. They'll be home soon." he soothed her, and she looked up at him.

"Thank you, for being so understanding." she blushed, and he smiled back. She was sad, because she felt lonely, and scared. He wanted her to be happy... Was there any way he could make her happy again? He saw his parents do something quite often, and they were always smiling. It made them happy. Then he leaned forward, slowly and carefully as he held her, just gently touching her mouth with his. There was nothing, but not because he did not feel anything. It was because nothing else existed, in that moment. Not the warmth of the hearth, not the rain outside, just the softness of her lips against his, and her smell of magnolia blossoms. She pulled back from him, staring at him in silence for a moment as he drew back.

"I'm sorry..." was the only thing he could think of saying at that point, but saw her smile as she started to softly giggle.

"It's... It's al right..." she returned, still blushing and giggling, and he started to laugh with her, their voices soft in the space around them. It felt nice, the tickling of butterfly wings down his back.

"You should both be asleep." a voice startled them, and they looked at the face in the doorway staring at them.

"Wymon..." Rychon breathed, turning his way.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked, stepping through the door.

"We were dancing." Bella replied, trying to smother the laughter.

"This time of night?" Wymon asked suspiciously, and Rychon glanced at Bella.

"We couldn't sleep." he explained, and the sentinel sighed.

"Well, then. Best you try to go find it in your beds, rather than here." he suggested, and started herding them down the hallways, ensuring that Rychon entered the lord's wing before escorting Bella back to her bedchamber. Entering through the door, she looked back at him.

"Thank you, Wymon." she said softly, still trying to withhold the giggles.

"Lady Bella, I want to advise that you don't leave your chambers again this late." he told, and she looked down.

"Please don't tell my mother..." she asked, feeling the sting of guilt.

"I won't say anything." he assured with a soft smile, and she looked up to thank him again.

"If you promise me, you won't go out again." he added, and after a moment she nodded.

"Al right, I promise." she agreed, and he bowed his head.

"Good night, my lady." he greeted, and then left back down the halls to complete his patrol of the halls as she returned to her bed and lay down, bringing the sheets over her. Again, she laughed into the pillow, still feeling the warm caress in her stomach. It was like he enveloped her, and she was slowly melting. It was pleasant, and the only reason she pulled away from him was to breathe. She closed her eyes, thinking of that moment before slipping into sleep easily and peacefully, no longer concerned with the heavy rain outside until morning came, still cool and wet but clear. They followed the same routine as every other day, dressing, some play in the garden before breaking their fast in the southern hall, prayer under the weirwood fountain, and their lessons with maester Adlyn while Wink explored one of the cabinets and their mothers tended to the order of the hold and their country; and each time she saw Rychon she felt warm. When he looked at her she smiled, and when he smiled back she strangled another series of giggles.

"Bella?" her attention went to the maester, looking at her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No, maester." she quickly replied and he nodded, satisfied with her answer before his attention went back to the boys. They were handling noble houses of the North today.

"House Stark." he continued, and Berterin looked up.

"Winterfell is their seat. Their sigil is a grey direwolf on white. Their words are 'Winter is Coming'." he answered.

"House Karstark." Adlyn proceeded, his attention going to Vaellion.

"Karhold is their seat. Their sigil is a white sun on black. Their words are 'The Sons of Winter'." he answered, and Adlyn smiled.

"Close. Their words are 'The Sun of Winter'." Then he looked at Galeran.

"House Bolton." he proceeded.

"The Dreadfort is their seat. Their sigil is a red man, hanging upside down. Their words are..." he tried, as maester Adlyn laughed again.

"Their sigil is a red Flayed Man, on pink and red. Their words are 'Our Blades are Sharp'." then he looked at Bella.

"House Mormont." he asked.

"Mormont Keep is their seat. Their sigil is a Black Bear on green. Their words are 'Here We Stand'." and then at Rychon with a teasing smile.

"House Tormont." he always gave Rychon that one, and he laughed happily.

"Pale Haven is their seat. Their sigil is a Black Cat leaping over a field of green. Their words are 'Victory is the Red in my Blood'. The current lord is my grandfather, lord Willmon Tormont also known as the Grey Tom. The heir is my uncle, Gerald Tormont also known as the Wild Cat. Long honoured for their strategic accomplishments." he told, always with so much pride.

"My father is known as 'The Crimson Knight." Vaellion added openly, and Rychon glanced at him.

"And mine is 'The Lord of Flame'." he put forth, and Bella leaned forward.

"Maester, why do people sometimes have other names, in addition to their own?" she asked, trying to unravel the tension she felt around her.

"Well, there are many different reasons people may acquire a false name. For their appearance, for their deeds, for their position or for their lineage. Ser Jaime Lannister is also known as 'The Kingslayer', this because he killed king Aerys. His father lord Tywin Lannister is called 'The Great Lion of Lannister'. Ser Duncan the Tall, was as the title implies much taller than the average man, and lord Baelor 'Brightsmile' was indeed a charming man. Brandon the Builder was a great architect, creating some of the most renowned constructions we know, including The Wall, and king Aerys Targaryen subsequently became known as 'The Mad King' as his condition became increasingly unstable nearing the end of his reign." he told, bringing the children's attention to him fully and discarding the previous thoughts.

"King Daeron the Good was loved by his people, and King Aegon the Unworthy was, as the name suggests, not the fairest ruler." he continued, and saw Berterin looking up from the books.

"There were many different kings, once." he mentioned, and Adlyn nodded.

"There were. The Kings of Winter, or also the Kings in the North. Kings of the Vale, the Kings of the Rock, Kings of the Reach, the Storm Kings, the Grey Kings, the River Kings..." he paused for a moment, it was a fact after all.

"And the Ardent Kings, from which house Taugere descends." he heard Rychon chuckle while Vaellion stared at him.

"And the Crimson Kings?" he asked, making the maester sigh.

"There were no Crimson Kings." Rychon said, seeing Vaellion's cheeks flush.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because your grandfather, was my grandfather's bannerman. That's why." he concluded.

"Regardless of the histories, your fathers are as close to brothers as you would find without sharing blood. Remember that, above all else. The relationship of their houses didn't matter to them, and it shouldn't to you. You are a family here." the maester said, silencing them. Then he rested his hands on the wide table around which the children were seated.

"You are free to leave. We will handle the Riverlands tomorrow." he allowed, and they stood to find something else to do.

"Rychon." the young lord stopped, looking back at the maester while the others slowly started down the stairs.

"If I may have your attention, for just a moment longer." Adlyn said as he turned, and Rychon approached him.

"Yes, maester?" the elderly man smiled at him, but his deep brown eyes seemed doleful.

"It is good, that you are proud of your ancestry. But, it should not be used to distinguish yourself from others. Your people must know you, for who you are. Not simply for who your forebears were." he told, and Rychon looked down.

"Al right. I'm sorry, maester. I'll remember that." he promised, and a withered hand lay gently on his shoulder.

"The strength of your father will protect and carry you for a while, and then you must move on with your own. You will determine what that strength will be, and what it means to others." he told, and Rychon looked up at him.

"I know." then the maester smiled.

"Go on. I'll see you tomorrow." Rychon turned, and headed for the door, disappearing down the steps while Adlyn watched him. The path to his future was starting to divide, and more would follow in time. They could only guide him. The way he chose, was his alone... A dart of grey drew his attention, and the maester chuckled softly. The eldest of the children seemed to be distracted today, as he noticed the little ferret hop down the stairs to catch his friend who had stopped at the base of the stairs with Bella.

"I wanted to thank you for last night." she breathed with a soft blush, somehow hoping he might do it again.

"You're welcome. I hope you slept better?" he replied with a smile, and she looked down.

"I did. The rain didn't bother me as much..." all that was left was the warmth, and the gentle flutter of wings in her stomach, that she could feel even now. Then he looked down, his attention drawn to the small creature clambering up his leg to retake his place on his shoulder as he laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I forget you?" he joked as his finger gently scratched Wink's cheek. Then he looked back at Bella, still with an easy smile.

"Would you mind looking after him for a little while? I want to ask Falgon if we could head out earlier today." he asked, and she stared at him, adequately numb. Did he feel nothing, at all? Was it something so ordinary? She focused on the breath filling her chest, trying to discern what it was she felt right now. Disappointment? Sorrow? Anger... Then she raised her hands.

"Certainly..." she agreed, and Rychon took the ferret from his shoulder handing him gently to her.

"Thank you, Bella. I'll see you later." he told, and then left down the hallway while she was left standing between the arches, struggling to make sense of the circumstances and of herself. Then she sighed, deciding that there was really no point in arguing with herself on the matter, and held Wink up in front of her.

"So, what will we do?" she asked as he stared at her, perhaps trying to understand but not being able to. Then she held him to her shoulder as she started taking the stairway up into the sun tower to the lady's common room.

"You're not a dancer, are you?" she asked, hearing him squeak against her.

"I didn't think so..." the common room would be empty now, but for the time being she wanted to be alone, and that was as good a place as any. She walked and walked, the corridor leading up seeming longer than usual as her thoughts wandered, mostly back to the previous night. Back to the shine of his frost blue eyes in the light of the fire, and to the instant he slowly leaned down, touching her mouth with his. The warmth around them, and the way it seemed the rain outside drowned and faded away in the sensation that held her. She stopped at the window open over the outer bailey, pausing to look at the world outside and leaning on the edge with Wink still against her shoulder. People moved around over the grounds, hauling hay to the stables, carrying crates or rolling barrels from the stores to the kitchen, the guards walking on the walls surrounding the great keep, and a little while later she could make out Rychon heading down the stairs with Falgon following to the stables where they retrieved their horses, and left through the gate to the woodland. They rode into the shelter of the forest, reaching the training grounds where the horses were left to graze and resume the training. As before, Rychon's eyes were covered with the cloth and he proceeded to identify every sound, smell and sense he could before taking his position for his runs. But he moved slower than normal, only just avoiding the harsh impact of the logs swinging across the maze.

"You're distracted." Falgon pointed out as he stood breathing hard at the end of the labyrinth.

"I'll be fine..." he assured and then looked up at the sky, unable to shake the sensations coursing through him. The soft touch, and the sweet smell, the gentle tingling in his gut enough to overpower the burn through his limbs. Was there anyone he could share this with? Had his father only been here... Then he looked at his teacher, where he sat on a nearby stone watching him. Could he talk to him? Would he understand? Perhaps he could try, it was just that...

"I've never seen you with a girl." he started, and the tall sentinel smirked.

"And I don't think you ever will." he replied as Rychon turned towards him.

"You don't like girls?" he asked, coming closer.

"I did. But, I haven't been with a woman in years." Falgon told as the boy stared at him.

"Why?" he asked, and the dark eyes met his.

"Why all the questions?" he asked, searching for a point as Rychon felt the warmth seeping into his cheeks, and he hoped that it was not a sudden flush of red.

"I... I'm just curious." he muttered, then Falgon stood with a soft laugh.

"Well, you recall what curiosity did to the cat." he reminded.

"Or in your case, the kitten." he added as Rychon looked down. Maybe, this wasn't the best.

"Rychon?" he looked up, but the features were soft and understanding, although interested. Rychon smiled softly, he could talk to him and he would not chide him.

"I kissed Bella." he confessed, and the features changed from interest to what may have resembled indifference.

"Oh. You really should talk to your father about such things." he tried to advise, and Rychon looked away from him again.

"My father's not here..." he reminded softly, hearing the sentinel sigh.

"Just a kiss?" he asked, and Rychon nodded.

"I can't get it out of my head. It was so dreamlike, so magical..." he explained before hearing him laugh again

"It's something exciting, something to be treasured." he told, and Rychon could smile.

"What was it like for you, the first time?" he asked, more attentive as he watched the sentinel reclaim his seat.

"You're asking me to recall something, from so long ago... But it was, as you've said, magical." he shared from his past, and Rychon sat down next to him on the stone.

"Who was she?" he saw him watching the woodland, perhaps trying to bring back the face.

"Just some girl, from the fields. It was during a festival, when it was really dark..." he brought it back.

"How old were you?" Falgon looked at him.

"I don't remember. Maybe around your age." he told, and Rychon laughed.

"Protecting your honour will make you a good man. And protecting the honour of your house, all in it, and your lady, is what will make you great." he added, and Rychon nodded.

"I'll remember that. I'll never let them be hurt." he promised, and then Falgon sat back.

"Protecting someone, means more than simply drawing a blade in their defence. Now, go finish your runs, then it's time to go home." he told.

Following the funeral of lord Hoster Tully, allowing time for grief the forces were stationed in and around the castle's grounds while the lords were offered chambers inside the walls. There were still skirmishes with enemy forces, but for the time being and to more than a few people's gratitude no severe battles. But a recent clash had a less than unfavourable outcome, not at all what they hoped for and they were left having to contemplate new and alternative choices while Willmon stood against the wall in a Riverrun hall where he, Robb, the new lord of Riverrun Edmure and ser Brynden were called for counsel.

"If I may, nephew. I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the stone mill. Which may have some bearing upon-" Edmure started, prepared with a report as Robb stood watching the fields through the window.

"Will you shut your mouth about that damned mill? And don't call him 'nephew', he is your king!" Brynden silenced him.

"Robb knows I meant him no disrespect-" he defended, and the elderly man watched him with displeasure as he approached.

"You're lucky, I'm not your king. I wouldn't let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag." he directed, faced with the apparent pride of even a small victory.

"My blunder, sent Tywin's mad dog scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs. I think king Robb understands we're not going to win this war if he's the only one winning any battles. There's glory enough to go around." he contested, and Robb turned slightly.

"It's not about glory!" he told, and Brynden left to resume his previous position and poured a glass of wine while Robb turned, and walked back to them.

"As per lord Tormont's advice, your instructions were to wait for him to come to you." he reminded, and Edmure raised his hands candidly.

"I seized an opportunity." it was an opportunity, sadly not the one they were in dire need of.

"What value was the mill?" Robb asked, seeming to unnerve the thoughts of the new lord.

"The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from it." he explained.

"Is he there now?" Robb continued to ask, and Edmure smirked. His efforts brought them another victory, after all.

"Of course not. We took the fight to him, he could not withstand us." he told, and Robb stared at him.

"I wanted to draw the Mountain into the west. Into our country where we could surround him, and kill him. I wanted him to chase us. As he would have done because he is a mad dog, without a strategic thought in his head. I could have that head on a spike by now." the king explained the plans that they had started to set into place, before this disastrous change forced them into a considerable setback.

"Instead, I have a mill." he added, watching as his uncle suddenly became uneasy, regretful for his instant grab for standing.

"We took hostages. Willem Lannister, Martin Lannister-" he started again, trying to create a level of reassurance for the situation, of which none would be had.

"Willem and Martin Lannister are fourteen years old." Rob recollected.

"Martin is fifteen, I believe." Ser Brynden corrected from his position next to the back table as Robb watched the lord in front of him, becoming increasingly disquieted as Robb took another two steps closer to him.

"Tywin Lannister has my sisters, have I sued for peace?" Robb asked purposefully, watching the eyes in front of him grow darker.

"No." he breathed, and they would not submit so easily.

"Do you think he'll sue for peace because we have his father's brother's great grand sons?" he further asked.

"No..." Edmure said, accepting the outcome. The value of their hostages, weren't near level.

"How many men did you lose?" Robb asked, and he thought for a moment, his mind going to the fallen on the field.

"Two hundred and eight. But, for every man we lost the Lannisters lost-" again he tried to justify it.

"We need our men more than Tywin needs his!" Robb declared, followed by silence as Edmure took an unsteady breath. He acted in haste, and it cost them this...

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." he replied, but the blue eyes watching him remained hard and tainted.

"You would have. Right here today at this gathering, if you had been patient." he told, turning to retake his place at the window.

"We seem to be running short on patience, here." Brynden mentioned as Robb walked to the window, his eyes settling on the encampment around the keep where the remainder of their men awaited further instructions, and the countryside far beyond them.

"You know who isn't? Tywin Lannister..." it seemed to be the one thing they started to lack in this situation, and somehow they would need to recover from it. He leaned against the edge of the window, taking a deep breath that brought with it the murky smell of the deep waters surrounding them, and then looked at Willmon still against the wall a few feet away.

"Lord Tormont, is there any way to remedy this?" he asked, hopeful for something.

"I don't know, your grace." he looked up, his silver-blue eyes set on lord Edmure Tully.

"We'll have to wait, and see what fate gives us. But I confess we are in dire need of arms." he told, and then stepped forward and turning to face the king.

"I would suggest that our forces hold here for another few days before returning to Harrenhal. I'll send my men to scout the heights each night, with instructions not to engage. Perhaps, with any luck, we could use a small force to draw attention; but I highly doubt that ser Gregor will range this far east again after their previous... brush." he proposed, and Robb nodded.

"Very well. Let's see what happens." he agreed, and Willmon left to see to such arrangements. He'd use the runners only until there was progress, but it might be a while before the lion stretched out his claws again. Any resources could be seized in travel, which would be of great use to support their troops, and it might agitate their enemy just enough to come looking for something. A little 'cat-and-mouse' if you will; but only if you could somehow persuade the mouse that it was the cat for a while, until the right moment came and you could close on them. Gerald would remain stationed here, his fervent methods would not be needed right now. For a moment he grinned, only his daughters had inherited the trait of patience from him, and that's what they needed now. He passed into the yard, watching soldiers and boys pass by; some young squires sparred in a corner with training swords while their teacher watched, and he wondered what his Alyssa was doing. It's been far over a year that they've been away from home, and he longed for the gentle cool of the mist. He proceeded to seek out three of his scouts, giving them instructions to round the fields each evening and return with a report of any nearby activities before sunrise before making his way back to the confines of the keep to endure the time they would hold here, awaiting whatever may come. Passing down a corridor, he happened upon Berin coming down from the other way, and he stopped to greet him.

"How is your lord?" he enquired, and Berin sighed.

"He's been better. But it appears that his temperament has settled, somewhat." he reported, thinking back to the night he discreetly added the essence to the ale. He slept well for that evening, and others had elected to restrict their discussions with him to giving their reports and other small advices if they chose not to avoid him entirely.

"Well, we'll stay here for a while. So, keep him company, ensure that he remains as calm as is possible, get the rest that you can. Both of you. Unfortunate as it is, this will get harder before it gets easier, and it won't get easier before we reach our goal." Willmon advised, and Berin nodded.

"Thank you. We will." he said, and they parted ways so Willmon could return to his current purpose while he headed up to the chambers, finding his friend seated on the bed with Quill in his hands, applying gentle strokes to the fine steel with a soft cloth as he oiled the blade, bringing the enchanting glimmer back to the sword.

"I just met lord Willmon, in the hallway." he mentioned as he took a seat on the small chair in front of the window, and the burning eyes met his with a small smile.

"And what is the word?" he asked, his attention going back to the sword as he continued to work.

"He said that we'll be staying in Riverrun for a while, and suggests that you try to rest as much as you can." he told, and Raeghun nodded.

"Al right." he felt calmer now, a night of decent sleep did help more than he thought it would, although he wasn't entirely sure how it happened that he woke exactly the same way he lay down, aware that he changed positions many times during the night, not being able to find a comfortable, cool one.

"Any word from Colbert?" he asked, his eyes coming up as Berin sat back, resting against the edge of the window.

"No. But I don't think you should be worried." he replied, glancing at the world outside. All that was left, was to move forward in any way they could. Even if the surest thing they could hold onto right now, was the hope that they would go home...

Yet another fall day had come, and Rychon followed Falgon and Galeo along the small path on his Nix, happy for the afternoon that felt productive. He'd identified several items with his senses excluding his sight, and finished his runs quickly. He was stronger, faster and surer of what he needed to do, touching the tip of his sword to each target without a single step back, just as he'd been taught. The prospect of facing his teacher in a test, was becoming something that drew him more and more. But, he would need to be much faster than him, as both his size and strength still outweighed his by a far stretch. He had told that it will still be years before he would face him, and it stirred a rough kind of excitement. Fearful, but at the same time eager; if he could best him, or even equal him, there would be nothing known that could stop him. Nothing that could stand against him... He found himself smiling, dreaming of a bright and heroic life for his future, bards will sing of his family line, men high- and low-born will bow, and girls will blush and swoon when he would ask them for a dance.

"Falgon?" the tall sentinel looked back, giving the young lord his attention.

"Do you believe in destiny? That our lives are predetermined by the gods? Maybe things that happen in ten, or twenty years from now, were already decided hundreds of years ago?" he asked, followed by a short silence as his teacher seemed to think, and then saw the tall warrior smile as his eyes faced forward again to lead the way through the trees.

"Of the gods I don't know. But, I think that some of us, if not all, are set, sometimes forced, into situations, places or even times, where we must be for our skills, or wisdoms." he told, and Rychon glanced down.

"You don't believe in anything?" Rychon breathed, recalling that he used the word _think_ instead of _believe._

"I used to believe in a god, when I was very young. Certain circumstances made me abandon that faith, and somehow years later I found myself believing again, for a while. Until... Well, faith seems a fickle thing to me." Falgon explained. He had prayed again, once or twice during that desperate time. But, in the end he did not believe that it could have been enough, or that he was deserving of any kindness... No, in the end he accepted that it was their gods, old or new who heard the desperate pleas of her family. Rychon looked up again having examined the words. He said _A god..._ not _gods._

"Which god?" he asked curiously. Still so little was known of him, perhaps he could find out more.

"A very old one, long since lost to this world." he heard the sentinel in front of him, and he glanced back again with a small teasing smile.

"But it doesn't matter, any more. I've found better things to believe in, than the lost or the unseen." he added, having watched this family over the years. That was something concrete to believe in. Family, honour, trust, loyalty, love. Those bonds, are and have always been stronger than anything else. Stronger than whatever fanciful deity people could imagine, along with their false promises.

"But whatever you believe, you should keep believing it. People need something to hold on to." Falgon encouraged, and then scanned the wooded area around them. There were shadows, from more than just the trees.

"We should get you home, quickly." he softly urged, and spurred his destrier to an easy trot as Rychon followed. Heading around a small bend, Nix suddenly staggered almost throwing Rychon from the saddle. But with a sharp gasp, and his heart in his throat all his muscles tensed and his fingers mangled into the mane as the poor horse stumbled and finally found decent footing. Falgon had already dismounted from his stallion, his hands securing the reins of the dapple grey gelding to try and calm him, and keep him from bolting.

"It's al right..." Rychon told him, stroking down the powerful neck.

"Are you hurt?" Falgon asked, his free arm stroking down the throat to the chest of the animal.

"I'm fine. Just startled, that's all." Rychon breathed, and watched as Falgon brought up the courser's right front hoof, inspecting for injuries before lowering it to the ground again. There was nothing he could see, like a stone or a thorn he stepped into that would cause discomfort.

"Let him walk." he told, and Rychon urged his horse forward as Falgon watched. There was a definite limp, possibly injuring his leg in the stumble.

"It might be better, to ride with me for now. Let him follow unburdened." he suggested, and Rychon nodded before looking up at something, and Falgon could almost feel the presence pushing against him before looking back to where a stranger stood, smiling. Tall, dark and lean with dark hair, deep grey eyes and a hard, lengthened face. Despite the smile, there was no kindness.

"Valar Morghulis." he greeted taking a step forward, his voice dry and rasping in the forest air, and Falgon faced him evenly, and moved forward deciding he would rather have distance between the stranger and the heir.

"Hen rhinka. Rȳ jēdi, vējes kustikagon morghon." he replied, easily and saw the dark eyes settle on Rychon, still astride his gelding watching them.

"Kostōba valītsos, bisy." he noted, indicating Rychon openly and the expression on the young face changed from intrigue to confusion, and Falgon glanced back at him, also seeing the change before facing the stranger again.

"Issa ñuha tresy. Skoros gaomagon jaelā?" he asked, wishing to end the discussion sooner rather than later, but the stranger spared several glances between them, doubtlessly comparing the likeness.

"Ziry daoriot vestragon hae ao." he said, but Falgon smiled.

"Mazēza tolī muña." Rychon watched the men as they spoke, the conversation lasting several moments longer before the stranger cast him a final glance, still with a smile and then turned and left back into the forest while Falgon stood, waiting for him to be well away before returning and having Rychon exchange his Nix's saddle for the pommel of Galeo's before tying the rope leash to the saddle like before, and mounting so they could further make their way back to the burning mountain. Returning to the main road that led to the great castle, Rychon looked up at Falgon, whom had been silent since the brief encounter.

"What did he say to you?" he asked curiously, having never heard the language before, and the dark eyes met his.

"It's Valyrian. An old greeting, used primarily throughout Essos." he calmly explained as Rychon stared at him.

"And what did you tell him?" he asked again, noting that the sentinel could manage a smile.

"I told him that I wasn't from Essos." he replied, and Rychon smirked.

"Then, how do you know their language?" he asked, making the man behind him laugh.

"I learnt it, during my time in the east." he said, and Rychon thought of asking him to teach him as well, then he brought back the features that oddly made him think of a crow. Even the way he walked forward, resembled the curious caution of the black birds.

"Who was he?" Rychon asked, and Falgon's eyes went back to the approaching gate of Mount Ardor.

"Just a hunter. Asked if I knew any good inns, told him if he went north-east he'd find the Honeysuckle." he told, and then signalled for the gates to be shut as they passed through under the heavy iron bars, which struck the earth with an audible thud, that caused the ground to shudder under its weight as the stable boys came to tend to the horses, stars already visible in a deep purple sky and the fires of Mount Ardor lighting the grounds.

"See that Nix's right front leg is covered." Falgon instructed untying the leash from the saddle, and handing it to one of the boys, who nodded before leading the limping steed to the stables for brushing and his food. Falgon returned to help Rychon from the saddle, placing him securely on the ground.

"We won't be leaving Mount Ardor again until the war is over. But will continue whatever training we can here." he suddenly told, and Rychon stared at him in confusion.

"Why?" he asked, not sure why his teacher was suddenly hesitant as he watched him bring the reins forward over the horse's head to surrender them to the other waiting stable boy.

"Because it will be safer." he simply stated, and the confusion quickly faded away into disappointment.

"But, Falgon-" he started fervently, hoping he might be able to persuade him otherwise, but the dark eyes suddenly met him sharply, silencing him instantly.

"It won't last forever. Please, try to understand." he told softly, and Rychon's shoulders dropped in defeat, knowing nothing will alter his decision. But then felt the strong hand of his mentor on his shoulder, easy and compassionate.

"Once your father returns, and the lands are at peace we will go out again. We might even be able to take him along." he finally said said with a gentle smile.

"Al right." Rychon agreed, but still he wondered what the stranger told him that would make him change so suddenly. Perhaps there was a wild boar in the woods? Or a lion? Maybe a party of bandits? But it was unlikely that something like that would deter this formidable man so much, that he would prefer seclusion to the hold.

"Go on in, I'll just be a moment longer." he urged, and Rychon nodded before turning and making his way into the hold while Falgon remained behind, glancing back at the gatehouse and the fields far beyond. That stranger, was not a hunter; and he seemed highly interested in the young liege as he kept looking at him. His change of subject was suggestive of him accepting his explanation, but he would rather not take the chance that he did not, and would remain here until the realms settled again. Then he turned and followed the youngster's shadow into the keep, where they would attempt to wait out the days that remained until otherwise.

Robb stood staring at two small bodies, carefully laid before him on a blanket, away from the cold stone floor, his wife kneeling next to them in disbelief for what happened. Every vein in him burnt in anger, frustration, disappointment, a degree of sorrow... perhaps even hate. Enemies maybe, but no threat to them. They were children, boys of fourteen and fifteen, violently and ungracefully stripped from this world. Cruel, brutal, wrong... an injustice no matter how you looked at it. Then his eyes went up to the men standing at the door, awaiting his instructions while his counsel, Edmure Tully, Brynden Tully, Willmon Tormont, Raeghun Taugere, Berin Trentin and his mother Catelyn Stark, seated on a small divan behind him waited for the trail to start.

"Bring them in." he ordered, and Brynden turned to open the door, and moments later lord Rickard Karstark was led inside with four others following, stripped of his armour and colours, all of their wrists bound in chains.

"Is that all of them?" Robb asked, and the soldier at the back nodded before the king's attention went back to the men facing him.

"It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?" he asked, but the hard dark eyes of lord Karstark stared back at him, not a slight of regret.

"Not 'murder', your grace. Vengeance." he corrected the king purposefully, he had a right on their lives.

"Vengeance? Those boys didn't kill your sons. I saw Harrion die on the battlefield, and Torrhen-" Robb started, but before he would make his point the proud lord would make his.

"Was strangled by the Kingslayer! They were his kin-" He justified as he looked down at the lifeless bodies. It didn't matter who they were. He had a claim on them who was named Lannister, for the murder of his beloved sons. He had-

"They were boys!" Robb silenced him, and then he looked up, finally the reality came to him in the instant flash of rue for his actions. They were innocent of any wrongdoing... They were children...

"Look at them." he ordered, and the dark eyes darted in lady Catelyn's direction.

"Tell your mother to look at them. She killed them as much as I." This wasn't just him. It was her responsibility. If she hadn't freed their enemy, this would not have happened. He should not carry this alone.

"My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason." the king directed, making the dark eyes harden once more. He would not admit, that he had committed a crime!

"It's treason to free your enemies! In war you kill your enemies, did your father not teach you that, boy?" he reminded harshly, and in a moment of anger for his disrespect a hard fist struck his left cheek, sending him down on his knee as Ser Brynden Tully slowly drew back; but Robb relented.

"Leave him." he told, then the dark eyes came up to the man who had lay him low before the king with a leering smile.

"Aye, leave me to the king. He wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That's how he deals with treason." lord Karstark taunted, rising to his feet to face their ruler.

"Our King in the North... Or should I call him 'The King who Lost the North'?" his words came deliberately, seeped through with blood from his broken mouth, bitterness and hurtful venom. The King in the North, was then left with little or no choices.

"Escort lord Karstark to the dungeon. Hang the rest." he instructed, while the traitors were led away to receive their punishment and the hard eyes remained on him. Black, acrid... hateful...

"Mercy, sire! I didn't kill anyone, I only watched for the guards!" one of the men cried desperately, and the soldier restraining him looked at Robb.

"This one was only the watcher." he informed courteously.

"Hang him last so he can watch the others die." Robb dismissed them without another thought, and they continued to drag the men away.

"Please! Please, no! They made me do it! They made me!" were the last words that would be heard from the halls before the voices disappeared beyond the thick wood door. Edmure approached the table where Robb sat down, resting against the back of the chair with his hand settled on the flat surface as he mulled fruitlessly over the situation.

"Word of this cannot leave Riverrun. They were Tywin Lannister's nephews, the Lannisters pay their debts. They never stop talking about it-" he started to explain, fearing the outcome and the severe retaliation this may force from the west.

"Would you make me a liar, as well as a murderer?" Robb suddenly asked, looking up at his uncle. In spite of being from the enemy, it was cruel. It is an injustice to bring your wrath however dire on the shoulders of children for the sins of their father, let alone those of a family member they barely knew.

"You wouldn't be lying. You will bury them and remain silent. Till the war is done." Edmure redirected the thoughts, but the blue eyes remained sullen.

"I'm not fighting for justice, if I don't serve justice to murderers in my ranks. No matter how high-born." he reminded them, bringing back what they set out for from their homes nearly a year and a half ago. What they crossed the border into the unknown for.

"He has to die." he decided, not seeing any alternate outcome for the actions.

"The Karstarks are Northmen. They won't forgive the killing of their lord." his mother, lady Catelyn cautioned him as she stood from the divan and came forward to face him.

"Your mother's right. If you do this, the Karstarks will abandon you." his wife, Talisa cautioned further in turn.

"You've tended to their wounds. You brought them supper. Now they're dead..." Robb breathed, just not being able to tear his thoughts away from the event. _Why? Why this? Why did this need to happen? Why..?_

"And more boys will keep dying until this war is over! You need Karstark men to end it." she told him, feeling grief for the lives lost, but for those still to come in the days following which will be far more before this was over.

"Spare his life, keep him as a hostage." lady Catelyn advised, wishing to keep the support of one of their strongest vassals.

"A hostage. Tell the Karstarks that as long as they remain loyal, he will not be harmed." Edmure agreed with Catelyn, acknowledging the fact that they needed every sword hand and shield arm that they had, their force already diminished by at least half and little hope of rising their numbers sufficiently in any short amount of time. They watched Robb as he thought in silence, before looking up at them.

"Leave me. I need to think..." he finally said, the lords and ladies of his counsel leaving the hall without words until the only remaining was his wife who stood staring at him. She wanted to tell him, that this was not his fault. That justice will come to those wronged, in whichever way the gods deemed it, but the hard glare of his blue eyes stayed her words and she took her leave from the hall as well, slowly closing the door to the quiet of the halls. Then she looked to her left, down the long corridor where two tall dark haired men vanished back to their chambers to wait out the remainder of the day and the long night.

"This is most unfortunate..." Berin breathed.

"Jaime Lannister strangled his son, it's true. But to kill two boys, simply because they happened to share his family name... That's unfortunate?" Raeghun replied, and Berin looked at him.

"It shouldn't have happened. But if lord Karstark-" he started before the burning eyes met his.

"They were children! Berin, they were just a couple of years older than our very own. It doesn't matter who they were or where they came from, it was barbaric." he told, but the calm in the green eyes soothed the burn of his.

"I understand. But this, hard as it is, is not for us to judge. We may curse and reject it, but the punishment is determined by their king. Death is fitting of course, under the crime. But not the circumstances." Berin said, and Raeghun glanced away from him. Had it been him, he might have condemned the murderer in that very moment. But, the others were correct; they needed the strength that the Karstark force still gave them. Without it, they might as well abandon this campaign and return to their homes until winter was done, and maybe beyond that.

"Let us hope, he makes the right decision then." he muttered, heading into a chamber where they shared each other's company while the sun settled into the clouded west, passing discussions while the world darkened and night came, along with heavy clouds. Together they wondered what was happening back home, whether the children continued their training and became stronger? How much their skills would have improved by the time they returned? If any of them might have exciting stories to share? How many new experiences they'd faced? Perhaps a new pet? Before too long, it might be time to start considering suitors? To keep to their own lands, or encourage alliances with the north? And how dearly, they missed their loves... It was well into the night, and already raining when a knock to the door drew their attention, and the timid face of a young soldier appeared.

"My pardon for disturbing you, my lords." he entered, sparing a glance between the fearsome Lion Hunter, and his companion The Crimson Knight.

"What is it?" Raeghun asked, wondering if something might be wrong.

"His grace has requested your attendance in the hall." the young soldier spoke softly. A small lie, it was more a demand than a request, but he'd rather not invoke the Lord of Flame's wrath like the man who had his face bludgeoned like fresh clay. He watched the men, motionless on the seats as their eyes met. _Perhaps I forgot to say 'please'..?_

"What the hell does he want me for?" he asked, sitting back as his eyes met those of the young guard, to whose relief the lord sounded more amused than annoyed.

"His grace did not say, my lord." he replied, and Berin grinned.

"Perhaps he wants to send us back to Harrenhal." he assumed, watching Raeghun rise to his feet.

"Splendid..." he breathed, and followed the young soldier from the room and down the passage back to the hall, and the guard stopped at the door.

"Go and rest. I can find my way around." Raeghun told the guard, who nodded and then proceeded further down the passage away from the hall while the Lord of Flame drew a steady breath, and then entered the hall, closing the door behind him. The young king was still seated at the table, just as he was this afternoon; and he approached.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, bringing the stricken eyes up to him in silence as they stared at each other for a moment, and the king claimed a breath for his own.

"I need help." he finally told softly, and again the lord came forward.

"I'm not sure how I could give that to you." he said, shaking his head as Robb remained staring at him, the eyes searching for a way, an answer, an outcome.

"Yours is the closest to king's blood there is. You are the closest to a ruler, I have in my company..." he reminded, but Raeghun smirked.

"You have your uncle, as well." he told back, watching the youngster smile but still feeling defeated.

"I love my uncle, but his decisions have been questionable at the least, lately." Robb said, lowering his hand to rest on the table.

"Then your mother? Or your wife?" Raeghun further added.

"I value their advices, but..." he paused. _What is it you want from me, then?_ Then Robb sighed heavily.

"What would you do?" he finally asked, and Raeghun took the seat next to his.

"You've already decided. And most likely, I would do the same as you." Raeghun said, resting against the back of the chair.

"Had it been me, I would have judged him with death and take his head with the next sunrise." he said, seeming to bring ease to the king.

"But, before we crossed the border an enemy scout was captured, and you released him; saying that your father understood mercy, honour and courage. Perhaps, stay your hand for now." he advised, seeing Robb slowly shake his head.

"The men won't continue to follow me, if I can't make fair judgements when it is needed, regardless of the position of those who committed the crime. If they see me as weak, why should they have any respect for me? Throughout the histories, the greatest rulers were the harsh ones, demanding respect by fear." he thought back to the many lessons, but Raeghun smiled.

"A good ruler, does not always require a hand of Iron. People who follow you because they choose to do so, do it willingly. And will continue to do so, whether it be into the shadow of death or the face of madness." Raeghun explained, thinking back.

"My father was a harsh man, it's true. He was unyielding in nature, many times unmerciful to those who had wronged and had decisive methods. But everyone loved him, because he would do everything he was able to, to help another whether they be a noble or a farmer. I am not as he was, but I try my best many times asking myself how I believe he would have responded to a situation." he told while Robb stared at him, taking in the ardent blue eyes.

"And did that help you?" Robb asked, hopeful and almost amused.

"Often, I would find myself acting in opposition to what I think he would have done." he smiled.

"Why?" Robb seemed confused of the contrast.

"Because I cannot make my father's decisions, and shouldn't need to. Those choices, are mine and must be made to the best of my judgement. As must you." he told, and then sighed.

"I will be of little use to you, these are not my countrymen, my people. You cannot judge them the way I would. The better option for you, may not be to ask me for what I would do under the same conditions, but to ask yourself what your father would have done. But, consider the circumstances we find ourselves in. As king, you reserve the right to withhold your judgement for now." he added, hoping that he could have given something to the youngster. Then saw Robb nod slowly, staring at the table in front of him before returning his light eyes to the lord without a word.

"Try to get some rest tonight." Reaghun said as he stood, preparing to return to the chamber he'd been given.

"Our roads, are harder than most. But, we need not walk them alone." Raeghun comforted, and then issued a small bow before leaving, departing the great hall in silence and heading back to the room where Berin was still waiting for him, looking up from the table with a small smile as he entered the room.

"Are we moving?" he asked, rather eager. Perhaps wishing to escape the confines of stone walls.

"Not yet." Raeghun replied, retaking his seat opposite from his friend.

"That's a pity." Berin sighed, stretching to alleviate his muscles.

"What did he want?" he asked as he sat forward, and Raeghun sighed.

"Advice. Which unfortunately I could not give, to any certain degree. The decision of what to do remains his, though I just hope, he makes the best choice." Raeghun said, glancing at the great sword leaning against the wall, which itself had taken countless lives over the history, and a fair count of heads by his own hand.

"Well then, I suppose morning will bring us that answer." Berin said, looking down at the floor of the chamber.

"I trust so..." Raeghun looked back at him, aware that it was close to midnight if not beyond, and still raining.

"Get some sleep. When we march again, we won't be allowed that luxury, most like." he told, watching as his friend laughed and then rose to his feet to find his own room.

"As you command. Good night, Raeghun." he greeted,

"And you, Berin." he returned, sparing a few moments more in the silence of the chamber and the slowly approaching darkness as the candles started to wane. And in the dark quiet, he offered a prayer to their gods to watch over them, to grant them strength and courage, to still their hearts and comfort their battered, lonely spirits... and to deliver them safely home to their loves before relinquishing the chair for the bed. Morning brought grey, angry skies of rain and thunder along with the King's decision. Much to the dismay of his advisers, he had elected to adhere to his initial judgement of the crime, and had orders given that the prosecution will duly come to completion later that afternoon; and even the pleading of his mother would not sway him. The afternoon would bring darker clouds, and darker stares from those summoned to the inner yard where Riverrun banners hung, surrounded by soldiers to witness the King in the North's justice, where under the shelter of a castle bower their maester, lady Catelyn Stark, queen Talisa Stark, lord Edmure Tully and Ser Brynden Tully stood watching while inside the castle hall, lord Willmon Tormont, Gerald Tormont, lord Raeghun Taugere and lord Berin Trentin waited back, watching. Moments later, lord Rickard Karstark was escorted past them, the black eyes taking them in coldly. But there was no fear. No regret. No guilt. They watched as the soldiers led him out into the rain, taking their places behind him where he finally stood facing a stone block, exposed to the weeping clouds as Robb approached him, and he calmly looked up unmindful of the cold droplets soaking into his hair, beard and garments.

"The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as it does yours, boy. I fought the Mad King for your father, I fought Joffrey for you. We are kin, Stark and Karstark..." he told him calmly, but the anger remained. He could not rule with affection and compassion alone, there must be harshness as well.

"That didn't stop you from betraying me, and it won't save you now." Robb solemnly replied, but the lord stared at him, emotionless and proud.

"I don't want it to save me. I want it to haunt you to the end of your days." he breathed as the hard blue eyes glared back.

"Kneel, my lord." he ordered, and with a final deep breath the elderly gentleman lowered himself to his knees, and proceeded to lay his chest on the stone block as Robb took his place, taking the sword from his side and holding in in front of him, his hands resting on the pommel while the tip rested on the stones by his feet.

"Rickard Karstark, lord of Karhold. Here in sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die. Would you speak a final word?" he judged and sentenced him, and one last time the dark eyes came up to meet his.

"Kill me and be cursed! You are no king of mine!" he declared blatantly, before lowering his eyes and waiting for the blow. Robb lifted the sword, and with a cry both enraged and woeful brought the blade down hard and precisely severing the head from the body with a single strike while the others stared, silent and beaten. The King threw the sword down clenching his fists, again enraged, frustrated and hateful before stepping away and making his way back to the shelter while the body was taken by soldiers, to be carried away. Raeghun still watched from beyond the stones of the keep, there would be no support from this.

"This was ill-considered..." he heard Berin beside him, and sighed in agreement.

"But still his decision." then he glanced down the hallway, where lord Willmon spoke softly with a young runner, still dripping from the rain. With his attention on the dire event in the yard, he'd barely noticed the boy appear in the passage, or the lord move away from them. The discussion seemed of urgent nature, and he moved away from the wall to enquire on the events, only hearing the last words.

"Barely three day's ride from here." the scout reported, and he met them in the hall.

"What happened?" the eyes came to him, light brown but clear.

"We've found a unit of Lefford soldiers, my lord. A supply train and new recruits, heading west slowly." he repeated the report.

"How many men?" Raeghun asked, and the scout seemed to calculate the number quickly from sight.

"Two hundred, maybe three at the very most." he told, and Raeghun looked back at Berin calling to him. This may be an opportunity to rouse the enemy, and to slip away from the crushing pressure of the river keep. Berin joined them, eager for his command.

"Gather two hundred men, have them mounted within an hour. We ride immediately." he commanded, but then felt a hand on his shoulder as he looked back at silver-blue eyes.

"We don't know enough, yet." he cautioned, but was met with a smile.

"We'll go in, relinquish them of their burden and come back. It should prompt a response." he replied calmly, but the stare behind the eyes gave more than simply attentiveness.

"Don't be rash. It's raining, besides." his father continued to heed, but he glanced at Berin with a nod and he moved off with the scout following to gather the soldiers.

"We won't be careless." he assured, but still the eyes remained on him. There was something, that was near to pleading.

"Don't leave today, please. Please, wait just one more day." he softly begged, but it did little to deter the Lord of Flame.

"Please." he tried one more time, and the warm hand found the lean withered fingers on his shoulder.

"We'll come back. My other lords, along with Derric and Edur with their units will remain here under your charge." he promised, and then left down the hallway to retrieve his own sword before meeting their soldiers in front of the stables as Willmon stared after him. What would one more day do? Why didn't he send someone else? Whether he left today, or tomorrow or even in the following week would make only slight differences, but still... it felt grim, wrong and perilous. Raeghun was a true warrior, tested and undefeated all would agree. But there was a voice, pestering, nagging; clawing at his mind, telling him... _Don't let him go..._ Shortly after, two hundred soldiers gathered in front of the stables mounting their steeds despite the downpour, and Raeghun claimed his massive black destrier with Berin astride his dun charger at his right side, but again Willmon tried to persuade him otherwise.

"Raeghun, my son. No one contests your bravery, or your resolve. But please, reconsider. Just one day, or at the very least until the rain clears." he beseeched him, still with the words _Don't let him go..._ But the ardent eyes met his, gentle and sure with a smile.

"We'll meet back here in a couple of days." he said, and then his horse moved forward heading for the gate with Berin following, and then came the rest of the soldiers, first a walk, then a trot and finally an easy canter under the gates and into the lands to the west, under the surge of the persistent storm. For two days their presence remained discreet, and in the deep of night before they would meet the enemy they took shelter in the woodland, preparing to strike at the group with the break of dawn before withdrawing swiftly. Their onslaught must be just enough to summon interest back to the east, and to avoid killing all of the soldiers if they found that possible. The order was given for the men to be mounted before sunrise, when they would move again. Raeghun lay on his bedroll, thinking of his wife and son. Not a single day had passed that he did not think of them, but it seemed that it was never quite as it was now. He could see them clearly in his mind, so much more vividly than ever before, like they were standing right in front of him. Their black hair, his wife with her wisps of white. Their frost blue eyes, his son's burning just as much as his own. Their smiles, their laughs, the cold of her gentle hands and the heat from his happy embraces. Then he closed his eyes, _I love you both, my dear Rychon and my sweet Claira... I will see you again, soon..._ Sleep took him then for a while before he woke to a still black sky, but the silence suggested that the men had not started to move yet. But he rose, and dressed himself, donning his armour and then sat down on a small crate, waiting for the dawn to come. Still he thought, his mind reluctant to leave the images that stayed with him throughout the night, and he wished could stay longer. But soon, there was stirring around him, voices, the brush of armour and the shuffle of boots and hooves. But he waited until the horizon started to change colour, although he could not see. Then he stood, and emerged from his small shelter to the waiting faces of his two hundred men, and he walked forward passing all of them until he found his horse, held ready for him by one of the men. He mounted, again watching all of them, those who followed him willingly, even eagerly. Then he met the eyes of his best friend, his brother, there right beside him. Where he'd always been... Then he smiled.

"Let's go pull on the lion's tail." then he turned his horse, starting to lead the men further over the field and up a small hill, where the enemy camp lay just beyond as the sky started to take on a shade of grey under the remnants of clouds. They held position on the height, watching the activities far below where it seemed to be simple and oblivious. Then he glanced at a soldier to his side, known among the men as Jevan the Jackal.

"Jevan, draw their attention." he told, and the scrawny man smiled broadly, quite resembling a laughing jackal.

"With pleasure, milord." he brought a warhorn from the saddle bag behind him, placing it to his mouth and releasing a long dismal howl over the fields into the horizon; which suddenly had the men of the camp scampering around to find a weapon, or a shield while their commander could be seen stammering from his tent, with a girl following and vanishing into the disarray of the camp. He was a big, heavy man with a balding head. He called for his horse, and attempted to get the soldiers into some kind of formation; but they were inexperienced, inelegant and undisciplined.

"Time to see how much these boys have learnt." Raeghun pulled his great sword from its sheath tied to his destrier's saddle, raising it into the air, followed by a chorus of powerful battle cries which sounded like one man, and thousands, clearly disheartening those facing them. Then they started down the hillside in a slow solid line before the force suddenly spread out, surrounding the confused enemy group like the wings of a phoenix closing around its prey. Thoughtless of those staring down at the clash from the shadows to their south, concealed by the darkness of the trees on the hillside where two men stood, one with a smile and the other looking up at the taller, darker figure.

"You are foolish, brother. To think that the brightest of the phoenix flames will fall in a battle as petty as this one." the smaller, hunched over little man scoffed as he watched the unfolding skirmish, the blades of dismounted soldiers meeting while some chose to flee, and riderless horses running each way. In the midst of it all, the bright and burning lord against the commander of this feeble force.

"But still... Fate has been threaded. We must do our part in all." the tall figure shrouded entirely in black finally sighed heavily, the misty white eyes of his companion still staring up at him in vain.

"Is there no other way?" he asked, almost sadly as the taller man looked down to meet his.

"I am afraid not." he told softly, and the little man looked back down to the field.

"This is cruel, and unjust." he tried, but the taller remained indifferent.

"You grow too fond of your elements. We have little use for cruelty, or compassion, or justice. Events must be set, for any fortune." the little man sighed, still dismayed.

"You forget, Opposer. We were human once, too." he tried to remind, but without any outcome.

"You were..." the tallest said then he walked away, making his way calmly and easily down the hillside towards the clash where more and more chose flight rather than fight. Berin looked up, taking in the sight around him, suddenly feeling the stinging revolt as reality struck him in the sight of his friend several feet away, warding off his awkward attackers. Somehow, and for the first time in years, they had gotten separated. _No... I have to get to him..._ the mad urge forced him forward, through blades as he cut through an opponent. _I have to get to him!_ He struggled onward, but strangely the distance did not lessen. Then his eyes settled on a figure moving across the battle field... One that did not belong there. A tall man, simply robed entirely in black with a thick wood staff held in his left hand that no one else seemed to notice as he simply walked forward, no haste, no anxiety, no fear, no caution, nothing. Only sure footsteps as he pressed on, heedless of the battle raging around him as men were cut down, screaming and running in all directions... even closely by him with no thought for him. But an almost painful desperation burnt in his chest as he watched the figure move forward, utterly unaffected by the clash surrounding him, his attention fixed solidly on lord Raeghun Taugere of Mount Ardor. _No! I have to get to him!_ He ducked under another blade, bringing his own up and through the arm of a soldier, leaving him behind as he bound forward, calling out to him. Two more soldiers blocked his path, and he fought his way through them, desperate to reach his liege. He called again, the dreadful emotion coursing through him like boiling acid through his veins as he watched the black figure close the distance purposefully, like death itself had come for him... _I have to get to him!_ The arm raised up, reaching forward as a lean hand with long bony fingers protruded from the wide sleeve of the black robe, the skin an awful deathly blue-grey.

"Raeghun!" his voice pierced the sky as he forced forward, but it was drowned by the screams and calling men around him; his body ablaze in frustration and fear for his friend. His brother...

"Raeghun!" he cut through a soldier, the desperation burning beneath his feet; then watched in nothing less than horror as Raeghun looked up into the face of the black robe. _No! No, I have to get to him!_ He struggled forth with just a few more feet separating them as he saw the black figure come to a calm stop in front of his friend, and the hand gently glided over his shoulder, and took a solid hold. _NO!_ The shadow of a soldier passed in front of him, and suddenly they were gone. Vanished like they were never there, and only the lord's sword remained where it stood in the ground.

"Raeghun!" He looked around, but there was no sight of them, anywhere... His hand slid around the grip of the great sword, it was still warm from the lord's hand. _Where is he?_ He looked around, at running soldiers and bodies lying on the ground, forcing breaths into his ravaged lungs as his eyes searched the field. _Where is he? Where the-fuck is he?_ He searched, scanning every face he could see friend and foe, fleeing and pursuing as his heart beat relentlessly in his chest and mind, the acid of devastation and desperation burning through every limb.

"RAEGHUN!" but there was nothing...

It was in the depth of night when Falgon sat in front of the hearth, paging through a book. For days, they were confined to the keep, and Rychon tried his best to improve himself against his friends, for whatever it was worth always with the same outcome, but to a clear frustration of which he made no secret. All the children were slower than he was, save for Bella. But where she was faster, he proved stronger and overpowered her easily. It was difficult he knew, and he felt for the boy; the labyrinth had its own way of calming him but for now, it was safer to remain here where he could watch over all of them. In the interim, he taught Rychon some Valyrian words. Not a lot, it would be quite a while before he would be able to attempt a full conversation, but it was enough to get by. Greetings, and references, and directions, and needs should he ever find himself in the foreign. But that too, would be rather implausible... and yet, he had gone east himself when he never thought he would see those shores let alone the lands beyond them. Footsteps drew his attention, and he glanced up to see a serving girl coming up to his side, a tall horn held in her hands.

"I've brought you some sweet mead, ser." she offered as he recognised her, the same girl that offered a hand to the runner a while ago. _This late..?_ But rather than seem ill-mannered, he took it from her gently.

"Thank you." she lingered a moment longer, like she was wondering but then smiled and issued a small curtsy.

"Sleep well, ser." she greeted, and then turned to leave.

"Good night." he returned, watching as she slipped from the hall to return to her own chamber. Then he brought the horn to his mouth, allowing the golden liquid to flow easily into his mouth before swallowing. Sweet mead, indeed. Overly sweet. Was it old? No, it couldn't have been. Mead from the Corridor was the freshest you'd have at any given time. Then he started to feel light headed, finding it extremely strange. He hadn't gotten drunk since his twenties, and from a single horn? The dizziness quickly intensified to a vile tingling across his body, and he started to feel lethargic, his sight becoming clouded. Suddenly he realized with a shock, what this was. Sweet mead, crudely defiled. That was it, Sweetsleep... Avery waited in their hovel, watching his wife prepare bread dough to be placed into their tiny little stone oven before daybreak; and the smiling stranger dressed in simple rough spun breeches and old soiled boots, with a stained tunic under a hard leather jerkin. A belt with a single dagger fastened around his waist sitting opposite from him who'd taken up a room with them for a few nights. 'Just a rest from his travels.' was his reason, but this man was there to keep an eye on his Lilly, so he would not take unwanted risks. Knowing that Falgon would never fall to any kind of attempt with a weapon, the strangers persuaded him to use a more discreet method; and he hoped that the poison will take its effect quickly so he could carry out his instructions and they could disappear from these lands. Perhaps head down to Maidenpool to her cousin, or try to start anew in Stoney Sept as the strangers promised to get them there safely after all was done. Come the morn, the bells of the sentry towers may be tolled, followed by the announcement that the greatest and strongest of their sentinels was dead. There will be discord and chaos for a limited time, and that was when they needed to strike. To take the lord's son or his wife, or both from their keep with a compelling lure, or having the gates ordered open to the strangers disguised as messengers from the lord and let them complete their mission. _I never thought that it would ever come to this..._ He adored the noble family, the spirited heir, the lovely lady and their proud lord. But his choices were limited, and to protect his own family...

"He's kicking!" Lilly suddenly exclaimed excitedly with a smile as her hand pressed on the left side of her stomach, and Avery stood to join her as the stranger opposite from him laughed.

"He'll be a runner, that one. Just like his father." he predicted, his pale blue eyes settled on Avery. He was different from Rook. Slightly shorter and hardier, a mane of chestnut hair, the stern square face of a smith more than an assassin... but he did seem friendlier, introducing himself as Byrgos and Lilly seemed to enjoy him. He even helped fix the broken rafters earlier this afternoon. She laughed again as Avery's hand joined hers on the curve, and felt a definite nudge.

"Maybe he'll be a smith, or a mason. Perhaps, one day, he might be one of the lord's sentinels." Avery said, placing his mouth to his wife's cheek. _To protect them, where I couldn't..._ he thought miserably before looking back at Byrgos.

"Where are you going from here?" he asked, trying to make a point of it, but the big man simply smiled.

"Not sure, yet. Looking for a place to set up shop, and hopefully soon. Been travelling for years, think I've had quite enough of that." he said,

"You don't have a family to return to?" Avery asked.

"No, my wife died in childbirth and my daughter from fever few years later. There ain't nothing for me." and Lilly's face suddenly lit up.

"You could take up with the smith in Garde's Post?" she suggested, and Avery looked at her.

"Lilly-" he started, but she was kind and only nearing her twentieth year; not knowing who it was that shared their home.

"He'd be happy for the help, I know he will." she insisted, and he brought her hands up to his mouth.

"Go to bed. I'll finish up here." he urged as her green eyes came to his.

"You sure?" he forced a smile.

"Yes. You need your rest." then he kissed her, and watched as she disappeared into their small back room. Then he looked back at the stranger at the table.

"I don't like the stories you're telling her." he mumbled, still met with the smile.

"It ain't stories. It's all true, save for a twist or two." he insisted as Avery proceeded to roll the bread dough in neat balls to be stored.

"My wife was a midwife, and a curer. There was nothing that my Jessa's hands could not mend. Her crime? Kindness. She was accused of being a witch, and hanged for her skills. My daughter, taken by a shadow in the night, I found her half-eaten body in the sparse woods the next day. I drowned my rage in steel. So, tell me boy. Which story you'd rather have your Lilly hear?" he asked, and the runner thought in silence. It was sad, and it was hard. He didn't want to think about it.

"I will not break the heart of a young mother, it does not bode well for the babe. And if you want your son to be a lord's sentinel, he ought to have a strong heart." he finished, sitting back against the chair.

"I'm sorry..." Avery finally whispered, placing the dough into three clay bowls and covering them with linens so they may rise overnight.

"Thank you. But your sympathy is wasted on me." Byrgos said, looking out the window.

"Go, keep your Lilly warm. It's going to be a cold night." he told, and Avery finished his work with the bread before slipping into their little back room, and joining his wife while their guest remained where he was. Morning came, to an unexpected silence. Then another, still in queer stillness. And another, when the quiet became more worrisome than strange as Avery stared at the great sunstone keep. _There's nothing... not a single word. Did_ _I miss something? Or did_ _they dispose of the body and keep_ _quiet, as not to create alarm?_ Then the big form of the man appeared next to him.

"It's past time, boy." he told, and Avery nodded.

"I know. It's strange..." he agreed.

"Then you'd best go find out." Byrgos insisted, and reluctantly Avery moved towards the castle. As normal, he stood on the great bridge waving at the sentry above who recognised him. The gate was opened so he may enter, and closed again behind him. The castle grounds seemed eerily still, the guards moving about, two or three with dogs at their sides, the stable boys tending to the horses and the castle hands going about their business hauling barrels and crates to the kitchens and back. No one seemed troubled, or anxious or mournful... He proceeded inside to the Hall of Fire, where Renko and Gavin followed the children to the southern hall, likely on their way to the garden. He could see lady Milla in the feast hall, having preparations made for their morning, and lady Claira emerged from the small kitchen door with Wymon in her shadow. She was the only one that seemed... grim. Then he turned to his right, heading into the barracks where he found the sentinel's chair empty, the books still stacked on the table as so many times before. _What happened?_ Then he continued out into the inner bailey where master Austinus oversaw the training of the guards, bows and swords and fists and he cautiously approached him.

"Good morning, ser." he greeted, scanning the yard as the old master turned to him.

"Good morning." he returned, the bright hazel eyes examining him.

"Where is ser Falgon?" he tentatively asked, hoping for a decent answer but the elderly man shrugged.

"Don't know. Haven't seen him in three days." he reported, stunning the runner for a moment.

"Three days..." he looked back at the doors heading inside the hold. _What happened? Where is he?_

"Isn't he with lady Claira?" he asked again, wanting a better answer.

"Not that I know of." the master-at-arms said again, but the responses were too vague to decide anything for sure.

"Has nothing been said?" he pried, and the look on the elderly man's face changed to something he wasn't very sure of. Confusion, perhaps?

"Haven't heard anything." he continued, but still it was not enough.

"You're not worried?" and then the eyes did change again, not confusion. He knew that look, had seen it many times, and he mentally slapped himself for going too far. In a place where he felt secure and protected, he had forgotten the simplest rules of his training. _Gather with your eyes more than your mouth._

"Should I be?" the master asked, and Avery smiled at him to ease that look of sudden mistrust.

"No. No, of course not." he ensured, and then stepped back, deciding to seek out the serving girl.

"I'll leave you to your duties, ser." he excused himself before returning into the hold, and asking around; finding the serving girl in the eastern wing where she replaced an empty water pitcher in Bella's room. Discreetly, he took her by the arm and led her away to a dark, silent corner of the long hall.

"What happened? Did you give it to him?" he whispered in the shadow.

"I did, just as you asked. The next morning when I went down, he was gone." she told.

"And nothing was said?" he further asked, and she too only shrugged.

"No. He was just gone. What was it you gave me?" she asked, and he turned.

"It's not important." he replied curtly, and then headed off. He spent the rest of the day in the hold, listening for any tales or rumours, of which very little would be heard. But one thing was certain, the tall warrior was gone. _I have to do something, now. I cannot wait any longer..._ he decided as it started to grow dark, the sun only just having vanished over the blue horizon. _It has to be now..._ he met a guard on the great staircase on his way up into the hold.

"Would you please be so kind as to ask lady Claira, if she will meet with me in the Hollow?" he asked, and the guard nodded.

"Certainly." he agreed, and Avery forced another smile.

"Alone, if I may? I have received word from lord Raeghun." he added, and the guard examined him for an instant seeming puzzled. But he asked no questions.

"Very well." he moved up the stairway to deliver his message as Avery watched. _How am I going to do this?_ Then he thought of his dear wife. _My sweet Lilly, please forgive me..._ A short while later, the guard returned.

"Our lady waits for you in the Hollow, as asked." he informed, and the runner gathered up his strength and courage as he sauntered up to the great rounded council chamber where he found her in front of the window, staring out over the fields, dressed in deep ocean blue. Alone, as he asked and he approached her.

"Greetings, my lady." he stepped forward carefully, and she turned towards him.

"Good evening, Avery." her frost blue eyes searched him.

"What word of my husband?" she asked, and he drew in a breath that seemed denser than those before. _What do I say?_

"He... They're safe. And planning to return home." he said, and then looked down at his feet.

"However, he has asked..." _Asked what? What would make her leave..?_ Then a darkness seemed to settle over him, and a coldness crept up his back. He turned, meeting Falgon of the Fire Hall's dark sharp eyes, the shadow of cold becoming a frightful shiver.

"You shouldn't be here... You shouldn't-" he started, completely stunned as much as he was amazed.

"What was it that you planned to do, after poisoning me?" the sentinel asked deliberately, and under the torturous mass of the shadow over him, and the staring eyes that seemed to cut into him, deeper with each breath he took, the runner broke.

"You shouldn't..." he said again, barely noticing the lady in blue moving away to stand behind her sentinel.

"Bring in the girl." Falgon suddenly ordered, and two guards escorted the serving girl who helped him into the chamber, her eyes wide and afraid. There was no way to escape this, no way to undo it, no way to evade it; and so he confessed. The girl was innocent, unaware of the substance. He was given instructions from the foreigners to kill the greatest of the sentinels, and they handed him a tiny bottle no larger than the first two joints of a man's finger, something easily concealed. It was filled with small granules that resembled sand, which he gave to the girl only with the instruction that it was to be added to something that would be consumed. With their strongest dead, they assumed that the castle will be left in disarray for a short time, and would give them the time and distractions needed to seize the lady and her son. He found himself telling him everything, and strangely for his actions the great warrior listened intently without scorn before finally sighing as the scout finished. The serving girl was allowed to leave, and a moment later master Austinus entered with Lilly at his side. Visibly shaken, but unharmed as she stared at him with her arms clutched around herself.

"Avery..." his name was a whisper, but there was nothing else to be said as his attention returned to the mass looming over him.

"Had you come to me directly with this information, we could have attempted a counter." Falgon told, and it was true but that thought never occurred until this moment.

"I was afraid..." Avery finally said as he looked up at the dark eyes.

"I was afraid of what they would do to my family. But can you ser, who neither knows nor feels fear, understand that?" he asked, trying desperately to keep his voice from quivering. But the features remained emotionless, no anger nor anything else.

"I won't make you give me reasons, why you brought danger to this house above protecting your wife. But, in all views, you betrayed them and cannot be allowed to live." he decided, glancing at the guards behind him who moved forward to escort the scout to the vaults. He did not resist them, but followed along poorly, and then he turned to the young girl next to Austinus.

"You will remain in the castle, until I know more." he told, and she looked up at him sadly.

"Will my husband and I share a cell?" she asked, but then he smiled at her.

"You are a guest here, and with child besides. You will have every fitting comfort." he assured, and she looked down to hide the tears that escaped her eyes. She'd heard of him many times, and everything was true. He was hard, unyielding and terrifying, but not without kindness.

"May I see him? Please?" she begged softly as he turned.

"You may." he allowed, and master Austinus left with her, seeing that a passing handmaiden was assigned to her side for the time being. Falgon sighed, cursing himself. Had he not sent the boy out in the first place, none of this would have ever happened. This was his fault... He was to blame... Then a hand rested on his arm, and he looked down into his queen's blue eyes.

"Falgon, don't kill him. Please." she too begged him, and perhaps that may be better.

"When your lord husband returns, he will decide his fate." he relented, and felt pressure from the fingers on his arms.

"Thank you. You should go see maester Adlyn." she again urged, and he faced her fully.

"There is really no need, your grace. I am perfectly well." he assured, but her eyes remained on him.

"Please? Just to make sure." she tried again, and he slowly nodded.

"As you bid. But only to present the vial to him." he finally agreed, glancing at the tiny little bottle in the palm of his hand. That which held the grains.

"Good." she breathed, and he bowed before leaving the Hollow for the maester's tower while Wymon assumed his place, and finally her heart could settle slightly. When she found Falgon just past midnight three nights ago, intending to request another song for her sleepless night, he was anaemic, and in a fright she nearly raised the alarm until he took her hand in his, assuring her that there was no need and that the poison will fade soon. She sat there with him, until he returned to how he was. Calmly then, he explained what was needed and that he could not be seen; but if it could be so his absence must not be made an announcement. It was difficult, but he promised that he would never be far from her. He kept his promise... Then she looked at Wymon.

"Shall we?" she sighed, and he bowed his head.

"At your leisure, my lady." he agreed, and followed her down to the southern hall while their tallest made his way up the winding stairs, relieved that the men he'd sent was able to retrieve the scout's wife without any harm coming to her. Thankfully, one of their finest guardsmen, and Marron of the Strings whom was their very best archer was all that was needed, since there was only one man. Their best archer, because the stranger did not surrender easily... he entered the chamber to find the maester at his desk.

"Good evening, maester." he called for the old man's attention whom looked up at him.

"Good evening, ser. Come in, how may I help?" he asked, waving the sentinel closer and he approached.

"I have no ailments, maester. I simply came to give you this." he extended his arm, handing the small vial to the maester, who took it and brought it closer for a better look. He opened the cap and smelled, the sweet odour still clung to the jar.

"Sweetsleep..." then he looked up at the sentinel.

"How did you-" he started, and the sentinel smirked.

"It was used on me, as fortune would have it." he explained, and the maester stood with a shock.

"When?" he asked, near to horrified.

"Three days ago." Falgon added, and the maester motioned to the chair next to the hearth.

"Sit down." he told, but the warrior laughed.

"There is really no need." he tried, but the maester took hold of his arm.

"Sit down, boy!" he commanded, and the sentinel took a seat as the maester examined him. This was a kind poison, but deadly still. It clung to flesh, but the warrior displayed no more afflictions than he did over ten years ago... not even a day of ageing that he could tell of... Slowly, he sat down on the other chair, unable to comprehend it.

"How are you even still alive? It's like you weren't affected by it." he breathed.

"I was affected by it. I just couldn't die from it." Falgon told as maester Adlyn stared at him.

"This type of poison-" he wanted to explain, but he was met with the easy smile of their strongest.

"There are certain conditions you must take into account for poisoning, is there not? I am far greater than most men, the substance was not effective due to my size. That is all." he said, and then stood.

"If you'd kindly pardon me, maester. My duties have been neglected for far too long." he excused as he bowed, and then vanished from the maester's chamber as the old man was left staring after him for a long moment. _Certain conditions, indeed..._ Then he looked back at the bottle still held in his hand... _This should have killed an ox..._

Willmon stood staring out of the wide window of the Riverrun hall, across the river, across the fields and to the horizon far beyond. The sudden vanishing of the Karstark men left their force meagre, and all but blunted. Also, there was still no word from Harrenhal. Yet, hope remained as they now waited for conveyors from the Frey's of the Twins, summoned here on his grace's behest. But now, it has been more than a week since his son's party rode through the gate under the pouring rain, and he promised to return. He should have sent someone else, he should have sent Gerald in his stead or even sent the Wild Cat with him. _You're being ridiculous!_ He snapped at himself, but still he could not rid himself of the notion that all, was not as it should have been.

"Lord Tormont." he looked back at the doorway, from where lord Edmure approached him.

"Is everything al right, my lord?" he asked, and Willmon stepped away from the window.

"My son and his men should have been back by now." he breathed, and Edmure smiled softly trying to offer some comfort.

"I'm sure they'll be back soon." he told, but still the dark sensation clung to him insistently.

"If they're not back by noon tomorrow, I'll go out to find them myself." he decided, still staring out over the fields and Edmure shared his view through the window.

"I believe you're being overcautious. Lord Raeghun is a splendid fighter, and he has his finest sentinel with him." then he sighed, placing a hand on Willmon's shoulder.

"But, if you find it necessary I will go with you to search for them." he told, seeing only a subtle change in the anxious eyes and a small draw to the mouth as the Grey Tom glanced at him.

"Thank you, my lord." then his face went back to the window, and another sudden change. Every sense sharpened, and the silver-blue eyes grew hard and focused as Edmure glanced through the window again, noting a group of approaching soldiers. It was them, but something was wrong. Together they hurried to the great doors, emerging into the yard where Berin entered under the gates, mounted on the liege's black steed and the lord's sword sheathed in front of his left knee, leading back a count of one hundred and twelve men. But he seemed dazed and confused, pale and worn, restless and exhausted as he looked around the yard, taking in each and every face staring back at them before meeting the eyes of lord Willmon Tormont, who suddenly felt the painful burn of ice striking through him. _No... No! NO!_ He moved forward. But no words would form, his voice would not melt enough to speak. There were others around them, ordering the wounded to be tended to and the horses to be stabled while in silence Berin dismounted, for a moment seeming to stagger before Willmon's hand steadied him.

"Where is Raeghun?" he asked softly, and then the deep green eyes met his. Clouded, confused, agonised, close enough to mimic death.

"Get them inside!" Edmure's voice surrounded them, and somehow they were led or guided back to the stone hall of Riverrun, and Gerald retrieved the lord's great sword from the saddle of the warhorse. Berin was made to sit down on a chair near the burning hearth, but either he heard no question or was mute to answer. Word of the returning men, and those who didn't spread quickly through the halls, and shortly later Robb entered the hall with his mother and wife following, staring at Berin still seated on the chair with a goblet of wine forced into his unsteady hands by the Riverrun maester, possibly infused with a drop of Nightshade, and the Tormonts to his left next to a table, Quill laying on the flat surface, and the Tully's to his right wondering how to mediate the situation. Robb moved slowly forward, lowering in front of the Crimson Knight meeting his eyes that stared blankly at the stones beneath his feet. Clearly, he was broken and inconsolable.

"Lord Berin, what happened?" he asked directly, taking hold of his shoulder to slightly push him up, and the deep green eyes met his suddenly.

"I... I don't know. I was there... and I couldn't do anything..." he breathed, his voice convulsive and ragged.

"Someone... He was taken... They've taken him..." he tried to explain as he sat back, while Robb still stared at him.

"Who did?" he asked, and Berin's eyes lowered again.

"I don't know. I... I couldn't see..." he said, running a still shaking hand through his hair as he looked down. Robb thought, perhaps if he could point out their colours, their sigil, anything identifying.

"Berin-" he started, and suddenly the man in front of him rose to his feet.

"I don't know who took him! They weren't wearing colours, they didn't carry any sigils... He was unarmed, unarmoured... Just..." he started, making his way to the window and looking out, like he was still searching.

"Just black... Robed entirely in black..." that was the only memory of the stranger he could recall. The deep dark blackness...

"There is no house that exists entirely of black, except the Night's Watch." Robb tried to think, glancing at his great uncle for any help who shrugged, not being able to bring up any black house within the kingdoms. Then Berin turned around again, facing the King in the North.

"You should have taken more men." Edmure advised.

"We could have taken the entire fucking army, and it wouldn't have made the slightest fucking difference!" Berin exclaimed, the devastation coming back all over again.

"It was one man! Only one! And he was intent on only one thing, and that was Raeghun. Like the rest of the world didn't exist, to him or others." he recollected, having watched the man in black move unnoticed by other soldiers without so much as a glance at him, or a thought for them.

"No one else saw him?" Robb again asked, and then had to watch as the gallant lord sank down resting on the ledge of the great window.

"No..." he was the only one, he had to be. They searched for days, but found nothing. Not a single trace. The others looked at one another, sharing glances and confused stares but no words. Someone of entirely black, no armour, no weapons, completely unnoticed or unseen by others... It was unbelievable, false on so many degrees... but true elsewise this was a terrible dream.

"I have to take his sword back to Mount Ardor." Berin finally said, forcing himself to his feet. But ser Brynden stepped forward.

"Send it with-" he started to advise, but the deep eyes met his, hard and unbendable.

"It has to be me. I can't send anyone else..." he silenced him, unintentionally harshly followed by a short silence as he forced some degree of calmness to his stricken being.

"It has to be me..." he insisted. It was his duty, there was no other way. His charge was the safety of the liege lord, and he failed. It cut deeper than any blade could, and it would be less painful to rip his heart from his chest. What could he do? How would he explain this to the lady of Mount Ardor? She would hate him. For this betrayal, she could have him hanged or beheaded; but there was no other choice.

"I ride for the Corridor immediately." he decided, looking at the blade on the table.

"Wait for the next sunrise, at least." Gerald advised, but he shook his head bitterly.

"The sooner I leave, the sooner I see this through. I'll take a handful of men with me back to the burning mountain including lord Rames and lord Violet, while Derric and Edur along with their men will remain under your charge, lord Tormont. Have a raven sent to the keep with the next moon, and I will return with as much strength as I can have replenished." he told, and then retrieved the great sword from the table, staring at the hilt. _The grip was still warm..._ He made his way down to the yard again after wrapping the sword in the lord's black cloak to conceal it, giving his orders and assembling the few soldiers, lords and their attendants that would take the road back with him before remounting the lord's black destrier once more. To his discreet gratitude, no one attempted to dissuade him again. As he turned the horse towards the gate, Robb approached him once more looking up.

"Please give lady Claira my wishes. And please tell her, we will spare no efforts to help find her husband." he told with true compassion for the devastation that struck them, and Berin nodded thankfully.

"Thank you, your grace." then he looked back at those waiting on him.

"We ride north!" he called, and then they set out. First a walk, then a trot, and then an easy canter away from the river keep, and the remaining lords retreated back into the hold, finding lord Tormont still in the hall where he stayed, staring over the country and the departing shadows from the window, equally distraught.

"Father?" Rhegard asked, carefully taking a place next to him.

"It felt wrong. I shouldn't have let him go. I should have stopped him. I should have sent someone else. I should have done something..." he started, the words fading away as Rhegard stared at him.

"There was no way you could have known. This wasn't an enemy we know." he tried to console, but nothing would change it.

"I shouldn't have let him go..." he breathed again. It wasn't just the feeling, the sense of dread, the lingering darkness that seemed to stay. But those words continued to claw at him, _Don't let him go..._


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22 – THE WARD

The Wild Cat walked down the long passage towards the Riverrun hall where the King in the North awaited the visitors from the two towers, who had arrived earlier this morning and were now following him at their own leisurely pace; but he did not mind waiting for them as he listened to their slow shuffling footsteps. His father Willmon had remained in his chamber for the time being, and only appeared when necessary. He'd taken the loss of lord Raeghun very hard, and it had left him visibly placid and withdrawn, and despite their best efforts there was little that brought him any kind of comfort... He had blamed himself for it ever since lord Berin had returned, and long after he'd left but still. Many had accepted that he was slain, but without any proof others had assumed he was taken by an enemy but they had yet to receive any demands... from anyone. He looked up, blinking in the light that spilled through the wide windows. A house entirely of black, and no sigil that could be distinguished. They listened for any word, rumour, whisper or fanciful story. But none were heard, save for the heroic encounters since before his disappearance. Men had continued to search, but there was nothing. Gerald stopped at the door, turning back to watch the two Freys amble up to him, and he issued a small smile.

"Would you be so kind as to wait just a moment, I will announce your arrival." he asked, and the two men glanced at one another before the eldest looked back at him with a nod before attempting to rectify his garments. This one was called Black Walder, and he wore an old and faded doublet over a browning tunic, the rustic towers embroidered on his breast, and for just a moment Gerald wondered how old the threads holding the towers up on the fabric were. For a house that was said to be wealthy to a fair degree, they certainly did not display much of it. He turned away from them, knocking on the door before entering the great hall where king Robb, his mother lady Catelyn, his uncle lord Edmure and great uncle ser Brynden sat waiting at the wide table. At the base of the short stairway he bowed to them before straightening again, his tall shadow falling across the far wall.

"Your guests from the Twins have arrived to meet with you, your grace." he announced, and Robb nodded.

"Thank you, lord Gerald. You may show them in." the King in the North replied, and Gerald returned to the door to allow the messengers to enter. He watched them slowly saunter to the table where they took their seats, and then duly closed the door where he remained. Thinking, and listening. _It always gets harder, before it gets easier..._

"Thank you for riding here so quickly. I know travel isn't easy in these times." he heard Robb's voice from inside.

"The roads are crawling with cut-throats and bandits. But when the King in the North summons us, we come." one of the Frey brothers assured. It sounded like the younger one, named Lothar.

"Our father's instructed us to tell you, that his alliance with the North can continue. If his terms are met. Lord Frey requires a formal apology, for your violation of your sacred oath to marry one of his daughters." Walder continued, starting the negotiations without further pause.

"Of course, he deserves as much. I was in the wrong." Robb agreed easily.

"As restitution for this betrayal, he demands Harrenhal, and all its attendant lands." Lothar added, and then he heard Edmure's voice.

"I don't think that is-" but he was quickly silenced by the voice of the king.

"We are fighting for the North, Harrenhal is not in the North." he seemed to remind him.

"It is his. Once the war is over, and we have no further strategic need for it." Robb further promised.

"And there is something else." Black Walder continued, having to make Gerald smirk. There was always something else, be it put forth directly or otherwise.

"We will do whatever we can to give lord Frey what he needs." Robb assured, his full intent to amend for the mistakes he'd made.

"Not 'what'. Who." Walder's voice sounded softly, followed by a short silence from inside. Yes, of course. That would always be one of his plays...

"What?" Edmure's voice came forth. _And who better, th_ _a_ _n the lord of Riverrun?_ Gerald thought, remembering a raven received by the White Hold many, many years ago where lord Walder Frey offered a selection of his offspring to the Tormonts as well, sons and daughters both. He'd have bonds with the entirety of Westeros if he could, he certainly had enough children for it...

"No." Edmure refused instantly, however it did not deter the visitors. He recalled that time, it was the day the young lord Eddard Stark came to them, with the rise of Robert's Rebellion.

"Our father requires lord Edmure to wed one of his daughters. Roslin." Lothar put forth. It was a cool day in the mist that constantly covered their home, the hands of the old gods that concealed their home, protecting it from everyone.

"How old is she?" Edmure asked. They had been children, playing in the gods grove amidst the clean smells of nature, running around the wide trunk of their ancient weirwood with its calm, majestic face and their father watching, and laughing. His hair was still dark then, but fiercely peppered with the silver grey.

"Nineteen." Lothar answered candidly. At that time, he was a boy of thirteen, his sister Claira and brother Rhegard around eight and nine, barely a year apart. Little Carissa had just turned four, or five. He couldn't even remember, precisely; but she was barely more than a babe.

"Could I see her first?" the river lord asked, whether this was a slight or an amusement to the visitors, he couldn't quite tell. No one ever knew what the Tormont children looked like, save for the stories from the few that visited, that told of their black hair and blue eyes. Fair skinned, the girls lovely and the boys charismatic.

"You want to count her teeth? We depart for the Twins in the morning. We need an answer before we leave, and the wedding not more than a fortnight thereafter or this alliance is at an end." _Why am I remembering this? Why now? When it was so long ago? It's irrelevant..._ He told himself, trying to shove the thoughts away.

"Your father does realize we're in the middle of a war?" Ser Brynden's voice rose from inside.

"Father, is old. It would put his heart at peace, if he could see her wed to a good husband." Lothar's voice told calmly.

"And his recent experience has made him wary of long engagements." Black Walder added, intentionally hinting at the king who had broken his promise.

"He has every right to be." Robb had to agree with them, and Gerald brought back something that Raeghun had mentioned, quite a few times. _A man's worth, is as good as his word..._ Had more men shared that, there would be less treasons and more progress. Or perhaps the other way around? But he would not believe it.

"Please excuse us while we discuss it." Robb requested calmly, and he could hear the soft shuffle of chairs and feet. A moment later he opened the door to allow the visitors to depart the Riverrun hall, so the matter may be discussed quietly. He watched as they cumbersomely hauled themselves up the steps, the younger of the two struggling with an unhelpful leg, and when they finally joined him back in the passage continued to lead them to a different hall where the pages and castle hands could tend to their needs before departing to find his brother, Rhegard who was in the stables brushing his big brown destrier. He and Claira shared that trait, it was something they fell to when they felt troubled.

"Any news?" Gerald asked as he rounded the barrel to the side of the stall.

"Nothing. Not a single, damned word." he breathed miserably as Gerald sat down on a square stack of hay. He'd thought of taking his men and heading out again, spend some days in the fields but ser Brynden had recently advised him against it, preferring to hold the force together. Also, which way would they go? Where would they start? Who would they go to? Why would those in the field, spare any whisper to help them? In all likelihood there was no one who knew what happened. Berin had said, he was the only one to see the man, no one else did. And even after asking around, it was apparent that no one else spied the shadow in black, or could bring up anything remotely related. The closest anyone could associate with his description, was Dondarrion who was not their enemy, and the Night's Watch, which was no good either. Not in the least...

"How is father doing?" Rhegard asked, not looking away from his hand stroking down his Incus's pelt.

"It's sad to say, but not well. He has kept blaming himself for what happened." Gerald reported.

"There was no way he could have known. No way anyone could have known. One would expect something like that occurring in a full onslaught, at worst. Not some meagre stab at a small enemy unit, not like that... not like this... This wasn't supposed to happen! It was wrong, unbelievably wrong. And Claira..." then he looked at his brother, the warm tears only just creating a soft blush on his cheeks, hidden under a stubble of black beard.

"She'll be devastated..." he murmured, and he knew it was true. As soon as Berin would have to tell her that Raeghun was lost, she would break. Shatter, like ice.

"I should have gone with him, back to Mount Ardor." Rhegard breathed, returning his attention to his horse; but Gerald forced some courage to himself.

"She'll be al right, Rhegard. She's stronger than you think. And Milla is there, with her." he reminded, hoping that her friend's strength will bring her ease and comfort. He was fond of Milla, the wilful girl who was spirited, and strong in her own way. She was their lady mother's ward for some years before she returned home to Citrine Arch shortly after Claira's wedding. And two years later, she joined them again at the burning mountain. She'd follow Claira around, it seemed. And was always there to offer her hands, or shoulders...

"Will it be enough?" Rhegard asked, stroking down his horse's ribs.

"Fuck, I hope so..." Gerald said, hoping it would be so. There was no _Hand of Mercy_ this time. But perhaps, for some miracle they could still pray.

"I should go see him. Hear if he needs anything." he decided, rising from the hay and returning inside, down the long halls to a small chamber where The Grey Tom sat on a chair facing the world outside, his silver hair catching the light spilling from the window as he stared out towards the fields and beyond. His eyes scanning the landscape, ever searching but never finding.

"Can I get you anything?" Gerald asked, closing the door behind him.

"I shouldn't have let him go..." he continued, still.

"Father-" Gerald started.

"'Four sons. For all, whom I would do the same as you.' I told lord Karstark then. But whom do I direct my rage at now? Whom do I demand vengeance of? Four sons... do I only have three now?" he asked, looking up at Gerald.

"No. You have four. There is no proof that Raeghun is dead." he assured.

"If I knew where to start, I would go look for him myself." he told as Gerald sat down on the soft bed.

"Small parties have not stopped searching, but nothing has been found. At some point, whoever has him will send their demands, either to us or to Claira. Right now, with nothing else, that is the best we can hope for." Gerald said, and saw his father nod in accord.

"I pray that it will be soon. The uncertainty is mangling my mind, as much as I need it..." he sighed, looking back at the window and Gerald shared his view of the outside where black clouds lay on the horizon. Berin should reach Mount Ardor in another few days...

Claira came down the incline from the lord's wing, dressed in flowing magenta purple which may have been a touch closer to red than purple, adorned with a pearl centre piece, white lace to the fitted sleeves and gold threading across the bodice while her hair hung loose from a single jewelled pin down her shoulders and back; with Falgon in her shadow, feeling warmer and slightly happier than she'd been for months. For what seemed to be the first time, she slept through the night with a sweet dream after taking a warm cup of tea with two drops of the essence of Nightshade. She'd stood on their balcony watching the stars as she'd done so many times before, believing he was staring back before retiring to bed, lying awake for a while as the candle light dwindled and waned, and her conciousness faded with it. Then she felt soft pressure next to her on the bed, or she thought she did. Looking up, a shadow hung above her of which she could not see the face clearly, but for the ardent eyes looking at her in the soft light and she smiled at him as his name sounded through the chamber in a soft whisper. Her lord had come, to offer himself to her; and again he was slow and gentle and loving until he just held her in his powerful arms, surrounding her with the warmth that gave her blissful and unbroken sleep until the sun was spilling into their chamber, when he left her again with his promise that he will be with her. And oddly, she wanted something treacly this morning and decided to meet with Jeody for sugared fruit pieces with roasted grain and nuts, along with honey and thick cream.

"It is good to see you smiling again, your grace." Falgon mentioned from behind her, and she turned to face him. And she was truly smiling, she suddenly noticed.

"Really?" he watched her, his dark eyes soft and gentle on her.

"You are lovely when you smile. It brightens the day so much." he complimented, and she blushed as she turned away from him.

"Thank you, ser." he always praised her, even when she was not deserving of it. Her kind protector... They proceeded down to the kitchen, hearing the children play in the garden through the open door next to the arch leading to the wash house were Lilly had asked to work, hoping she might win back her husband's freedom. She was a sweet girl, and her activities kept mild; and she was allowed to see Avery each day for as long as she wished despite her fear of the jailer. But as for the runner, he had told them everything he was capable to although it wasn't much. There were five strangers that he was aware of, but he didn't know who they were except for the names of Rook and Byrgos, or where they were from save that Rook had mentioned a hold. But his head was covered when they took him, only removed when he was restrained in the cave, and replaced and removed again later when they were well into the woods. He wanted to make it right, but there was little more he could offer in correction. Claira headed down the steps into the kitchen where Jeody's serfs were already busy chopping and peeling and skinning and plucking and cutting to feed the mouths of the castle for the day, fires already warm in the ovens and large pots stood ready to be filled, the scullions and pot boys busied themselves with cleaning and scrubbing while their cook came from the ice room where the meat was mostly kept, next to the castle granary which held cheese and vegetables and fruits and grains and all manner of foods, and a page came up the stairs leading to the cellars under the kitchen with a report on how many barrels of press, mead and ale they had, along with a count of the wine bottles. Lilly came from the wash house with another chamber maid at her side, who had taken to teaching her the ways of the keep, then she stopped and attempted to curtsy to their lady.

"Good morning, milady." she greeted, and Claira smiled at her. She was trying hard.

"Good morning, Lilly. You seem well." she regarded her, the softer dresses of the castle servants seemed more comfortable than the rougher, harder clothing of the majority people of the fields; the fabric gentle over her bearing stomach. The maester had been kind enough to see her, determining that the birth may come within the following three months. One of the girls even helped braid her hair this morning, it seems.

"Very well thank you, milady." she returned.

"And your husband?" Claira enquired, still feeling sorry for them.

"He is being treated kindly, milady." she assured truly grateful, but casting a glance at the tall sentinel that was almost pleading. Falgon had thus far refused his release. In all honesty, she understood why...

"If you'd please pardon us, milady. We still need to clean out some rooms in the west wing." the girl at Lilly's side excused, and then took her gently by the arm to lead her away while Claira stared after them.

"Is there no chance, Falgon?" she asked softly, and looked up at him seeing his shoulders rise and fall.

"I'm afraid not. Not right now, at least." he breathed, and she turned away from him. As per her lord husband's order, he had command of Mount Ardor and she thought better to contest his decisions. Men lost respect and authority when they were questioned by women, no matter their status or position. Her attention went to Jeody as he came up to her side, and finalized her request for this morning's meal before she headed back into the southern hall where Milla was overseeing the preparations while displaying her selections from the garden for their tables to five of their serving girls. She joined them, and they happily shared the colours with their lady. Orange roses and tiny white bell lilies.

"They're lovely, Milla." Claira agreed, and the court maiden looked at the girls.

"Off with you, gather enough for our tables." she instructed and they left through the doors quickly, then Milla offered the flowers in her hands to Claira.

"Thank you, my friend." she held the stems in the fingers of her left hand, while the fingers of her right delicately traced the petals. The colour of fire brushing against her skin, and she could not help but think of her husband again. The warmth he had brought to her...

"You slept better?" Milla asked, bringing her attention back to the green eyes examining her.

"I did, for once." she told, and Milla smiled.

"That is so good to hear, you look better." she noted, but then their comfort was shattered by the baleful cry of a warhorn, followed by the sentry tower bells and howls of the hounds; and again the dreadful sting of fright rushed through them. Claira rushed for the doors with Milla following, the flowers discarded and forgotten with only her footsteps echoing off the walls of the Hall of Fire before she departed the sunstone keep, pausing above the steps where she watched the great gates rise from the ground, and a handful of men rode into the bailey. Her heart raced as she took in the faces, then came to a painful stop when she saw Berin mounted on her husband's great black warhorse... She looked at the others, hoping she may have missed him somehow, but he was not there. There was a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't know to whom it belonged, nor did she care. She simply watched through a cloud of tears how the head of their sentinels dismounted the horse belonging to her husband, and his wife making her way down the stairs which now seemed longer than it truly was, and threw her arms around him. He was leaner than what she remembered with his clothing fitting loosely from his figure under the shadow of his soiled cloak, more worn with noticeable cheekbones and deep set eyes, his hair long and wiry and a fierce beard spread across his cheeks. More shadows passed her, rushing down the stairs. His children, to greet him. She watched numbly as his arms went around each of them, while the other soldiers with him dismounted and gave their horses to the stable boys.

"What's happening, Mama?" a voice rose beside her, and she looked to see Rychon standing next to her, pale and confused.

"I... I don't know, my love." she confessed, watching Berin remove something severely long from the saddle, and slowly coming up the steps towards her while her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

"My lady..." he greeted softly when he finally reached her, his eyes meeting hers in an empty, absent stare.

"Mandeline, take the children inside, please." Milla's voice came from somewhere close, and there was movement.

"Come along, Rychon." the nurse's voice goaded.

"But-" he started, and perhaps she took his hand then.

"Come. Let them speak." she softly urged again, and the presence vanished, but she still looked at him. The deep green of his eyes seeming so brittle under the sharp frost blue.

"Where is lord Raeghun? Where is my husband?!" she demanded, perhaps louder than she wanted. But there was little care any more while a sickening heat slowly flooded her.

"I'm so sorry, lady Claira… He… He was lost to us…" he told, trying to keep his voice even as he presented the object to her, which she slowly took with shaking hands. It was his cloak with the phoenix pin, and something hard inside. She removed the pin, and pulled the fabric to reveal the hilt of Quill in her hands, the tiny little eyes shimmering like the sword itself had been crying...

"His sword? You bring me his sword?" but not him? No body? Nothing that he was so she may place him at rest, and then herself as well.

"We can't find him…" Berin told softly, and the frigid eyes came back to him. _Can't find him? Can't find him?!_

"Where were you?" she asked him, and the depth of the eyes faded to confusion.

"I was there." he said, but it was not enough.

"Where were you, Berin?!" she demanded again, rage as much as sorrow threatening to drown her.

"I was there! I was there… I don't know what happened... and I was right there…" he countered, the confusion cracking into frustration as his hand went into his hair, his eyes lowering to the ground.

"You were supposed to protect him!" she reminded him harshly, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Her arms burnt, and a moment came when she wanted to strike him as his eyes came back to hers, and she recognised the pulse through her. She hated him. Hated him for returning alone.

"I know! I know I was supposed to… I was there… I was right there, and I don't know…" he snapped back, before his words broke again.

"You failed. My husband is out there somewhere, he may only be wounded; and here you are. He is your liege lord, your friend!" she cried out, grasping the sword tighter in her hands to keep them from reaching for his throat. Had she the strength in her arms, she would have swung the great sword at him to split open his chest...

"He is my brother! I grew up with him, I ran these long halls with him, we hunted together, we trained together; we named one hold our home… I tried to… I was there… I don't know…" he smothered, recalling the frantic searing need to reach him... and he couldn't. The bony grey hand that slid over his shoulder, and he couldn't get to him in time... gentle hands wrapped around his arm, and he looked to his right side to see Milla next to him, the gleam of tears under her eyes.

"He didn't come home because you didn't do your duty!" Claira accused him, and then a hand rested on her shoulder.

"My lady, this is uncalled for. Few are as dedicated to their duty as the sentinels." Maester Adlyn's voice said from behind her, and she looked back. Having heard the bells, he had come down from his tower.

"My husband is not here!" she told him, and then watched as he calmly brought his hand back and folded his hands in front of him.

"What would you have us do?" he asked, and she looked back at Berin in front of her.

"Go out. Go out and find him! I don't care if it takes ten years, bring him back to me." she ordered.

"Your grace, the men are exhausted and wounded. Give them the opportunity to rest." Falgon suggested from her other side.

"I agree with ser Falgon. We will direct a hunter's party instead." Maester Adlyn complied with him, looking over the worn faces of the men lingering in the bailey.

"Do it then. Every moment we stand here idling is a moment less of value." the lady urged, then turned and vanished into the castle with the lord's great sword clutched against her breast, leaving the others behind without a thought. Her husband was gone, and the world with him. Despite the faces in the hall staring at her, she didn't notice a single one. Didn't hear the whispers, the brush of her dress or the resounding footsteps. The day suddenly changed, sodden in a darkness deeper than the lowest hell despite the light of the great hearth and the many torches. She felt hollow, despite the dizziness. Dead, despite the burn through her body. Enraged, despite the crushing sorrow. _What do I do now?_ She looked up, the halls a dull haze through the tears that came and trailed down her cheeks. _What do I do now?_ She stifled the urge to scream. _What do I do now?_ She pushed through the door of the lord's wing, met with the startled faces of the chamber maids.

"Leave me!" she commanded, the harsh words like the crack of a whip, and they fled like geese from a fox out of the wing, leaving it in silence. _It's not their fault..._ she told herself as she moved forward, standing in front of the hearth, trying to drive away the cold and smother the flaming rage.

"Lady Claira?" a voice behind her, Milla had followed her. _It's not their fault..._ but she didn't want to see anyone. Did not want to speak to anyone. Did not want anyone with her, right now.

"Please… Please just leave me…" she told again, trying to be softer than before. Yet another desire to scream tightened her chest, but if she screamed she would break. If she screamed, she would die... Soft feet went back to the door, it opened and closed. Milla stood with her hand resting against the door, her heart racing and her body aflame. With the other, she wiped a tear from her cheek, and then looked up at Falgon next to her.

"I don't know what to do. I wanted to talk to her." she whispered. Her husband was broken, yet her friend did not realize it. She tried to understand, but to accuse him of such things when he had always been there, when he had always given his very best.

"Is it wise for her to be alone right now?" Falgon asked, his dark eyes set on the heavy door, and Milla sighed.

"She said to leave her, but I'll come to see her again later. Perhaps it is best." she decided, and he nodded.

"You must go see Berin." he told her, and she turned to start her way back down again.

"Will you stay here?" she paused to ask, but then he moved forward to accompany her.

"I will speak with Rychon, and then return to the guard's hall. I'll return when I am summoned." he assured, and in silence they went down the long hallways and stairs back to the great hall where they parted, and she returned to their chamber while he proceeded to the gardens where Mandeline in all likelihood had taken the children. Heading down the hallway she felt the sting to her cheeks, and another tear wet her skin. _How could he be gone? What happened?_ She entered their room to find her husband sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the stone floor with his fingers twisted through his hair. She'd never seen him this ruined before.

"Berin?" she moved forward to join him on the bed, and he looked up at her, his eyes red, body battered and his spirit exhausted.

"He was my best friend... He was my brother... And... and I couldn't do a fucking thing..." he breathed miserably as she sat down beside him.

"Oh, my Berin..." she put her arms around him, her heart breaking for him. For her. For Rychon. For the children. For all of them as the hard truth set in, the realism that they had lost the head of their family; and she found herself shivering against the sadness as his fingers curled around her arm.

"He... He was the closest I had to a real family... before I found you. And... and I failed him..." he whispered, shuddering as his own tears came and he finally gave in.

"I failed him..." he said again, and she held him closer, submitting to the sad agony and they both shed tears for their family. And he told her everything of what happened. The black mass moving over the field to claim the lord, how hard he struggled to get to him, the dark hand taking hold of his shoulder, and the heat of the grip as he took the sword. Their desperate search afterwards, but they could not find anything...

"He's not dead. He's not." Berin then insisted, and looked at her.

"He's not dead. But someone took him. I don't know who it was, and no one else does either." he told, and then looked away.

"Perhaps, we may receive a ransom..." he hoped. Some time later that afternoon, Rychon sat alone in the garden staring out over the blue horizon from the bench near the back fountain. Falgon had come to him, and explained in his gentle way that his father had been lost. He gave him the truth of it, not having any reason to lie, and not being a man in general who would do so. But he had said, that there remained a possibility that he will return as there was no sufficient cause to believe he was dead. His sword was returned, but there was no one who could confirm that he was slain, or even so much as injured. They needed to keep their hope, they had to believe. After, they were called to the southern hall for the morning meal, but in light of the situation much of it was left untouched, and he hadn't seen his mother since this morning. He'd heard she shut herself in the wing, and no one was allowed inside; but what could he do? What was there to do? _I will go out and find him!_ He decided, looking down at the grass beneath his feet, his hands clenching. _But first, I must make myself stronger!_ He acknowledged, feeling the pull of a tear down his right cheek.

"Rychon?" he looked up, and saw his friend beside him.

"Bella." he acknowledged her, quickly wiping away the tear. _How is she always so quiet?_

"Are you al right?" she asked coming closer, and he nodded.

"I heard, about your father." she told, sitting down next to him and again he nodded without a word. Her hand rested on his back, without knowing what to say, without knowing how to comfort him. She loved her uncle dearly, and there were no words to soften the blow this had dealt them.

"I'm so sorry, Rychon." she breathed, withholding a sob and he looked at her.

"He's alive. I know he is. My father would never have fallen. There's not a man alive that can kill him." he said stubbornly before looking back at the horizon.

"He's alive." he continued, and then she nodded. She had to believe it with him. They shared the silence as the sun was dragged down to the sea.

"What will happen now?" she finally asked when the sun touched the ocean.

"I don't know. I don't know what will happen..." but already, he started to plan his way. Falgon would not let him leave, but somehow he had to find a way. Falgon sat watching the flames, the book in his hands forgotten. This could not have happened, it had to be false. It had to be some terrible dream, but then acknowledged that it could not have been. Reality, oft times was worse than the most horrible dream... Then footsteps made him look up.

"Falgon." he stood and turned to face her.

"Lady Milla?" she stared at him, her eyes still red and tumid from crying.

"It's lady Claira." she told, and he glanced at the door as a painful sting dug into his chest.

"What's wrong?" had she done something? With how she was this morning, it was not difficult to believe.

"She… Will you see her, please?" she begged, and he only slightly eased.

"Where is she?" he asked, and she too glanced back at the arch.

"In their wing. She's been sitting in front of the fireplace since this morning, she won't move. I don't think she's even eaten anything today." she had gone to see her again, twice. But she would not speak. Maester Adlyn had gone to see her as well, with no more success than she had.

"You want me to enter the lord's wing?" Falgon asked her, and she looked down fumbling her hands together. What else was left to her? What more could she do?

"She trusts you, Falgon." she softly reminded him, and heard him sigh. He was reluctant, of course.

"That would be cause for execution. I'm not a Taugere, Milla. I'm not even a lord." he said, with a very clear perspective of who he was. He had no right to enter that place, even when she became so ill he had given her to the hands that tended to the lord's hall to put her to bed.

"Please, I don't know who else to ask." she looked up at him, her eyes begging him. Pleading desperately for his help. And he breathed in.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, watching as the tears came again.

"I don't know... anything..." she implored again, her hands going to her face. He paused, debating the options and the consequences thereof, but then relented.

"Very well. I'll do what I can." he promised, and then left the guards hall for the lord's wing. _Do what I can... What can I do? How can I do anything? Protect her I will, but stop a heart from breaking? I have no power there..._ Finally he stood in front of the great doors, wondering what to do. He had no right. But Milla pleaded so gravely, how could he refuse her? He brought his hand up, and knocked on the hard wood. But there was silence from inside, and he cursed himself for his actions. He took hold of the handle, and pushed the door open to step inside.

"Your grace." he found her, sitting in front of the hearth on the carpet, the cloak and the sheath discarded on the floor. Whether she removed them, or they fell he couldn't be sure. But she sat there with the bare blade held in her hands, silent and broken.

"Your grace, please forgive my intrusion. Your court maiden, Milla sent for me." he pardoned as he came closer, noting the red to her hands where the edge of Quill cut into her skin, and he knelt beside her. She would not move. She would not speak. She wouldn't so much as look at him.

"Please, put down the sword." he asked softly, his left hand coming up to remove the sword from her, but she refused its release.

"I swore to protect you; but I can't protect you from yourself." he tried again, and in time without force she let go of the blade, and he set it down on the floor next to him, looking at her hands where deep gashes oozed blood.

"Maester Adlyn should bind your hands." he suggested, taking her hands in his, the chill burning against his skin. But then she looked at him.

"What am I to do? He's gone. He's gone, and no one knows where he is!" she asked, and he lowered still taking a place on the carpet next to her. _I don't know. I can't give you any answers..._

"No one has seen him… Many are assuming he's dead." she told, trying to hold back the sobs. Then his hand rested on her arm as their eyes met.

"Berin believes he is alive. That he was taken by someone. And as long as there is no evidence of his demise, there is still hope that he will return to you." he told her sincerely, so wishing he may bring hope back to her, but her hands came away from his.

"What happened to him? Where is he? Is he alone? Is he hurt? Is he hungry? Is he cold? Is he scared?" Her bloodied hands pressed over her face, drowning her cries that were all hopeless, frightened and grief-stricken. He watched her, breaking right there in front of him; and he didn't do anything. He remembered the days following the attack on her during their journey back from the Wanderer's Tourney; when he had to sit and listen to her screams in the night. At her husband's voice calling to her to recognise him, and her agonised crying afterwards... but even that was nothing compared to this. What could he do? He could ride out to search for Raeghun, but that could take months even if he had a chance of finding him. And he would be forsaking the promise he made to his lord inside the Hollow many years ago. What was left to do? He moved forward, wrapped his arms around her gently, and held her against his powerful chest; feeling her shake and shudder, desperate to keep her from desolation.

"Raeghun is the lord of Mount Ardor, a son of the Ardent Kings. He will never be scared." he told her softly, and felt her arms go around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life.

"Raeghun… my Raeghun... My lord... My beloved... My Raeghun..." he held her tightly, and let her cry. He didn't mind. For what else was there to do? Then her trembling arms grew tighter around him.

"I'm cold… I'm terrified… I feel like I could shatter… Please… Please don't let me go…" came her shuddering whisper, and his arms constricted around her.

"Never. As long as I breathe, I will never let you go. I promise." they sat like this, irrespective of the time that passed as deep night came, and finally she moved.

"Falgon… Thank you. I'm al right now." she breathed, wiping the remnants of tears from her stained cheeks as he drew away from her. He had nothing he could give her. He shouldn't be the one to hold her, he shouldn't be the one to comfort her. He shouldn't... all he had was his promise.

"I'll be here. Whenever and for whatever you need me, I will be here." he promised, taking her broken hand in his, the coldness still reaching into his fingers like burning whips.

"I am yours, your grace; for your every wish. My sword, my cloak, my hands, my shoulders... My strength, my will, my heart. For whichever reason you may need them. I would offer you my soul, if I had one." It was all hers, he belonged to her. But again, he cursed himself as a scolding thought slammed into him. _What are you doing, you senseless fool!_ She looked up at him, indeed seeming calmer.

"Please call Berin to the Hollow for me. I must apologise to him." she asked, and he nodded again looking at her hands.

"Have maester Adlyn tend to your hands, your grace." he told, and she looked down perhaps only now noticing the deep cuts left by the steel.

"I will." then he stood, and helped her carefully to her feet before bowing to her, and taking his leave from the wing. He moved down the halls, still scorning and pondering through the vast darkness. _He will return. He must..._ He passed others on his way down, the whispers smothered by his presence. By now, the news had reached every ear in the keep, and perhaps beyond as well. He reached the end of the incline, and made his way through the doors to the east wing to look for Berin. After a while, he met Rychon on his way back from spending the evening with his friends, and he looked up at the tall warrior.

"How is my mother?" he asked, his frost eyes burning in the dark. His eyes had his mother's lightness, but still the burn of his father's.

"I think she will be al right, the initial shock has passed. But she has asked to speak with lord Berin. You should head up and see her, and then try to find some rest. It's late." Falgon told, and Rychon nodded before passing further down the passage as Falgon watched him, grateful that he seemed in order under the circumstances. But in his eyes he could see it yet, the belief that his father was alive. And for his sake, for all their sakes, they needed to hold on to that belief until proven otherwise. Then he walked further, to the rooms closest to the mint bath to knock on the dark wood, and a moment later Milla opened the door.

"I apologise for disturbing you, my lady." he excused, and the door edged open.

"It's al right. How is she?" she asked, and he glanced away.

"She's better now, I believe. She has asked to speak with lord Berin, if he would not object." he asked, and she looked back at Berin who was still seated on the bed.

"Berin." he looked up, his eyes still deep and hard.

"Claira wants to see you." she said, and he sighed before standing.

"Al right. I'm coming." he moved forward, slow and heavily as if he were carrying the entire world on his shoulders, and then he paused as he stepped through the door, bringing his eyes back to Milla.

"I'll be back, I hope..." he tried to make a joke of it, and then looked at Falgon.

"Let's go." but he allowed his friend, to lead the way in silence until the reached the incline.

"She hates me." Berin suddenly muttered, and Falgon's eyes went to him.

"No. She doesn't hate you." he denied it, but then the deep green eyes met his.

"She does. I could see it in her eyes. The way she looked at me..." then he looked away again, at the shadows in the corners of the passage.

"She wanted me dead, and gods only know she could so much as say a word, and my head will be mounted on the gate." he breathed, and Falgon stopped turning to him.

"She's not like that. Of everyone in this keep, you know best." he told him, not being capable of seeing her as any way but gentle and forgiving.

"Anger and desperation makes you do terrible things, Falgon. You know as well as I..." he sighed, and then moved forward again to the Hollow, where he stopped, and Falgon took a position on the other side of the door. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then entered closing the door. She was already waiting for him, her hands bound with white linen. He approached carefully, and stopped some feet next to her.

"You summoned me, my lady?" he asked, and she turned to face him. Milder than she did this morning.

"I did." he bowed his head to her, oddly expecting more hard words.

"How will I serve?" he asked courteously, and she stepped closer.

"You won't. I ask for your forgiveness, Berin. What I said was unjustified, I had no right to address you that way. You've been loyal…" she started, her hands carefully together in front of her, but then he took them gently, noticing the stains of blood from her palms. These soft hands that held power over his life, even just for an instant. And she chose to shed her own blood, instead of his.

"You have my forgiveness. And I doubtless would have done the same, had I been you. I can't say that I know what it is you're feeling; but it has left an emptiness in all of us. You and I more than any." he tried to comfort, but with his own spirit sacked it meant little as he watched her eyes well up once more, and her hands came up to cover her face.

"I just want him back…" she struggled against the tears again, and he moved forward to stand against her.

"I know. And I wish I could give him back to you." His arms wrapped around her, trying to console her as she shuddered against him. _I wish I could do more for you…_ He pulled back slightly, and then lowered his face to hers, touching his lips gently to her, feeling nothing but the coldness. A coldness that no fire in the world will ever break. Then he pulled back, away from her.

"We will find him, alive or otherwise. Either way, he will come home to you." he assured her, truly and honestly. And then remembered the message he was meant to give her, upon his return.

"King Robb sends his wishes, and has promised to help find him and bring him home." he told. They will find him, one way or another he will come home. They parted for the night, but of sleep there was little or nothing as Claira lay on the bed, simply watching the world through the open door and waiting for the sun to rise and rising with it to dress. With the help of a handmaiden, she was presentable enough to emerge from the lord's wing to find her sentinel awaiting her, and looked up at him, hoping she had been able to reach a degree of hardness as she felt the pulse of her heart fade away.

"Greetings, your grace." he bowed to her, and she returned his greeting before glancing at her hands. Maester Adlyn ought to change the bandages... But that could wait.

"Send messages to everyone. To anyone who has him, to make their demands." she told him, and his eyes darkened with concern.

"Your grace, if you meet their demands-" he started, but she gave him a stubborn look, maybe just the hint of a smile.

"I never said I would meet them. But first, I need to know who has him." she told, and he realized what she hoped for. That would be a start, of course.

"Intending to catch the fox by the tail?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"I would rather catch it by the ears, but we don't always have a lot of options..." she turned, heading for the maester's tower.

"And once you know?" he asked, and she paused to look at him again.

"You have brought my husband back to me before, twice. If I asked it of you, would you do it again?" she asked, softly like she was afraid someone who was not meant to, would hear.

"That depends." there was no sure way of knowing, even if the ravens reached their destinations.

"On what?" he glanced out the window separating the maester's tower, from the sun tower.

"The circumstances." she stared at him, not entirely understanding what he meant.

"The circumstances?" she questioned him, and he sighed.

"We will wait, for your reply." he decided, only after they received anything, and if they received anything, they could decide on a certain way to proceed into this. They would have to know who holds him, and where, and how best to get there...

Days had come and gone, and the northern army again made their way north to the twin towers that spanned the river. Lord Edmure, had agreed to marry the Frey girl, who was to be the King's by oath. But he never ceased in his attempts to calculate their best progress. It was evening when Robb asked for his mother's attendance, following an astute suggestion from Gerald. Astute, but still a great risk.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, looking back at him from the maps set out on the table.

"No..." he breathed, glancing at Gerald who stood off to one side near a great iron sconce holding several burning candles.

"It's dangerous." she cautioned him.

"Very dangerous, with no guarantee of success." the Wild Cat had to agree, but they could do it. A very small chance, but they could he believed.

"If we take Tywin's castle from him, the lords of Westeros will realize he's not invincible. Take his home, take his gold, take his power." Robb indicated, and his mother still watched him.

"Why are you telling me?" she asked, and he came forward.

"You begged me not to send Theon to negotiate with his father, and I ignored your advice. Now Winterfell is burnt to the ground, the North is overrun with Ironborn, and Bran and Rickon are gone... So Casterly Rock, I'm asking your advice." he asked, and her attention went to Gerald, still beside the candles. This was his proposal, but left it to the king to decide. And the king, wanted her word to engage or abandon it.

"Do you have enough men?" she asked, and then her attention went back to the table as Robb took up a wooden piece carved in the shape of a castle.

"If Walder Frey cooperates." Robb said, calculating that they would be able to bolster their numbers with a considerable degree, with his men following them.

"If Walder Frey cooperates..." Catelyn agreed, scanning the maps again.

"If reinforcements arrive from King's Landing, before we take the castle, we'll be caught between Tywin's army, and the sea." she warned, and he shared her view of the maps, and her thoughts on the outcome.

"We'll lose the war, and die the way father died... or worse..." he knew, and it was hard but he accepted it. Then she looked at him, her stare hard and sure.

"Show them how it feels to lose what they love." she approved it, and he nodded. With Casterly Rock, they would have a powerful stronghold, and a sure foothold in the west. More supplies, more ground, greater advantage to better their strengths. Robb looked at Gerald.

"How's your father?" he asked, and Gerald sighed. There was concern of course, but what he needed was his skills. This would not be an easy endeavour, and the Grey Tom was visibly downtrodden since Raeghun's disappearance, as were the remaining men of the Corridor despite their willingness to continue their support of the north.

"Worried, and tired. But still sound of mind, I am thankful to say." Gerald reported, and Robb faced him.

"We've sent a handful of hunters out, with orders to keep looking for him." Robb said, and Gerald bowed his head.

"We remain grateful for your help, your grace. You are very kind." he thanked, and then glanced at Catelyn.

"With your leave, your grace. I should go speak with him." he mentioned, and the king nodded, allowing him to leave and he made his way to a tent where Willmon sat inside. The silver-blue eyes met his, as he entered.

"What did he say?" he asked, aware of the proposal.

"We are going to try, to capture Casterly Rock after securing the Frey's alliance once more." he told, sitting down on the opposite chair, but his father simply nodded as he looked away from him again. Gerald leaned forward, staring at his father.

"Father, we need you for this." he softly urged, and saw him force a smile.

"I know. I'm sorry, I'll be al right. I'm just anxious to hear from... whoever has taken him." he confessed, and Gerald tried to ease him.

"We will hear something, soon. I'm sure." he said, and then Willmon stood.

"Where's your brother?" he asked suddenly, and Gerald sat back, confused for a moment.

"With the sentinels, most like. Why?" he asked as Willmon started for the entryway of the tent.

"He and Rod leaves north with first light." he had decided, and Gerald stood to follow him.

"But-" then his father turned back to him.

"I will not take any further risks." he said simply, and Gerald stood back accepting his decision before watching him step out into the night, searching for his son. Somewhere among the clutter of soldiers and nobles, he found his vassal lord.

"Luitpold. I'm sending your son home, with mine. Have him report to me immediately." he told, and the gentleman bowed his head to him.

"The reason for that, my lord?" he asked respectfully.

"So they may hold our lands, and keep our families safe." he told, and Luitpold nodded.

"I will have him come see you right away, my lord." he promised, and then left while Willmon ranged the camp looking for Rhegard, finding him before too long sharing a fire with Edur and Derric, who were distinctly quiet.

"We should have gone with him." Derric muttered.

"What difference could we have made? If Berin couldn't do anything, what could we have done?" Edur returned.

"We haven't received any demands, yet." Derric told.

"Someone will make them." Rhegard insisted, and then looked up noticing the silver glow in the night, his father's hair catching the light of the fire.

"Rhegard, come with me. Now." he ordered, and then turned and walked back to his tent with Rhegard rushing along.

"What happened? Have we received ransom?" he asked anxiously.

"No yet." Willmon breathed as Rhegard trailed behind him.

"Then, what-" he tried.

"Hush, boy." he silenced him, continuing on to his shelter where they entered an empty space, and not too long after was joined by Hrodrich.

"You summoned me, my lord?" he asked as he stepped through, and Willmon nodded.

"I did." he moved forward, and then scanned the area outside to ensure that no one was listening on them; but most soldiers were off on their own business.

"Father, what is happening?" Rhegard asked again, and then the Grey Tom turned towards them, his eyes taking them in.

"I'm sending you both home. Gather your belongings, you ride north before daybreak with no one the wiser. Be swift, and direct." he ordered them, and the young men passed a glance between them.

"Are we to gather more men?" Rhegard asked, but his father shook his head.

"No." a short silence followed as they wondered.

"Then, why?" Hrodrich asked.

"To protect our homes, and our families." then his eyes settled on his own son.

"Rhegard, I want you to stop at Mount Ardor on your way up. Try to convince your sister, to go with you to Pale Haven with Rychon. They will be safe there." he urged, and Rhegard nodded in acceptance. He knew, not to question his father when he issued orders. But then he came forward, laying his hands on their shoulders.

"My sons, before the next full moon our future will be determined. I will not risk our houses, and our families on whims and hopes. If we succeed, we will all see victory. But, if we don't..." his eyes glowed in the soft light of the candles, and Rhegard's hand went to his elbow.

"You will remain." he told, and they understood.

"Yes, father. As you bid." they both agreed, and Hrodrich looked at Rhegard.

"We should try to get some sleep." he suggested, and Rhegard nodded.

"Indeed. We have an early start." he conceded, and then looked back at his father.

"Good night, father. And... goodbye." he greeted, as they would not see him again. But somehow, it seemed to weigh heavy on his tongue, the word struggling its way out.

"Good night, boys. Stay safe." the elder man returned, and they left his tent, making their way to their own.

"Where do I meet you?" Hrodrich asked, and Rhegard glanced at him.

"At the broken oak, to the east of the camp. One hour before dawn." he told, and Rod nodded before heading off. Rhegard dragged himself to his own tent, and lay down trying to find sleep; but it would not come, so in the dark he stuffed as much as he could into a bag and slung it over his shoulder heading outside to find his Incus where he quick and quietly brushed out the pelt before saddling him, and led him to the mangled tree where he sat down on one of the thick roots and simply waited. But a couple of hours later, well before the agreed-upon time, Rod came from the shadows leading his dark grey charger amidst the world dimly lit by a crescent moon.

"You're early." Rhegard smiled softly, and his brother smiled back.

"You're earlier." he noted, and Rhegard stood.

"I couldn't sleep." he excused, and Rod gave his horse a pat to the neck.

"Neither could I. I suppose it's reason enough to set off." he suggested, and Rhegard sighed.

"I suppose so." he agreed, and they mounted their steeds before casting the camp site a final glance, with its many burning torches and bonfires. Some sentries wandered about here and there, but none that had seen them. Then they vanished into the night.

Rychon stood watching the lands from the crown of the sun tower, with Wink sniffing at the stones of the wide parapets. It was a clear day, with not a cloud in the sky as he scanned the world, the rolling hills and cracks where streams flowed. The woodlands and the dots that were farms on the fields, far to the horizon, and the endless blue that stretched out behind him. His father had once showed him, the north-east tower of the Twins, but it was little more than the tip of a needle sticking out of the earth on the horizon. Whether it was or not, he couldn't tell. He'd never been that far away from the castle. Days had seeped into weeks, but much of everything stayed the same. The ravens flew, and a meagre few returned with sympathies, but nothing else. His mother had remained reserved, and tended to what was necessary but little else. Berin had started giving orders for men to be assembled to return south, intending to meet with lord Rames once more at Oakhilt before crossing the border, and a short while ago Wymon offered to spar with him as the other children struggled to contend with him; and still he was not allowed off the castle grounds. He looked down over the edge of the high railing, at the people moving about below little more than dark shapes. And again, he heard his father, _You are a lord of the burning mountain, Rychon. You must act like it..._ His hands ran through his hair. _How?_ _What should I do?_ He breathed in deeply, and then looked up at the woodlands. _I need to get back to the grounds..._ _I need to make myself better!_ The sooner, the better. Scooping Wink up he turned and made his way down the long stairways, a shipment was expected by noon, if he could have his horse saddled and ready before they arrived he could slip out, do his runs and get back before nightfall. He could order Renko to go with him, but he would in all likelihood try to persuade him otherwise, or even refuse. And the grounds near the castle have been peaceful, so there was no reason to think that something was wrong. He had to get better so he could find his father... Passing the lady's common room he saw Bella and her mother inside, along with his. Everyone was quiet, but she hasn't spoken for a week and he'd listened to her crying in the night long after his own tears had come and gone; her embroidery was left discarded on the table while her primary activity was simply staring at the flames of the fires. She still sang to him, but it was a bitter comfort... _I will find him..._ He entered with Wink in his hands, then Milla and Bella looked up.

"I apologise for disturbing you." he pardoned as the court maiden softly smiled.

"Not at all, dear Rychon. Will you join us?" she asked, glancing at Claira still silent in her sorrow.

"Not right now, thank you aunt Milla. I... I'm heading to the garden. I was wondering if Bella would mind looking after Wink for me." he explained, and she stood.

"Of course." she agreed, raising her hands so he surrendered his pet to her.

"Thank you." then he gently squeezed her fingers before leaving, making her wonder as she returned to her seat where Wink clambered up to her shoulder. Normally, he would just take Wink with him.

"It's becoming colder..." she heard her mother softly, and looked up at her.

"It is." she agreed, but that might not have been the fault of the weather. Her eyes went to Claira, still just staring at the hearth.

"Aunt Claira?" slowly she looked up, like her very motions were becoming frozen. What could she say?

"Can I get you some tea?" she asked, and the eyes slowly went away from her again without a word. It made her heart break, that they could no longer reach her. That if not for her still beating heart, she may as well be a corpse... But then a comforting hand on hers, and her mother glanced at her before looking at the lady of their hold.

"Claira." her face rose, but her stare remained where it was.

"Raise your hand." Milla told, and she did slowly.

"Now place it against your chest." she added, and the hand slowly lay against her skin.

"What do you feel?" she asked, and Claira sighed.

"Nothing." she replied sombrely, and Milla leaned forward.

"No, not 'nothing'. What do you feel, hanging from your neck?" she asked again, more specifically.

"My amulet." she finally said.

"Your amulet has a name, doesn't it?" she reminded.

"You know its name, Milla." she breathed.

"I do. But it seems, you have forgotten." she softly said, and then the stare came to her with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Milla." she sat back, tracing the edge of the silver heart.

"Where is your husband?" she asked, looking back at the flames.

"With master Austinus, having preparations made. They should be back from Hillfield tonight." Milla told, relieved that she could find the strength for a conversation, no matter how mild as noon passed. Once a raven was received from the army, Berin would leave with as many men as he could gather, again leaving the castle with four sentinels and a fair count of guards, although it might be less than before. He was determined, and still hopeful no matter the situation.

"As long as we're here, and the gates are sealed we'll be fine." Claira assured, easier than before, then a tall shadow darkened the doorway.

"Forgive my intrusion, your grace." he pardoned, returning from duties in the barracks to retake his place.

"Not at all, ser." she looked up at him, inviting him inside. He moved forward to sit down against the wall, but then stopped suddenly looking back. And they heard it, too. Hard, panicked voices from the bailey and the frenzied barking of the dogs. Claira stood immediately, rushing down the halls with the others following, the flickering of thousands of torches just a moment's passing light until she exited the castle, finding frantic men and a handful of riders rushing out the gates.

"What happened?" she called to nearby guards pointing around.

"What happened?!" she demanded again making her way down the steps, and one acknowledged her.

"It's young lord Rychon, my lady. He and Berterin slipped out with their horses. We tried to stop them, but-" he started, and another frigid sting cut into her heart.

"When?" she asked, looking at the gate.

"Moments ago." he reported, the ice rising to her cheeks.

"Which way did they go? Where would they go?" she asked, but her voice had gone.

"I don't know, my lady. They headed east." She stared at the gate, at the men rushing around. _Rychon... what are you doing..?_ It was cold, and strangely dark. Then a tall mass moved past her.

"I know where they went." it was Falgon, starting towards the gate.

"Bring out my horse, now!" he called to the stable boys before turning to Wymon just behind them.

"See the ladies back inside, and stay with them." he ordered, and Claira moved forward.

"Falgon..." he turned to face her, smiling but with a hardness to his dark eyes.

"I will find them, I promise." he told, and proceeded to the stable quickly as Galeo was led out for him, mounting bareback he set off through the gate and over the bridge as she stared after him and the gate lowered behind him.

"Come inside, my lady. He will be back with the children again, soon." Wymon softly urged from next to her, and she turned gingerly to retreat back inside; but her body ached with cold as Bella still stood watching the gate wide-eyed, Wink held in her right hand and her left hand closed over her mouth. _That's why..._

"Hurry up, I don't want to be here any longer than we need to be." Rychon called back as he led the way through the trees bordering the training ground.

"I'm right behind you, Rychon." Berterin laughed, keeping pace easily. He could say with pride that he was a fine rider, and his Rutt was as swift and nimble as Nix if not more. Seeing Rychon pass in the hallway, he followed him to the stable where he made him share his intentions; and not wanting his friend to leave alone he insisted on coming with him. It was exhilarating to escape the castle, and somewhat satisfying to throw off the guards who attempted to follow. After saddling the horses in the shade of the stalls, they waited for the moment the gate opened to accept the shipment before putting their heels to their coursers, and raced out. How many people could say they thwarted the guards of the burning mountain? Then they emerged into a clearing, where an intricate maze was spread out, long shafts protruding from the earth with logs hanging from the branches, and target posts set throughout the complicated twists and turns; and he took it in with utter astonishment.

"This is where you've been training?" he asked, watching as Rychon dismounted his horse to let him graze between the trees.

"Yes." he replied, and took a sparring sword from the saddle before walking towards the labyrinth.

"It looks hard." Berterin breathed as he dismounted and followed, but Rychon shrugged.

"It's not that bad. I've grown used to it, by now." Rychon told as he approached a selection of long ropes tied to a tree, taking hold of the ends to pull. Using all of his weight, he jerked back and they slipped free, and the logs dropped from the branches swinging between the shafts. Berterin watched excitedly as Rychon went to the first entrance of the labyrinth, he'd never seen anything like this before, and even more so the flames that passed off his friend.

"You can just watch, I won't be long." Rychon suggested, then he sat down on the grass, staring at the young heir as he took his place, along with several deep breaths. A moment of silence followed, and then he shot forward like a bolt from a crossbow as Berterin watched in awe. He ducked under a passing log, and then twisted instantly avoiding another one while touching the tip of the sword to a target post; then forward over a hedge and rolled, touching another one. Another twist and a slide, and another target; all while the flames left a beam of light behind him in his speed. At last, Berterin understood why he was so good. He'd been doing this almost every day for years... Since he was five. He came to his feet as Rychon emerged from the maze, breathless but with a smile.

"That was amazing!" he exclaimed, and the bright eyes met his.

"It's not good enough..." he sighed, but Berterin took his arm.

"I've never seen anyone do that." he told, and looked at the shafts.

"Do you think I could try?" he asked eagerly, and Rychon glanced back.

"I don't know. Maybe, but not right now." he said, his friend's face dimming in disappointment.

"But, when the war is over and my father is back, you could join us." he assured, and the smile came back. Then he turned to retake his place at the maze, but stopped abruptly feeling the sting of acid in his cheeks. The same man they'd met weeks ago, stood staring at them with the same empty smile.

"Valar morghulis." he greeted, taking a step forward.

"Rytsas." Rychon returned, watching the stranger come slowly forward. The same, strange crow's walk to his motions. Then he glanced around, searching the area.

"Where's your father?" he suddenly asked as his dark eyes came back to him.

"My father?" Rychon took a step back, and the dead smile widened.

"The big man." he indicated, and Rychon felt an uneasy hand on his arm as three more strangers on horseback emerged from the trees.

"We should go, Rychon." Berterin suddenly told urgently, and the stare of the stranger rested on him.

"We're just talking, lad." he tried to ease him, but the stinging burn did not leave. It was a mistake to come here. And they were alone.

"It is getting late." Rychon tried, as the stranger still moved forward, crooked and cautious.

"You could share supper with us, then we'll see you home. We caught some good hares earlier." the stranger suggested, motioning back to the men behind him and trying to goad them.

"Thank you, but my friend's right. We should go." Rychon insisted, taking hold of Berterin's shoulder and quickly scanning for their horses. They would have to run.

"Come now, boy." the stranger still urged, and then without warning suddenly grabbed forward towards them, and Rychon shoved Berterin away avoiding the hand.

"Run!" his voice cut through the forest, and they started to sprint for the horses as the air burnt in their chest. But a rough hand caught his jerkin, and hauled him back.

"You're not getting away that easily!" the scrawny man laughed, and Rychon screamed at himself. _You fool! You stupid, stupid fool!_ His fingers seared as his eyes met Berterin's back. _I will not be taken!_ He turned suddenly, slamming a hand into the face behind him. He grunted, and the hold loosened just enough to jerk free as he turned, but then the other hand clamped down on his shoulder hard.

"I was right, you are strong." the stranger spat as he writhed and struggled.

"Let go of me!" he screamed, but the grip forced him to the ground, the smell of dust and crushed grass filling him.

"The master will be happy for you." the stranger grinned.

"Let go!" Rychon screamed, and suddenly the grip vanished to a painful wail; and Rychon saw Berterin standing next to him holding a thick branch in his hands.

"Rychon, get up!" he cried, and Rychon stumbled to his feet away from the man rubbing his head.

"I told you to run!" he called, and an arm hooked around his, hauling him forward.

"I'm not leaving without you." he told stubbornly, but they'd only gone another few feet before the men on horseback circled them, and they were left standing back-to-back, watching them. They were grinning and laughing, evidently amused by their efforts.

"Let us go! Let us go, or-" Rychon started, the burning beat of his heart coursing through his body.

"Or what, boy? You're alone." the thin man challenged him, and it was true. They were alone, and near to defenceless against four taller, stronger men.

"You will let them go." another voice cut into them, deep and commanding; but absolutely elating. Rychon watched as Falgon came from the woods, calm and confident; just walking forward to where the children were as he removed Summit from his back, and the men on horseback circled them, blocking their way back to the keep.

"And if we don't, cuss?" one of them called to him with a pleased laugh, but oddly he simply smiled back.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. You will." he assured them, reaching Rychon's side. He looked up at the sentinel, focused on the men; severely happy that he'd come but still fearful.

"Falgon... I'm scared..." he whispered, feeling Berterin close behind him.

"I know. But you have to make for your horses, I will create an opening for you. Remember what you've learnt, Rychon. And do not look back." he instructed softly, and then stepped forward to stand between the children and the men.

"I'll try." he promised, glancing at Berterin.

"You came alone, too? For a man who's said to be strong, you're certainly not smart." the skinny crow-man laughed, taking a dagger from his side.

"I've had far worse odds than the lot of you. So, come." Falgon invited, holding Summit in front of him, and Berterin's eyes widened in horror as the world darkened, staring at the sentinel. To his sight, and his alone, the black wings that followed him, opened and spread wide while the head of a demon with leering red eyes, long jagged teeth and curled horns under a thick mane loomed above him, snarling at the strangers. The memory, was a monster...

"Kill him!" came someone's cry, and the forest was taken by a black, bloody bedlam. There was the whistling of crossbow bolts, the sing of steel, and terrifying screams as Rychon dragged his friend forward, ducking under blades and running for their horses. In a mist of fright, they mounted and raced home, leaving the turmoil behind, with heartbeats even louder in their ears than the frantic pounding of the hooves. They did not know how long it was before the castle came into view, and Rychon looked up. He did not have a horn with him; but to his gratitude the sentries saw them and the tolling of the bells could be heard as the gate was raised up. They entered to meet a horde of guards, and their family rushing down the stairs towards them, and Rychon looked around, noting Berterin slip from his horse and head inside as if still running from something while Milla turned and followed him into the shadows. But he glanced back at the gate. _I have to take men. I have to take men, and go back..._

"Rychon!" his mother called to him as she reached his side, and he looked down.

"We have to go back! We have to go back for him!" he cried as a stable boy took the reins of his exhausted horse, and Renko pulled him from the saddle.

"What happened?" Bella asked, Wink still held in her hands.

"We have to go back!" Rychon called again, searching the faces around him. But then his mother's painful hands took hold of his arms.

"You can't go out there again!" but he stared back at her, his eyes burning. Whether from tears or elsewise, he couldn't tell.

"I have to!" he called again, and her hands tightened but only slightly.

"Rychon, listen to me-" she tried, but it was little more than a whisper under the screams in his mind. The relentless, painful, terrified shrieking.

"I have to go back!" he screamed, but no one would listen. No one would move as they cast glances between one another. But then they looked up as more horses came through the gate. Berin and master Austinus had returned, and Rychon slipped from his mother's grasp easily, heading towards them as they dismounted, looking over them all.

"Uncle Berin, you have to help me!" he begged as the green eyes examined him.

"What is it? What happened?" he asked, the light eyes pleading desperately.

"We were attacked, Falgon stayed behind to defend us. Please! Please, you have to help me! We have to go back for him!" he told urgently, and Berin looked up at Claira.

"Rychon..." he seemed confused for a moment.

"Please!" he screamed again, finally making the head of the sentinels turn his attention to the men around them.

"Ten men, quickly!" he ordered, and they had to wait while the horses were brought out.

"Hurry!" Rychon called to them, _We have to hurry! We have to hurry, he could be-_ Then the bailey was taken by a hard silence as a large destrier came through quickly, and everyone stared at the stranger. No, not a stranger... Rychon breathed out, and relief washed over him, almost making him feel dizzy. Claira moved forward towards him as the great sentinel dismounted, giving his horse to a stable boy. He was covered in grime.

"Falgon..." she breathed, feeling the pulse of her heart, then he turned and smiled at her.

"I'm al right. I'm uninjured." _Uninjured..?_ She stared at him. There was blood everywhere... His hand came up, wiping the red from his cheek.

"With your permission, your grace. I should make myself presentable, before appearing before you." But all she could do was to stare at him, the whirl of emotions too confusing to distinguish. _You_ _lout_ _! You could have been killed, and you're worried that you're dirty?!_ He bowed to her, and then moved past her without another word into the hold. But more than the blood, it was his eyes. Hard and stained... Rychon sat down on the steps, shivering. He passed him as well, without so much as a glance. He listened as the order was given to return the horses to the stable, and the heavy churning of the chains as the gates were closed, and then pressure on his shoulder as Wink climbed up to him. Then his mother came back to him, and he looked up.

"Come inside..." she said softly, and he nodded slowly standing, and following the trickle of people returning into the castle, and Bella trailed in silence, feeling the sting fade away. They were safe. They were both safe, thanks to him. Then she saw her mother return back down the grand staircase sullenly with Vaellion next to her, and she went to her.

"Where's Berterin?" she asked, meeting the light green eyes.

"In his chamber. He wouldn't speak, he wouldn't move. Perhaps, your father should see him." she said,

"I'll try." Bella moved up the stairs, Berterin usually listened to her. He headed through the castle, down the long hallways and many torch lights to the eastern wing where she entered his room softly.

"Berterin?" he was sitting on his bed, arms wound around his knees like a frightened little child. She went closer, and sat down with him.

"Are you al right? Have you been hurt?" she asked, brushing her fingers gently against his thick black hair, and he simply shook his head.

"You're home, now. You're safe." she told him, and he nodded as she sighed.

"You should thank Falgon, for bringing you back." she suggested, but he looked away.

"I don't want to." he said coldly and she stared at him.

"He brought you back." she reminded him, but he would not face her.

"I don't want to!" he said again stubbornly, and then stood from the bed going to the window where the light disappeared from outside. She stood, and followed him as sudden anger rose in her.

"He came after you. He saved you!" she yelled at him, furious for his stubbornness. Then he turned back, his eyes challenging and defiant.

"I don't want to see him! I don't want to go anywhere near him! He's a monster! He's a demon!" he cried, and in a sudden instance of fury she slapped her brother hard, making him lurch.

"Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that about him!" she screamed at him; she loved Falgon. He was kind, he was gentle. He was good. She watched as he looked back at her, holding his ruby cheek, but his eyes still piercing.

"You didn't see it! You didn't see what I saw!" he screamed back. That thing, whatever it was, was ancient and terrible and powerful... and deadly. And it would come to devour him.

"That's enough!" they both looked at the door, where their father stood in the arch watching them. And then he stepped inside.

"Bella, I'll talk to him." he said, and Bella looked back at her brother with an almost repulsive glance before turning and leaving them. Berin then closed the door, and came to his son.

"I should punish you, but I suppose you've been through a lot?" he breathed, sitting down on the bed and looking at Berterin, who still stood in front of the window, the burning sting slowly fading from his left cheek, and the tears came.

"I'm sorry, father. I'm so sorry..." but Berin motioned for his son to sit down next to him on the bed, and let him cry for a while.

"It's al right. I am thankful that you're both unharmed." Berin said as his arm went around Berterin's shoulders. This must have been a harrowing experience, but at the very least they won't venture out unattended again, until they were ready. Finally calmer, he looked down at the black haired boy.

"What did you see, Berterin?" he asked, but the stare remained on the stones of the floor.

"I... I saw a monster. It rose right out of him... It was horrible..." Berterin whispered, the vision of the mighty shadow etched into his mind. The horns, the teeth... and those frightful red eyes...

"What did it look like?" Berin asked softly, and he tried to remember. How could he describe this? What would come close? A dragon, made up of many different creatures?

"I don't know. Like a horse, and a lion, and a bull... it had long teeth... and its eyes..." he tried, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"I was scared... I was so scared..." Berterin told, holding back whimpers and his father held him closer.

"My poor boy. You're safe. You're both safe." he soothed, and then took a deep breath.

"Falgon is the lady's sentinel. He is a guardian of our family. He protected lady Claira, he saved her, he saved your mother, and others. He even saved lord Raeghun, once. And today, he protected you. You never need to be afraid of him. He is a part of our family." Berin tried to comfort him.

"I know... I just... I can't get it out of my head..." he whispered, and Berin wondered. He knew it, had noticed it himself several times. Was that the darkness they saw when the tall man sensed a threat? _What happened, out there..?_ Then he looked back. Was that any consolation? He supposed it was worth a try.

"I saw something, too. The day lord Raeghun was taken from us. Something that no one else seemed to." Berin told, and his son's eyes came to him.

"You did?" he asked.

"Yes. I saw a man, robed entirely in black..." he brought it back, it might not have been as terrifying as the vision in the woods, but horrible all the same.

"Perhaps, the things we see are for a reason. I can't give you any answers for it, but these entities might make their presence known to us so we may understand situations there are no words for." he supposed, and heard Berterin sigh next to him.

"Maybe... But, I don't want to see it again..." he whispered, and the room faded to silence. In time, he might have the courage to face him again. But, not now. Not soon... Then Berin stood, holding out his hand.

"Come along, it should be time for supper soon." he urged, but Berterin turned away from him.

"I'm not hungry. I'd rather stay here." he said, resistive to even leave the safety of his chamber.

"Al right. But you are going to have to come out again, some time. And you will have to face him, sooner or later." his father told, and he stared at the last purple fade from the sky outside while the stars already shined bright in the heavens.

"It will have to be later..." he told, and Berin left in silence returning to the southern hall to rejoin the family, meeting his friend in the Hall of Fire on his way back to the barracks after washing and his soiled clothing given to the wash house with the rest to be reclaimed by morning, resuming his normal becoming appearance.

"Thank you, Falgon." the tall warrior faced him.

"I am relieved, that they are both safely home." he replied, and then glanced at the tall doors of the southern hall, the children conversing with their mothers just beyond. Supper may not be served for yet a little while longer.

"They shouldn't have gone out. I told him not to." he softly breathed, watching the figures.

"You're angry with him?" Berin asked, and then his attention came back to him.

"No, I'm not angry. I'm disappointed." he softened it, and sighed.

"If he is to give commands one day, he must understand what it is to follow them, first... It becomes easy to ask something of others, if you don't realize what it is that you're asking. Sometimes, the price paid for defiance is far too high." Whether people wanted to call it the iron price or the steel price or the blood price they could decide for themselves, but it was something he will never pay again... Then Rychon came from the hall towards him with Wink on his shoulder.

"Go on, I'll meet you again later." Falgon urged, and Berin moved away as Rychon reached him.

"You're al right." he called happily, and then smiled.

"That was the second time today we could escape someone." he said, making a boast of their experience; but the hardness remained in the dark striking eyes.

"What were you thinking?" Falgon asked him, and the smile faded as he stared at the sentinel and a warmth crept up from his stomach.

"I needed it. I needed to run, to train, to make myself better!" Rychon justified it, for the first time registering the harshness.

"You placed yourself in danger, you placed Berterin in danger. Had I not come for you, those men would have taken you. Both of you." Falgon told him, and Rychon looked away from him. Telling himself that he wasn't given a chance to prove himself.

"We would have been fine. I've been training there for almost six years." he countered, suddenly thinking that they could have gotten away without his help.

"You are not to leave the castle grounds again, do you understand?" the deep voice met him solidly, and he looked back, fighting the frustration. _Who do you think you are?_

"You cannot give me orders. You cannot keep me here!" he snapped back, but the warrior stared back, calm as always.

"I can. And if I need to, I will. With the current situation, I hold more authority than you." he reminded him, and it burnt through him. By succession of blood, he should have a better position than some low-born swordsman, no matter how good he was.

"You are a commoner. I am the lord's son!" he yelled, as if he'd forgotten who he was; but Falgon smirked, amused by his words.

"You believe that a title makes you who you are? Very well, Lord of Flame. Take up your sword against me, and assume your rights." he invited, and then headed past him to the barracks, on his way to the bailey as Rychon watched him while cold teeth pierced into his heart. _What are you doing?!_ Then he looked back at the hall where the shocked faces of his family stared back.

"I will await you, sire." Falgon called back, and Rychon faced him... _You are a lord of the burning mountain, Rychon. You must act like it..._ then a hand took his shoulder, and he turned to a stricken girl beside him.

"Are you mad? He'll mangle you!" she whispered desperately, but he gently pushed Bella's hand away.

"I have to..." he breathed, taking the ferret from his shoulder and handing him to her. If he dismissed the challenge, he'd be seen as a coward. The Taugere that stood down. The weak link in the mighty chain of their bloodline. Then he walked forward, and again she grabbed his arm.

"Please. Please, don't to this." she begged, but he slipped free, forcing courage into himself and continued on his way to the bailey where as promised the sentinel awaited him. Taking a sword from the rack he took his place, rising the blade in front of him, aimed for the smiling face.

"Come." he told, simply standing there.

"Remove your sword!" Rychon called, but he did not move.

"I said, come!" he told again, and Rychon's hands gripped the hold tighter.

"Remove your sword! I don't want to hurt you, Falgon!" Rychon demanded, taking in the hard, sharp eyes staring back.

"Come. If you lack the intention to kill me, you will fail." he assured confidently, and it left a stab of revolt. _You arrogant brute!_ Rychon shot forward, driving the sword in front of him; but in an instant the tall mass moved, and a flash of firelight passed over him a moment before the flat of the great blade struck into the back of his legs, leaving painful burning weals, and he fell; imagining a trickle of blood running down his skin. He looked up, seeing Falgon turn and Summit in his right hand.

"Again!" he ordered, and Rychon forced himself to his feet. He couldn't identify the emotions any more, there were too many. The only thing that was deeper and brighter than them all, was the burn in him; and he moved forward.

"Stop this! Stop it, please!" Bella took hold of her father's hand, pleading as tears streamed down her face. But he simply stared, and so did her mother, and so did her aunt, and all the others that followed. Renko had tried to intervene, but Wymon held him back.

"Please!" she cried again, looking at Claira who stood watching, her eyes glimmering behind the tears she tried to withhold.

"Falgon won't harm him... He won't..." she whispered as she watched the atrocious clash; and once more, the flat side of the blade cut across Rychon's stomach, leaving searing lashes as he was forced back. He looked up through the burn, could almost feel the moisture flowing down from the wounds. He hadn't managed to so much as touch him. He would not be stronger, so he had to be faster... so he gained sure footing and lunged himself forward again.

"Stop it! This is going too far! Please, stop it! Please!" Bella screamed as again, the flat of the blade slammed down on Rychon's back hard, sending him down as pain flooded his body. It took every ounce of will not to cry, and all that was spare to summon motions to his muscles. He stared at the dirt beneath him, the sword forgotten beside him and breathing hard, hating the course of pain and fire through him. Then he looked up, at the warrior in front of him. He just wasn't good enough...

"I've taught you everything you know of the sword, Rychon. But you need lifetimes to learn everything I know." Falgon told, and Rychon again forced himself to his feet with his body aflame and aching through the shivering limbs that tried to keep him up. He would never best him, and he knew it. Would never be as good as he was, no matter how hard he tried. He could train for a thousand years, and it would not make a difference against someone who was so different from them. His hands clenched into fists.

"I hate you!" he suddenly cried, the tears he denied himself escaping his eyes. But he watched as the sentinel replaced his great sword in its place, just looking back at him.

"You can hate me. I would rather have you hate me, than dead." he accepted it, without so much as a rueful flash in his striking eyes. Then Rychon turned and ran into the castle, heedless of the eyes staring at him. He hated him, but more than that he hated himself... Then Falgon breathed out heavily, driving away the bitterness in his chest. Then he moved forward as the others retreated inside, leaving them alone as he stood in front of the lady of the hold, looking up at him with her wondrous eyes glimmering.

"I apologize, your grace." he said softly, truly grieved for the harsh outcome. But she nodded, capable of a soft understanding smile.

"It's al right. Rychon is a very headstrong boy, and he's entered that stage of his life where he will challenge authority. But with his father... gone, I am grateful that he has you to guide him still." she told gently, lifting the hurt that surrounded him.

"That..." but he struggled with the words for a moment, and then smiled back. _Means a great deal to me..._ he bowed to her.

"I will do whatever I can." he promised her again, and then allowed her to lead the way back into the keep to the southern hall, but she paused looking up to see Bella approaching her son where he had stopped at the base of the grand staircase, allowing more tears to soak his skin that was a bland sense under the pain that reached through him. A soft hand touched his shoulder, but he didn't care who it was.

"Rychon, are you al right?" Bella asked gently, and he raised his eyes.

"I wasn't ready... I wasn't ready to face him..." he confessed, battling against more tears, but she lay her hands on his arm.

"Come on, you should see maester Adlyn." she urged, and led him the way up to the maester's tower where he met them in his chamber and she left him in the healer's care to return to the southern hall, and their maester instructed the heir to remove his clothing and take a seat near the little hearth to examine the damage, where his hands ran skilfully over the warmth.

"The skin has not been broken, my lord. And it won't leave any scarring." he told with a reassuring smile before retrieving a small vessel of balm to apply to the injuries.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked, his voice soft and caring and Rychon grimaced, feeling the cool ointment on the burning skin, slowly numbing the pain.

"I... I challenged Falgon. I shouldn't have, I suppose. I wasn't ready..." he explained, and the deep brown eyes took him in.

"I see. But, I believe that ser Falgon exercised a fair deal of restraint. It could have been much worse." he shared, and Rychon looked up.

"He might have. Or it might have just been my clothing that was in the way." he added, but the maester grinned.

"No, dear boy. It was definitely restraint. With his strength, the clothing would have been of little consequence. I've seen him cut through leather armour, just enough to damage the skin when he could have severed the arm completely. And I've seen him break a man's hand, as easily as a dry straw, with meagre effort." the maester told, recalling the day Wymon came to see him after his failed challenge and the evening they corrected Berin's misshapen hand. It was something so few possessed; the precise control of their power. And then Rychon looked up at him as his hands went to the lashes over his abdomen, applying the soothing balm to the inflamed skin.

"But... But he-" he started, but the maester smiled.

"That man has served your family well, Rychon. He has relinquished every right or desire he may ever have had to uphold his oath to your parents. He gave up the life of an individual, so he may spend his days in their presence, as their protector." he told, and the boy glanced away.

"Why would he do that?" he mumbled, but the gentle smile remained.

"I can think of one reason." then his hands went to the red sears over the backs of his legs.

"You are familiar with the Night's Watch, and the King's Guard?" Rychon winced again at the initial stinging sensation, but slowly felt it fade.

"Who isn't?" of course, everyone knew them. Both these orders were ancient.

"And you've heard their vows." the maester continued.

"Of course." then the maester sat back.

"They renounce their titles and claims. They take no wives, and father no children. Their entire lives, are dedicated solely to their duty." then he replaced the covering of the vessel.

"Falgon may never have said those exact words, but that is exactly how he chose to live. His actions have spoken louder than any words ever could. And I believe for a man to find such contentment in their duty, they must love what they do." he explained, holding the ointment to Rychon.

"Falgon admires and respects your father, he adores your mother. And I honestly believe, that he cares about you as well." he told, and Rychon glanced down, the pain of guilt ever more agonizing than the searing burn over his skin moments ago. All the other sentinels had families of their own, people they returned to when not needed. All of them, except for him. When not in his mother's presence he gave his days to training the heir, or he would simply read. Then the gentle, withered hand rested on his knee.

"You may head back down. The ointment can be applied as many times as you need to, there's lots more." he finally said, and Rychon stood to redress and headed back down the stairway through vacant halls. But rather than going to the southern hall to claim his supper, he retired to his room in the lord's wing where he ate what was left in the fruit bowl always present on his small table and lay down on his bed. A fair while later he drifted off to sleep, through the sways of slumber feeling his furred friend curl up into his neck after his mother silently delivered him back to the room. But sleep would not fully overwhelm him, and he was left thinking on the events of their day while he listened to the soft footsteps of his mother move up and down the halls and stairs. Up, down, up, down, up, down, and up again a final time off to bed. But still sleep would not take him, even when the moon passed his window. Then he sat up, the painful singe of the lashes just a light throb. _I have to talk to him. I have to talk to him..._ he decided, and stood from the bed leaving Wink sprawled over the pillows with his paws in the air to dress in light breeches and a faded tunic before slipping out of the wing, and made his way silently down to the barracks where he stepped through the arch to find the sentinel at his normal post. He drove a long breath into his chest, and stepped forward.

"Falgon..." his attention came away from the book in his hands, settling on Rychon. _How do I make this right?_

"I'm sorry. I... I don't hate you." he apologised, and the warrior smiled.

"It's al right. I know." he told softly. The hardness to his eyes had gone. Rich, amber brown eyes, just a shade shy of red. Then he moved forward, wrapping his arms around the massive shoulders, realizing in his heart he could never hate someone he loved so much.

"Thank you. Thank you, so much." then the powerful hands rested on his back; hands that disciplined him harshly, but so much stronger when they just held him.

"You are very welcome, Rychon." he said, and after another moment Rychon drew back.

"Those men..." he started, but was still met with the same easy smile.

"You will not see them again." he assured, for which he found himself grateful, but it didn't really matter now.

"You told him, that I was your son?" Rychon mentioned, distinctly recalling the words of the skinny crow-man. _Where's your father? The big man..._

"I did." Falgon confessed as Rychon stared at him.

"Why?" he asked, but where some would be offended with the notion of a commoner presenting a lordling as his offspring, he was simply curious.

"I needed to protect you." the sentinel revealed, but in his eyes he could see that was not the only reason. There was something more.

"You are not my blood. But, no matter what. I will protect you as if you were." Falgon promised him, and he pitched forward again to hold him, the muscled arms circling him to return the embrace, and as he held the boy close he thanked the four winds that he made it in time. Had anything happened to them, he would never forgive himself. Those men, were assassins sent to capture them, but he'd disposed of them easily enough. But rather than reveal where they were sent from, and by who, the last of them chose to remain silent. It mattered little now while the creatures of the forest would see to what remained of them... these people were not his blood, but they were his family.

It was well into the night when ser Brynden Tully and lord Willmon Tormont pushed their way into the large pavilion, ensuring that the force had their orders to hold together and several sentries set to watch the grounds around the camp site.

"That rain will cost us another day." Brynden announced. It had been pouring down relentlessly for a week, putting off their progress to an extensive degree.

"With the state of the roads, it may cost us another few." Willmon had to correct. And indeed, while the roads were slippery and tacky under the weight of horses and wagons, their movements were slow. And there was something else as well. An uneasy stomach had been plaguing their queen for a while, and she needed to stop regularly because of nausea. But after taking some supplements from her medicine supplies, she seemed to feel better; and Willmon supposed that may be the fault of their changing seasons and their temperamental weather of late.

"Oh, Frey will wait. He knows we're coming." lord Edmure mumbled sitting back, still drenched from the rain.

"Lord Walder is prickly by nature. If-" lady Catelyn started, and Brynden scoffed at the words, holding a small goblet in his hand.

"Prickly? Is that what you call it? He might be the least pleasant man I've ever met." he shared as Catelyn stared at him.

"Yes. And that is why-" she tried again, but ser Brynden had no objection to making his mind known.

"I've seen wet shits, I liked better than Walder Frey." he added purposefully, followed by a moment of silence as he glanced at the king and his queen, meeting an instance of disgrace for his words.

"Apologies, your grace. Spent too many years around lancers and pikemen." he pardoned quickly, but she looked at him with a smile, holding a small towel in her hands which they had used to try and soak up what was left on them from the rain.

"I've spent the last two years nursing wounded men, watching them bleed and die. I'm not afraid of wet shits." she replied easily, and he laughed. Refined, graceful and bold indeed.

"Lord Frey will take this delay as a slight." Catelyn told again, looking over the others.

"Being in his nineties, one would think he'd have learnt a level of patience by now. We have no control over the weather, he will have no choice but to wait. Unpleasant or no." Willmon added as the lady's eyes glanced at him as well.

"He can take it as he likes. He's getting the wedding he wanted." Edmure added.

"He's getting a wedding. It was a king he wanted." Catelyn breathed bitterly, her eyes going to Robb where he stood with Talisa while she rubbed his thick hair with the small towel.

"Edmure is the best match a Frey has had in the history of their house. We should all get some sleep." Robb dismissed them, and Brynden emptied the small goblet in his hand before replacing it on the table and stepping out with Willmon at his side, heading back into the cold wet darkness. The rain had let up slightly, but it was still a soft drizzle settling on the world. Willmon looked around, taking in the shapes in the shadows, tents and trees and shrubs and soldiers and horses. Rhegard and Hrodrich's sudden departure was hardly noticed, and mercifully their presence was not missed beyond an occasional question. Travelling alone would make them quick, they need not suffer the slow haul of foot soldiers and ambling wagons; but capable as they were the roads were scarcely safe even for them, and silently he prayed that they would not encounter difficulties on their way. With any luck, they should reach Mount Ardor within a week, and make it safely home to Pale Haven in a fortnight. In light of her husband's absence, the White Hold would be the safest place for the lady of the burning mountain and her heir; but then the thought came that she had grown stubborn and in all likelihood would not abandon the sunstone castle on the hope that their steward will hold and maintain it against any kind of onslaught. But perhaps, there was a chance...

"If it wasn't for this damned rain, we'd have been at the Twins by now and this whole rout would have been done and over." the Blackfish muttered, making Willmon snigger.

"We shouldn't mind the rain, ser." he eased; people complained about everything. When the snows fell, people wished for summer, when food was plentiful they wanted lower costs, and when their fields had not seen rain in seven months, they prayed for the heavens to open.

"Indeed, with any luck this will flood the enemy right out of their holes." he japed, pausing a moment when his foot sagged away into the thick mud.

"That would be a turn of luck." Willmon had to agree, watching as Brynden struggled his way free of the soil that held him.

"The rain might stop by morning, then we can press further." The Grey Tom sighed, and The Black Fish looked at him.

"Further? We're heading back, if you hadn't noticed." he scoffed.

"Sometimes, you have to go back to go forward." Willmon told, and he ambled up to him.

"Back is back, and forward is forward; there's a good difference between the two." Brynden continued.

"It won't be much longer." Willmon breathed, and they continued to their tents.

"To take Casterly Rock, that was your boy's suggestion?" the he asked, and Willmon nodded.

"It was. We make our proposals, but it is left to the king to decide whether he wants to take up our offers or discard them." he told.

"Casterly Rock is heavily fortified." Brynden reminded.

"It is. And we don't have the men to take it, yet. But with the forces from the Twins, we might have a chance." Willmon said as they passed beneath the trees.

"The Freys are not known for their bravery or their strength." Brynden jested, making Willmon smile.

"A fair truth. But where your enemy is stronger, bolder or faster; you must be smarter. Casterly Rock will give us a sure footing in the west, and will sever our enemy's resources by a good degree." he explained.

"A daring move." Brynden smiled.

"The Wild Cat has earned his name rightfully. Nevertheless, I will confess that Gerald lacks the caution of his younger brother, and the patience of his sisters. But he is a spirited man, and has had many successes." Willmon breathed, having to acknowledge that his eldest son was a bit more rash than he would have preferred, but he kept to his teachings and followed their ways where he had to, proving himself faithful even in the direst conditions.

"Robb places a lot of trust in you and your son's advice." Brynden reflected, yet without any envy.

"He is our king. We will serve wherever he needs us." he said, stopping in front of his tent.

"I haven't seen your youngest son for a while now." Brynden mentioned, and Willmon turned to face him.

"I've sent him off with his own assignment." he said, noting the smile.

"Negotiating for more men to bring to our cause, perhaps?" the Black Fish hinted, and Willmon sighed. _If only..._ They needed more men, a lot more if they would see success. But there were things that were more important.

"As to that, we will have to see what fate gives us." he said, and Brynden laughed.

"Yes well, as long as its not more rain I will be happy for it." he joked again, and Willmon laughed with him, hiding the thoughts. Rain or swords, they needed a storm. A great one.

"Well, good night to you, ser. We rise again early." the Grey Tom greeted.

"And a fair evening to you as well." the Black Fish returned before moving off to his tent, and Willmon looked up at the sky that was dark and heavy without a single star as gentle drops settled on his face, and he prayed to those who could not see him.

The skies were veiled with grey clouds, but the rain had stopped and the children were allowed to resume their training in the inner bailey, or simply play in the lush gardens. Rychon had fared better sparring against Wymon, but was still frustrated that it felt his skills were not being challenged enough even against a more experienced opponent. Berterin though, had made a point of avoiding Falgon since their encounter in the woods, and would swiftly take his leave whenever the tall sentinel entered any room. This morning, after breaking their fast on honeyed oatmeal with goat milk and fresh fruit Claira made her way through the Hall of Fire with Falgon and Milla at her sides, watching the children rush on ahead to the bailey to resume their training. Most of them issued a greeting as they passed, except for one and Milla regarded her eldest son, not bothering to glance back as they passed by.

"He's afraid of you..." she breathed looking up at Falgon, and saw him staring at the small figures disappearing through the door, wondering what caused such a severe change. He had never so much as scolded the children, and it was worrisome that the boy fled his presence.

"Why?" she had to ask, unable to think of any reason. But Falgon simply shook his head.

"I don't know." he replied softly, honestly baffled. The boys had been well away, they couldn't have seen what he'd done to those men when the rage took him. It just wasn't possible... Then Berin came from the barracks, heading towards them, seeming satisfied. He'd ordered that new recruits assemble around the castle walls, and the count was growing steadily with new members each day and master Austinus took charge of their training until it would be time to leave.

"How are you faring?" Falgon asked him, and he breathed out.

"It won't be a whole lot, but perhaps just enough to make a difference if we're favoured." he mentioned, sounding hopeful.

"You seem optimistic." Claira mentioned, and Berin smiled.

"I try to be. Even one man, can place us in a better position." he said, glancing back at the arch leading to the barracks.

"Berin, do you know why Berterin is acting so different?" Milla asked, and he looked back at her before glancing at Falgon. _I saw a monster. It rose right out of him... It was horrible..._ What he'd seen couldn't be explained, and perhaps it was best left for now.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He'll come around." he tried to ease them, and then a bell. Then two, the tolling of the sentry towers, and again the responsive howling washed over them and Claira's attention went to the great doors. _What is it this time..?_ She tried to harden herself for whatever waited, and then moved off to meet with those who'd come to call with the others following. Emerging into the light of the outside world, two riders entered the castle grounds through the gates and for a moment she was relieved to see their brothers stopping at the base of the stairs where they dismounted and gave their horses to the care of the stables. To her gratitude, they didn't seem to be distressed, albeit perhaps a little pressed for time. Rhegard looked up at her with clear blue eyes as she came down the stairway to greet him, and smiled as she met him with open arms.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as his arms held her gently against him.

"Just visiting." he jested, and looked at Rod next to him equally happy to see his sister.

"Can we get you anything? Seems you've been riding hard for a while." Claira asked as they started heading back into the hold.

"A decent meal would be very much appreciated, my lady." Rod accepted, and Milla led the way to the southern feast hall to have extra servings brought out for them, and they could fully sate their hunger while the others sat with them, sharing small conversation on the happenings over the past few weeks, but intentionally avoided topics regarding the battles. Having heard their uncles had arrived, even the children abandoned their activity to spend the morning with them, well enveloped in Rod's exceptional talent for story telling.

"Are you staying?" Bella asked excitedly from her seat across from her uncle.

"You are very welcome to stay as long as you need. The Fern and Cobalt apartments will be yours; and your clothing may be given to the washhouse." Milla invited heartily.

"Thank you. But perhaps only for a day, or two. Camping is an ill replacement for the comforts of a home. But we have... urgent business to attend to." Rhegard told raising a goblet of fresh grape press to his mouth as he glanced at Rod.

"Yes, of course. Matters of great importance." he agreed, helping himself to a final slice of apple before continuing on with other meagre topics. After having the hall cleared, they left back into the Hall of Fire from where Rod accompanied his sister and her children to the east wing to claim the Cobalt apartment while Rhegard accompanied Claira up the hallways to the maester's tower to redress the wounds to her hands. It was healing, but taking longer than hoped where the Valyrian steel caused deep lacerations. He glanced at her hands, the stains on the palms where moisture still seeped into the linen, and sighed. _I'm so sorry, and now I have to do this to you as well..._ Then he looked up at Falgon just behind them. _But best I discuss it with you now..._ He issued him a timid smile as he paused.

"You will forgive me, ser. I need to speak with my sister alone." he requested as politely as possible, and Falgon looked at her for approval, and she nodded.

"As you wish. I shall return when summoned." he pardoned and then turned and left back town the hallway as they continued on their way up.

"Odd. What is so important that my most trusted must not know?" she asked as they walked, and he glanced at her.

"He will know. I just wanted the opportunity to speak with you privately, which is the reason for our calling here." he told, and then turned to her taking her hands.

"Father and Gerald are attending lord Edmure's wedding to one of lord Frey's daughters; but Rod and I are heading home on father's orders. How are you holding up, Claira?" he asked, truly concerned for her. It was no easy thing to hide the darkness behind her eyes that looked down from his, and the frailty of her being despite her best efforts. Others might not know the extent of it, but he did, yet there was no way of lifting the burden she carried much as he wanted to. But then her eyes came back to his, and she had the strength to smile.

"While no one can prove that he has fallen, I have hope that he'll come back." she finally said, and he shared that with her. There was no doubt in her words. Then he gently wrapped her tender hand over his arm to lead her further up the incline.

"I'm sure he will. And there is another matter I would like to discuss with you, if you wouldn't mind it." he continued, gaining her attention with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness.

"What is it?" for a moment, she even sounded suspicious if not cautious of the question.

"The war is far from over, and you are a stone throws distance from the borders. Come with me to Pale Haven, you and Rychon. You'll be safe there." he proposed, and she stopped.

"I can't leave Mount Ardor. Not with my husband absent." she declined as he turned to face her.

"Can't your steward hold the castle for you?" he asked, hoping he may convince her.

"I don't have a steward, Metron has been sent to Earndale." she told him, and he paused for a moment's thought.

"Your sentinel, then?" he again tried, and she shook her head.

"He has command of the castle's defence, but as for the governance of the region..." she started, but he would be well capable of managing those things fairly, even in her absence. It was just that, he would not abandon her side for anything; and honestly she did not relish the idea of it either.

"I can't leave the matters of my home and its people to someone else. Besides, he's not a Taugere." she further stated, seeing him stare at her.

"You've forgotten, that Pale Haven is your home, too." he reminded her, and she sighed. It was, but she found it a bitter thing to leave here. _I am the lady of Mount Ardor... I must be strong..._

"I haven't forgotten, Rhegard. But I'm staying." she refused him again, which he had no other choice but to accept.

"At least let me take Rychon as father's ward, he'll be safe up in the north." he suggested, which made her wonder. Enemies had already tried to come for him here, what if next time they succeeded? Her son had not left the grounds, and the burning mountain was well protected, some would state near to impenetrable by any ordinary means. But, anything could happen... Perhaps somewhere else, somewhere far away where he could not be reached he would be safer. In a place protected by the elements of the seas, shielded by the gods and where any enemies would be left with limited means.

"I might consider that, he is the only heir. However, it may be better if it is known that he is warded with my sister at Hightower. They're far to the south, away from all of this." she agreed, and he squeezed her fingers gently, realizing how hard it must be to make such a decision. To let go of your family... He couldn't imagine sending any of his daughters away to some distant reach.

"Claira, my sweet sister." Gerald was right. She had strength in her, and she had indeed become stubborn. She who had always been the gentlest and most compliant of their family, the first daughter of a small respected house of the north had become the wife of a liege lord and absorbed his great pride and stability.

"I need to make the best decision, for everyone. Please just give me tonight." she asked him, and of course this was no simple choice to make, and he nodded as he proceeded to lead her further up the hall to the maester's tower.

"I won't pretend to know what you're going through." he breathed, there was nothing he could give her and the misfortune was only mounting from any current perspective, and to be left alone... But perhaps, when her husband was found and the war was done they would again see brighter days. And as long as they had their hope, they would not submit to the torture of heartache.

"I'm not alone. I have Maester Adlyn, Milla, Berin and their children, my sentinels, all the others in the castle… And Falgon, of course. He won't let any harm come to me." she tried to ease him, but even her words could not hide the hurt of her heart. He continued to share her company up to the maester, watching as the healer removed the linen, cleaned and dressed the wounds before applying clean linens to her broken palms, satisfied that the injuries were pure and mending; and he gave her some drops for the persistent pain. Rhegard continued to share her company for the day, attending her in matters of their court which Milla had arranged for her to meet the necessary issues, where she to the best of her abilities tried to resolve a land dispute, payment for crops delivered to the stores, sentence of a thief, permission for a young man to enter courtship yet only when the war had seen its end; and a request to be sent to Ramshorn for a sheep herd, delivering with it their price to be met. The remainder of the day was spent inside with knitting, sewing, soft conversation and dancing amidst Falgon's gentle music or in the garden with games and Rod's stories until evening came to a supper of Jeody's roast quail stuffed with pork sausage, breadcrumbs and greens along with sweet wine and berry press, after which they retired to bed. Claira waited while Rychon finished his bath before tending to herself, then sat with him singing her son to sleep, and returning to her own bed. But of sleep there was little as she struggled with her mind, and the thoughts running rampant through her. Would her son not be safest here? Within these strong walls, under guard of their powerful sentinels? Renko, was sworn to protect his life with his own, but Rychon had slipped away from him before, and neither Wymon nor Gavin might fare much better while all of them had families of their own to consider and she would not expect them to abandon their kin in the event they came under siege. Falgon, would never let any harm come to any of them, but he could not be in multiple places at once, and should they be separated she would not force him to choose between the lives of the lady of the hold, and her heir. So much could happen, and every thought brought a bitter sting to her heart; and even more so the notion that she may need to let him go. Somewhere far away, where the war did not reach, they could not reach him either. Oldtown had effectively declared themselves neutral of the war, perhaps on account that gentle Mae had persuaded her husband's family not to rise up against her brother who joined the cause of the north; and they would not be under any obligation to release a child, much less a family member to another. Perhaps, she could send a message to Earndale requesting Darius to have a small vessel prepared to take him safely by sea to Oldtown, an experienced captain who knows the seas and how to avoid enemy threats. And if people knew that the tower was where he was kept safe, they would leave him be if they did not simply keep watch on the activities. But he would be protected there, no harm would come to him as long as he stood under the lord of Hightower's protection... Or so she hoped. Morning came unannounced as she glanced out the open balcony doors to the purple dawn on the horizon, and rather than hate and curse herself for not finding sleep, she stood and rummaged through her wardrobe for a suitable dress, her aching hands slow and clumsy over the fabrics. But at last she chose a dress of sunset gold velvet, a girdle of gold and opal with brown slippers, then struggled her way into a light under dress just fastening the threads when a handmaiden entered to help. Finally dressed, and her hair brushed back held by a pin she departed the lord's chamber to find her son, having to reveal her intention to him. _Please... Please understand..._ she begged in her heart, as much for him as for herself. She found him on his way out from his own chamber where he greeted her, and she took his hands.

"Good morning, my precious boy." he was staring at her, at the darkness under her eyes.

"I... I need to speak with you. Will you sit with me?" her words were soft, and just above the tone of a sob when his hands tightened in hers, and they made their way down to the lord's hall where they shared the wide divan in front of the fireplace, and she told him what must be done. His eyes changed from concern to dismay and anger as he watched her.

"I said I was sorry!" he tried, remembering the day they escaped the castle grounds without permission.

"I promised not to leave again." he said, softer than before.

"This isn't done as a punishment, Rychon." she breathed, and he shook his head.

"Then, why?" he asked, and her hands came to his again.

"I want to protect you. I want to keep you safe. Can you believe that? Can you try to understand that?" she asked, and he stood.

"First I'm not allowed to leave, and now you want to send me away? This is my home!" he cried.

"Please... Please don't-" she started.

"I won't go! I will never leave here!" he yelled, and then fled the lord's wing with his poor pet slung over his arm, and she was left to endure the tears. After a while, she stood and departed the wing herself, finding her sentinel at the doorway.

"You saw my son leaving?" she asked as she looked up at him.

"I did, your grace." then she sighed, and looked down.

"I don't know if it will help, but he usually listens to you. Won't you try talking to him for me?" she asked softly, and he bowed.

"Certainly." then she smiled.

"Thank you. And please have Gavin meet me in the Hollow, I will find him there after maester Adlyn has tended to my hands." she requested, and he nodded.

"As you bid, your grace." Falgon left down the hall to complete his tasks while she ascended the steps to the maester's tower, and waited patiently while he again cleaned and bound her hands. Then she sighed as he replaced the tub.

"Maester Adlyn, I need your help with something else as well." she told, and he came back to her attentively.

"Anything, my lady." he agreed, and she looked up at him.

"I need two of your fastest ravens... and your shrewdest." she started, and he nodded. With the ravens off with their messages, and the start of preparations for a journey under way, she returned down the way to the Hollow where she took a seat at the head of the wide table, awaiting her sentinel. She stared through the window at the pale blue of the morning sky, and the clouds in the distance that caught the orange sunlight, simply hoping that this was the best decision. Moments later Gavin entered the Hollow, and bowed to her.

"You summoned me, my lady?" he presented himself, and she looked at him.

"I did. I have made the decision to allow Rychon to be warded. I want you to accompany him, along with Renko." she told him, attempting to hide the weakness of her voice as he stared at her, taken aback by this sudden choice.

"My lady, my place is here." he insisted, but she forced a smile.

"Your families will be allowed to go with you, of course. But I need you to do this for me. To watch over him, and continue his training as you would each day here, to keep him strong. I don't believe that the training routines there are much like it is here." she explained, followed by a short silence as he searched for words.

"My lady..." but those words would not come easily.

"Please Gavin. I need you to keep him safe for me. The circumstances there may be better than they are here, but I need to be sure." she asked again, closer to a plea as his eyes met hers.

"Please." she begged; of all her sentinels he had been with her the longest, he was one of the very first members she met arriving here from Pale Haven, and lord Rychard had assigned him to her side as he'd done for all of the family. If there was anyone she could trust as much as Falgon, it was him. And then he bowed his head when he understood that.

"As my lady commands." he agreed, lightening her heart and a relieved breath filled her.

"Thank you. You may start your preparations, you will leave early tomorrow morning." she told, and he respectfully took his leave to see to their arrangements. Then, it was time for the rest of them. She left the Hollow for the kitchens to request their morning meal, and coming back into the southern hall her family entered as well from their great hall, where Milla met her with a surprised smile.

"You're early?" she noted, and Claira nodded.

"I had some business to attend to." then she looked at her brother, folding her sore hands in front of her.

"Rhegard, I have considered your proposal and... I believe that it is the best choice. But, with your consent, another group bound for Hightower in Oldtown will join you when you leave, accompanying you as far as the path that will take them to Boatwright." she informed, and he nodded.

"Of course." he agreed, and then his attention went to the doors to the garden where a tall shadow entered, following a boy with a flushed face and a ferret lounged over his shoulders approaching her. He stopped in front of his mother and looked up, his eyes bloodshot and swollen.

"May I speak with you?" he muttered slowly, and she glanced at the others behind them.

"Yes." he seemed more in control of himself than earlier this morning as he led her back to the garden where they sat down on one of the many benches, and just sat in silence for a short time.

"I... I shouldn't make things harder for you. I should respect your feelings..." he started, taking her hand in his.

"I'll do as I'm told." he finally agreed, and she wrapped her arms around him.

"My sweet, I'll never do anything to slight you, or cause you hurt. I just... I want so much to keep you from harm." she whispered as his arms went around her slender waist to hold her.

"I know... I love you, Mama." their arms tightened around one another, desperately as she cursed their final day together for whatever extent may come.

"I love you, my beautiful, precious boy. I love you so much, more than anything in this world..." _You are my world! I've had to wait so long for you, and now I must release you... when you are all I have..._ she whimpered against him, allowing herself a moment's tenderness for him. Could this be what it felt like, to tear a shard from your soul and cast it to the wind? Did it hurt this much? Would it ever come this close?

"My lady?" she looked up, at Milla standing a few feet away on the small garden path.

"I apologise. Jeody will be serving, soon." she announced carefully, and the lady acknowledged her before she returned to the hall.

"Well, let us try to enjoy our morning. And then it is time for you to start preparing your things as well." she sighed, and then stood to pull him to his feet to rejoin the others in the hall, continuing their discussions over a meal of pork sausage, eggs, bread, cheese, mulberries, grapes and pears, with tea and milk. Then, leaving the southern hall Falgon retook his place while Rychon made his way back up to the lord's wing, and Claira stared at him as he vanished into the shadows of the keep.

"What did you tell him?" she asked the tall sentinel next to her.

"Only what he needed to know, your grace." he assured. Their exchange started with a frustrated boy, whom named his mother cruel and selfish. Falgon agreed that she was, but not for the reasons the heir thought. She was selfish for thinking of no one but her son, not even herself and the fact that having to let him go was the most hurtful thing she could do to herself knowing that where he could not be found, he could not be harmed. And cruel for sacrificing her own heart for the sake of his protection, because painful as it was, she believed it to be the best she could do for him. And then he told the boy a story, not all of it of course, but just enough to understand. Had it been in his own power to send his sisters away, they might have lived... and then he cried. They continued preparations of loading wagons with chests, crates and bottles of the company's clothing, books, various other needed effects and enough food for the journeys where they would be in the fields, all while night came much too soon. And this evening, for the last time Claira spent the night with her son, lying next to him where he slept in her arms; but once more sleep would not come for her while she cried silently. She could not alter her decision now, no matter how much she wanted to. Could not surrender to the doubt and the deep ache the tears brought with them. The terrible sorrow that threatened to tear her apart. But she told herself, over and over again that it was the best choice. That it was the safest course. That it was the only way. She rose to a grey dawn before Rychon fully woke, a sky bland and lurid like all of her senses, save for the pounding against her skull as she slowly climbed the steps back to their chamber... or at least for the time being, hers. But she could not bring herself to choose any garments, and sat down on the edge of the bed with a cool palm against her brow, hoping the cold might force off the crippling throb while she tried not to think. Thoughts were too painful. She was exhausted, and her entire body hurt; she wanted to cry again but the tears would no longer come. She couldn't remember ever feeling this drained... She wished that this day had never come, but at the same time that it was over and done with so she could lock herself away and drown in her misery. A soft touch to her arm startled her, and she looked up to see Bella next to her, dressed in elegant raspberry pink with a pearl centre piece and gold detailing over the bodice and sleeves.

"I'm so sorry. I did knock." she quickly pardoned, drawing her hand back.

"Oh... I didn't hear..." Claira breathed as she sat up, and Bella stared at her.

"You look so tired. You should sleep a bit more." she suggested, taking in the almost hardened features.

"It's just a headache. I'll go see maester Adlyn after I get dressed, which I ought to get to. I expect this will be a lively morning." she decided, but found that her limbs were resistive of movement, as if they were weighed down by something.

"Shall I help you?" Bella asked, just a slight excitement in the words. She'd done it once or twice, but normally her mother or the lady's other handmaidens would aid in her apparel.

"I would appreciate that, sweetling." Claira agreed with a weak smile, grateful for the help and watched the girl brighten just a bit as she turned and approached the great wardrobe, opening the wide doors to consider the many possibilities.

"Where is you dear mother?" Claira asked as Bella rummaged through the gowns.

"She is in the southern hall, having it prepared. She has also met with Jeody already for this morning's meal. The men are to leave shortly after." she reported.

"The men?" Claira asked stunned. The groups didn't have any more than four, the rest were women and children; Bella turned back with a free fitting gown of ruby velvet with silver flower detailing embroidered to the neckline and elbows above wide elegant sleeves, and an almost guilty expression as she chose her words.

"My father has decided, that it might be best for them to depart today as well. Go back south and rejoin the war effort." she explained softly, and Claira glanced away.

"I see..." yet another unexpected curve. Then Bella came back to the bed, laying the deep red dress down next to her.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew. They discussed it last night, but-" she tried, then Claira looked at her.

"It's al right. If he believes that is what they must do, then of course they will leave today." she agreed, appearing to ease the gentle green eyes looking at her. She glanced at the dress next to her, it was the same one she'd worn when her husband left to help put an end to the Greyjoy rebellion. The same one she'd worn, when she was still unaware of the gift that lay inside her. The same one. She'd worn in many times again, but how ironic it was now... Bella helped her slowly dress for the day as she struggled through the pain, pulsing relentlessly while she sat waiting for the girl to finish with her hair; Bella certainly took great care with the beautiful marbled waves, gently pulling the brush along the strands until it glimmered before securing two braids at the back with a jewelled pin to hold all together. A sash of silver silk hugged her waist, and she pulled on flat wine red slippers when two chamber maids entered to start on the wing's chores; so leaving them to their duties the ladies left the chamber, passing Rychon's vacant room realizing he'd already left.

"Aunt Claira..." the soft voice sounded in the empty space as they descended the stairs, and she looked at the lovely girl next to her.

"Rychon... He... He'll be al right, where he's going?" she asked, and Claira smiled. _Why are you sending him away?_ Would have been the truer question.

"Oh, yes. It is the safest place he can ever be, I'd like to think. Far away, where no one can find him, where no one may reach him." she told as the deep green eyes met hers.

"And he'll come back?" she asked, as if she just had to and Claira turned to her. She had no love for this morning, any more than she did. Did not look forward to watching him disappear over the horizon.

"Of course, child. When the war is done, and everyone is back home where they belong, he will return as well to one day succeed his father as the lord of Mount Ardor. This is his home, and that will never change." Claira told, like she wanted to convince her. But perhaps, she was trying harder to convince herself than anyone else... Then Bella smiled.

"Then that is good." she agreed. They parted at the great doors of the lord's wing where Wymon awaited them, and Bella returned to the southern hall while Claira made her way up to the maester's tower to ask for drops to ease her headache, and he also tended to her hands.

"Has everything been prepared?" she asked as she watched him wrap clean linen around her palms after cleaning and redressing the wounds.

"Yes, my lady. Everything is in order." he reported, and then gently squeezed her hand as he finished.

"However hard it is, my lady. Don't hate yourself. Don't torture yourself for your decision." he said softly, and she looked up at the deep brown eyes watching her.

"It's so hard, maester..." she whispered.

"I know. But, you are doing the very best that you can." he eased, with a gentle smile.

"He'll be perfectly fine, and will return before long." he tried to reassure her, and she nodded. She wanted to believe, but it did not make her feel any better.

"Thank you, maester." she stood and left, joining her family in the southern hall for their final meal together, sharing idle conversation despite the dark anguish that held them, and trying to prolong it for as long as possible just to make these moments last. Their table was cheerless, but for Rod doing his best to draw a smile from someone; successful only with Berterin and Vaellion. Too soon, master Austinus approached to announce that all was prepared, and their host awaiting departure. The time to leave came when Berin stood with Rhegard and Rod, and the rest followed. In the outer bailey waited two wagons, harnessed to brown geldings. Gavin helped Mandeline along with their children and Panora onto the first wagon while Renko saw to the second wagon and its passengers, and the noble families exchanged their farewells. Berin lingered at the bottom of the steps sparing a moment with his arms around his children, and then his wife as Rhegard and Rod reclaimed their steeds.

"I will return to you." he gave her his promise, and her arms tightened around his neck.

"You always do." she breathed against him, and then he looked at Claira.

"And if the gods hear our prayers, I will bring your lord husband back to you, my lady." he added, and she nodded. As they've had no word from the hunters or any one else regarding a ransom, he meant it, and she'd hold on to those words for as long as it took. Then she looked at Rychon, dressed warmly in dark woollen breeches, comfortable boots and a white tunic under a red quilted doublet with their sigil embroidered on its left breast, a black cloak and his pet over his right shoulder. He looked up at the tall sentinel who'd followed them outside, whom gave his support. But despite it all, Rychon felt extremely hesitant. Then his arms wound around his mother, and he pressed his face against her.

"I don't want to go! I don't want to go, Mama... Father told me to take care of you... I can't do that if I'm not with you..." she held him tightly. _I know. I don't want you to go. I don't want to let go of you..._ But she pushed the burn away. _But you'll be safe there..._

"Oh, my dear sweet child. I know... I know, but you'll be al right. And don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. It won't be forever..." she comforted him, and then placed her lips tenderly to his brow.

"If you see the stars, think of me and I will be looking back..." she told him, her arms constricting around him one last time before looking at Gavin who'd come up to their side.

"My deepest apologies, my lady." he excused softly, understanding of their heartache but yet the sun would not wait for anyone.

"Come, my lord. The road is long." he advised politely, and she felt his arms tighten around her.

"I love you, Mama..." he breathed against her, and she had to battle against her tears again.

"I love you, my darling baby boy..." she whispered, and yet she was screaming inside. Screaming for the world to burn. Screaming for the winds blow away each of her torments. Screaming for the waters to rise and wash away all of it. Screaming for the earth to break like her heart and swallow everything... _I am the lady of Mount Ardor... I... I must be strong... I must..._ Then she looked down at him. _Can I be?_

"Take care of Wink." she reminded as her finger touched the furry ear, gently stroking down the pelt.

"I will." Rychon promised, and then reluctantly followed Gavin to the waiting party where he mounted his Nix and took a place between the sentinels who led the wagons through the gate behind Rhegard and Rod, in turn followed by Berin and his company across the bridge. And as they passed, the massed soldiers fell in to follow, on their way to Oakhilt. Claira sank down on the stone steps, heedless of the caring arms around her shoulders as her hands pressed over her face. She would not watch them leave, would no longer maim herself with the last vision of a black river flowing east. _Keep him safe for me..._ would not witness her most precious being taken away from her. _I promise, I will..._ And somewhere down the road, a smaller group would break off to Boatwright to deliver a dark haired boy to a waiting ship, which would carry him to Oldtown.

Lord Willmon stood behind king Robb in the hall of the Twins beside lord Edmure and ser Brynden, his son just behind him where he watched lord Walder seated on his high chair, morning sunlight catching off the few strands of grey hair he still possessed. The towers smelled of mould, old wood and some or another bitter smell. Not quite the same as what was at Riverrun, where it was still murky but notably cleaner.

"My honoured guests. Be welcome within my walls, and at my table. I extend to you my hospitality and protection in the light of the Seven." the old lord announced as trays of bread and salt were brought out by the castle servers, and distributed among the visitors.

"We thank you for your hospitality, my lord." Robb praised as the elderly man took a crust of bread and a pinch of salt from the bowls held out for him, and brought it to his mouth. Then the young king moved forward to better address the lord looking back at them, more resembling of an old tattered vulture on his perch than the scrawny weasel others hinted at when not in his presence. But, Willmon had found him to be a brooding man, quick to anger and not at all short of endurance when remembering a slight. And most probably, he would continue to remember that he too, turned down several proposals for unions of their families.

"I have come to make my apologies, my lord. And to beg your forgiveness." Robb put forth politely, and lord Walder sat back in his chair with its excessively high backrest.

"Don't beg my forgiveness, your grace. It wasn't me you've spurned, it was my girls." he corrected as he motioned forward with his hands, and a number of women and girls stepped down to form lines on either side of the seat above the dais.

"One of them was supposed to be queen, and now none of them are." he said, and then proceeded to name each of his many daughters and granddaughters, some twins and some as young as ten years of age. One or two names an uncertainty to him, but then there were so many.

"My ladies. All men should keep their words. Kings most of all. I was pledged to marry one of you, and I broke that vow. The fault is not with you. Any man would be lucky to have any one of you. I did what I did not to slight you, but because I loved another. I know these words cannot set right the wrong I have done to you and your house. I beg your forgiveness, and pledge to do all I can to make amends so the Freys of the Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends." Robb addressed, regarding each of them as Walder brought his hands together.

"Very good." then his eyes fell on Talisa with a shrewd smile.

"There she is. Come closer, let me have a look at you." he called her forward, and she took two tentative steps forward as the old man leaned over for a better look.

"Still can't see you. Old eyes..." lord Walder urged, and she glanced back at Robb who nodded while muffled murmurs sounded in the silence of the space. Another few steps followed, surer than a moment ago and she bowed slightly to present herself as Walder sat back again, satisfied with the vision in front of him.

"Love? That's what the Starks of Winterfell call it, eh?" lord Walder asked as he chuckled, his eyes sparing a glance at the King in the North.

"Very honourable. I call it a pretty face. Hmmm, very pretty. Prettier than this lot, that's for sure. Very shapely as well." he continued, still with the same strange smile. Willmon felt his fingertips turn cold, suspicious that his intentions were not amiable.

"Oh, you try to hide her under that dress. If you wanted to hide her, you shouldn't have brought her here in the first place." he directed at Robb before leaning forward again to examine the girl in front of him, his eyes running over every curve from her lovely deep brown eyes to the fine curve of her hips.

"I can always see what's going on beneath a dress. I've been at this for a long time. I'd bet when you take that dress off, everything stays right were it is. Don't drop an inch." he further explained, watching her with fell shining eyes.

"Your king says he betrayed me for love. I say he betrayed me for firm tits and a tight fit." came his brutal conclusion, leaving a foul flush and sour sting in the very air around them; and in a moment of rage Robb moved forward but his mother's hand quickly grabbed at him to stay his anger.

"And I can respect that." Walder quickly added raising a hand in an attempted gesture of pardon, but it was an impassive motion.

"When I was your age, I'd have broken fifty oaths to get into that, without a second thought." he told with a wry smile as he indicated the queen, and after another moment that he examined her his attention went over the other faces of the hall, allowing her to return to her place.

"Well, I've enough room in the hall for you lot. We'll set up tents with food and ale for the rest of your men." he advised, but the king's eyes were hard and resentful.

"Thank you, my lord." he forced from his chest, battling with the odious tone of the words. And then lord Frey came to his feet, again bringing his hands together loudly.

"Well, let's get ready! The wine will flow red! And the music will play loud! And we'll put this mess behind us." he declared over his court for all to hear, and the preparations followed. They were presented fitting chambers in the towers, small spaces but a softer bed than what they had in the fields. Willmon had his men concentrated on the south-western quarter of the camp site, the soldiers happy for a better day. The celebration of a wedding, and a new life was a welcome turn from a battle, or digging graves. But still he could not fully enjoy these grand events while the silence endured, slowly filling him. They should have heard from someone by now. Anyone. He walked back to the towers alone as Gerald remained behind promising to rejoin him later, lingering regarding arrangements with Derric and Edur who had decided not to enter the fortress and rather remain with their units, moving down along the stale corridors he noticed a horde of servants and scullions cleaning the feast hall and positioning tables on either side of the chamber, their jovial discussions sounding off the walls. But it was a cold thing that he was unable to absorb the merriment from the atmosphere, from the others. The best he could hope for was to endure the ceremony, and to be off again with sunrise albeit on their own to meet the mass again elsewhere; cursing himself for the cruel rise of jealousy he felt that they should have these blessings where they gained, while his family had seen loss for their cause. _Where is he? Why..?_ _Still now, there's nothing. Who took him? What are they doing to him? How are they planning to_ _approach us_ _? Are they planning anything at all? Why..?_ Then he stopped suddenly, looking up to meet the mismatched green and white eyes of his friend.

"My lord." he acknowledged him courteously, and Willmon managed to smile.

"Luitpold. How are you finding the Twins?" he asked, hoping that it might direct his thoughts elsewhere.

"It's a fine creation. Although, some of the chambers are a bit small." he returned, and joined Willmon's walk down the passage sharing their memories as they would wait for this evening's celebration.

Deep into the night when the castle had already slipped into the still of sleep, Claira stood in the vanilla bath, trying to keep her mind and focusing on the ridges of the tiles beneath her feet. She'd sought out the warmest point of the waters, which was far to the back behind the column from which the water flowed; and now felt the scalding liquid spilling over her back and shoulders, but it still did not make her feel any warmer. She'd started taking a few glasses more of water, press or even wines throughout the day, just to fill the empty space in her, but still it did not make her feel any fuller. The last close comfort she had within these walls, was Milla and her children. Berin had left the castle with a count of thirty guards remaining behind, but before he'd gone he'd tended to their rounds which will be centralized around the front of the hold, and he was both surprised and pleased of the notion to include the hounds in the patrols, further encouraging this. Yet now, only two sentinels remained at the keep. Master Austinus would continue accepting members as he did before, but recruitment had dwindled down severely. Then she glanced up, she must have been standing here for a good while, judging from the scarlet to her skin and abandoned the waters after cleansing herself. Milla had offered to share the lord's wing with her as before, now that Rychon had also gone. But not wanting to disturb the children she respectfully declined, and their wing was as silent as it has ever been with no life save for hers. She stood in front of the hearth of the hall, confused and lonely. _What do I do now..?_ Above the hearth Quill waited patiently for his master's return, and the golden phoenix seemed to take flight to the skies, in search of his lord. _What do I do now..?_ The heat had left her long ago, and there remained little hope of regaining it. Slowly her hand came up, tracing the edge of the delicate heart pendant. _Always... Even just a little bit..._ She turned and thought of heading up to her chamber, and giving herself to the bed to wait out the night whether sleep would come to her or not, it might be better than standing in the hall the entire night; but found herself going down to the Hall of Fire, and passing the bright glow of the great hearth on her way to the barracks. _What do I do now?_ She found him, where he always was.

"Falgon..." he stood and faced her as she stared at him.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he bowed to her gracefully. _What do I do now..?_

"How is your Galeo?" she started, and he smiled.

"Older, but still strong, your grace. And while I am grateful that your kind stable master takes so good care of him, I may easily find another when I must." he said, and she nodded. _Could I really do this?_

"May I ask you... to do something for me?" she whispered looking down from his eyes.

"Anything, your grace. If it is within my power." he agreed, and she laughed secretly. _You're a man, Falgon. One of my strongest. Of course it is within your power..._

"Please, do not think ill of me." she again asked, softly as he examined her.

"Never." then she looked up at him, unsure of how to issue her request as he waited patiently. But suddenly her chest ached as she thought better of it.

"Actually... Don't mind me. I'm being silly." she quickly excused, turning to head back.

"Your grace." she paused as his words met her.

"I am here, to serve you. Irrespective of all else." he told softly, like he understood exactly why she'd braved the cold dark of the castle this late. Then she looked back.

"Could you... Will you hold me? Just a little while..." he stared at her for a moment, surprise in his striking eyes. Perhaps he wasn't expecting that? But then he smiled, the way he always did as he bowed his head, and moved forward.

"Of course..." his powerful arms wrapped gently around her, and he simply held her as she stood against him, feeling the burn of her open shoulders above a light green dress to his skin. Time passed, exactly how much was unaccounted for. Movement made him look up to see a small group of guards passing through, stopping to stare at them for a moment before quickly vanishing through the doorway and he smirked.

"You are not concerned, for what the others might think?" he asked softly, wondering if she noticed them at all.

"No. Not right now, at least..." she breathed, remaining exactly as she was against him, and then she sniggered.

"The Lannisters are fond of their expressions. Years ago, following my husband's melee against ser Jaime, I heard lord Tywin tell his son, that 'the lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep'. The same may be true for the phoenix, once in a while..." she said softly, slightly leaning against him as she eased and he looked up, at a distant moon far beyond the window as he thought.

"The phoenix does not concern himself with the opinions of the penguins?" he attempted to recreate it, and she looked up at him confused.

"What is a 'penguin'?" she asked him, and he laughed. Of course, they would not know them here.

"A flightless bird of the sea. Quite common in colder regions." he explained, and she nodded as she resumed her former position.

"I was thinking more of pigeons, but penguins will do..." she agreed, and then breathed in deeply against him, bringing with it his scent of earth that was oddly calming. He made her feel better, even if it was just a little bit. But still it was not enough, and it would not last for long.

"I'd like to see one, some day." she mentioned, feeling his hands gently run up and down the length of her back in soothing motions.

"Some day, I'll go and catch you one. He can be your pet." he offered, and she laughed.

"I have a pet..." she declined, and his hands paused as he looked down at her.

"Really?" he found himself intrigued, he'd not seen any pets in the castle save for the heir's ferret; the others were the dogs and the steeds.

"Falgon..." he heard her voice against him, still wondering.

"Yes?" she pressed herself against him slightly, just enough for him to feel it.

"Shut up..." he laughed, secretly. She wasn't angry or irritated, she was blushing he knew because she would not look at him. He was her pet, by any measure. This great hulking mass with a mind... but if he had the sense the gods gave a penguin, he'd stay well and far away from her... Yet for all her suffering, this was a gentle moment for her in the chaos, and he granted her that.

"Would he forget me, if he is no longer in this world?" she asked suddenly as she looked up at him. It was an honest question, one he believed deserved an answer as honest as he could give it.

"No. I think you'd forget small things, like the taste of blueberries in spring, the smell of roses on a summer breeze, the sound of wind across ocean waves, the pain of a bee sting. You'll never forget the things that were important to you." he told her with his gentle smile.

"But, please try not to think of such things. You will have proof before you accept anything." he encouraged her, and felt the small motions of a nod against him before releasing her again.

"Come, your grace. I will escort you back to the wing. Try to find some sleep, it's late." he suggested, and walked with her back to the great door of the empty wing.

The hall was packed with people, singing and talking and laughing as a throng of servers roamed up and down with pitchers of wine, drinking horns and plates of foods, the surfaces spread with selections of breads, cheeses, fish, vegetables, fruits, nuts and flavourings. Lady Catelyn Stark shared a table with ser Brynden Tully and lord Roose Bolton while the King in the North sat next to his queen at a table adjacent to them, and lord Willmon Tormont, lord Luitpold and Gerald surrounded the corner of a table behind them; most of the other guests came and went and exchanged seats at their pleasure, occasionally one of his own bondsmen blending with the others. The wedding was pleasant, the ritual held in the small sept of the Twins, a place that needed some work for its age. But Roslin Frey turned out to be a very pretty girl, and the change of expression on lord Edmure's face was something indeed memorable. Willmon looked down at the table with the selections of foods with a small smile. For just an instant, that moment made him remember the evening that he removed the maiden's veil from his own daughter. What a wonderful time that was... Times without grief, without strain, a time when their family grew. A time he gave his most precious to marriage, and a day he gained a son whom they still held hope of finding. _You still have four sons..._ Then he looked up at the faces around him, Gerald and Luitpold conversing on more pleasant topics, like Citrine Arch's continuous supply of sunflower seeds to most of the North, for that was the only region the great yellow flowers grew abundantly; and the ever present caul covering Pale Haven that initially gave the White Hold its name. A place that was always safe, it was protected by the old gods of the north... Yet it remained frustrating and dejecting that he could not soak up the enjoyable atmosphere that surrounded them, and it seemed he could hear everything. From lord Bolton's mention of his own recent marriage, to the queen's confession of her fondness for her bold mother by law, and further to the back someone's drunk boast that if he found Lann's ghost in Casterly Rock after they took it, he'd put him to rest properly. How circumstances changed people. He'd sent a runner off again before twilight, just to keep an eye on things. Perhaps he was foolish, and wanted to believe as much. That the sudden loss and uncertainty had made him overcautious, perhaps a bit more. He wanted to tell himself that there was no reason to be this reserved, to feel this uneasy; to be so distrustful... He was simply being odd.

"Your grace!" lord Walder's voice sounded over the hall, drawing all attention to him as fists hammered down on the surfaces of the long wood tables and slowly fell into silence once his hand was raised.

"The septon has prayed his prayers, some words were said, and lord Edmure has wrapped my daughter in a cloak." he announced, followed by some expressions of praise.

"But, they are not yet man and wife! A sword needs a sheath." he continued with a noticeable teasing tone before laughing loud and merrily, and more remarks and sniggers rose from corners of the hall.

"And a wedding needs a bedding! What does my sire say?" he directed at Robb, the guests in the hall hailing him as they pounded full, half and empty goblets on the tables to create a glorious noise, calling for the bedding. Then Robb stood and stepped forward to face the elderly lord.

"If you believe that the time is right, lord Walder. By all means, let us bed them." he agreed, and the hall exploded with excited cacophony and the music continued. Willmon sat back, his people remaining and leaving such doings to those more at ease with this custom, and noticed the queen staring at Robb. Stunned, confused and perhaps shocked for the current occurrence as a throng of men seized the young bride from the table, lifting her into the air onto their shoulders while the women led lord Edmure from the table in turn. She watched as they carried the girl off, bits of garment flying as they laughed, and vanished from the hall, and others followed behind the couple with candles, leaving the hall a degree darker than it was before. Gerald looked at Talisa, rounding the table to stand next to Robb, then slowly leaned towards him.

"That is a very strange custom." she said softly, and he glanced at her.

"I suppose it does seem strange from a foreigner's perspective." he agreed with a slight laugh. Gerald could understand her thoughts, it wasn't something they were used to despite it being something commonly practised here. Being from a family closer connected to the old gods and the old ways, he and his youngest siblings were spared bedding ceremonies. He understood that in respect Claira's was gentle, and she never complained. Others might not be that fortunate.

"It seems normal to you?" Talisa asked as Robb smiled at her.

"It's tradition." he told, and turned towards her.

"Without the bedding ceremony, there's no real proof the lord and lady have consummated their marriage." he tried to explain, but she laughed taking his hand and laying it on her stomach, which only just started to show.

"But there are other ways of providing proof." she reminded, and it seemed that all other thoughts vanished to him.

"Boy or girl?" he asked eagerly, and she paused, watching him with happy shining eyes.

"I don't know. But if it's a boy, I know what we should name him." she hinted, and he laughed with a wry grin.

"Oh, do you? It seems to me that the father should have some say in his son's naming." he challenged it, but her easy smile never faded.

"Eddard." he remained staring at her, all thought of any other names fading as she smiled.

"Don't you want to teach little Ned Stark how to ride horses?" she asked softly, and his arms went gently around her waist.

"I do." Gerald looked back at the table, thinking how happy he was for them. Or at least, how happy he should have been for them... Then he noticed something, that was out of place. A shadow next to his father, a boy of perhaps sixteen dressed in light black leather leaning low and whispering. It wasn't the presence that was alarming, but the look in his father's eyes when the boy stood and vanished the way he came. Then Willmon stood and whistled, and like cats to a bell, their bondsmen fled the hall, while others stared at them in puzzlement; their last actions discarded mid way where goblets were abandoned half consumed, knives still stuck half in whatever they were severing, and pieces of food lodged to the prongs of the forks that were bound for hungry mouths. To others, who did not know it was simply a minuscule high-pitched sound, but to the Tormonts and their people, it meant only one thing, and was equal to the forbidding cry of a warhorn summoning them to battle. Gerald followed along as shadows and light passed them in blurred instances, his heart pounding in his ears all the way down to his stomach.

"Father?" he asked urgently.

"We have to go, right now." the lord told as they departed the river stronghold, relieved that his message carried quickly and their men were already moving through the gate back to the encampment.

"What's going on? What's happening?" Gerald asked, desperate for more information.

"Assemble our men, we ride north immediately." Willmon instructed as they hurried along to where their men, and the sentinels were waiting. But Gerald suddenly took hold of his arm, slowing their haste but not stopping.

"Father, what is it?" he asked and Willmon's eyes met his son's, breathing out and relieving himself of some of the jagged coldness that thrust through his body the moment the boy had come to him. He was a Tormont, but if he did not know whom the threat was aimed at, he could not help.

"Riders are moving for the Corridor. Some thousand men at least." Willmon revealed, and Gerald's expression changed from fright to determination.

"They're aiming for Mount Ardor?" he asked, and they continued on their way, part walk part run to reach the others.

"More than likely. Claira is alone there." Willmon breathed, suddenly realizing the truth of it. She would never have left the burning mountain, no matter how much her brother begged and reasoned. She would wait for her husband to come home until the end of time. Then he glanced back at the towers spanning the river, whom would not simply open the gates for a battalion to pass in their current state. Why would they? They had better things to do.

"We won't be able to cross here." he calculated, and then felt Gerald's hand on his shoulder guiding him along.

"We will make for Broken Pass, it may save us half a day at least." he suddenly suggested as they crossed the edge of the eastern square of the camp site, their men already gathering up what they could, dousing the fires, saddling and mounting horses. Derric and Edur already mounted and waiting on their units, having easily integrated themselves with the cats.

"It may be flooded." Willmon warned, and Gerald looked back at him. The resolve behind his blue eyes clear, burning like candle flames.

"We will have to take that chance. We'll use ropes to tether the horses across... We cannot allow them to reach the castle." he determined, and Willmon could smile, melting the stricken ice in his veins. Gerald had unconventional methods, and was sometimes reckless. But perhaps in light of these circumstances, that was exactly what they needed above everything else. He'd left a brief message with a Winterfell soldier in their passing, merely stating that if they had success, they would return. They could not wait, but Robb would understand.

"Take our lead, Gerald."


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23 – THE SHIELD

Berin lay on the bedroll under the shelter, waiting for sleep but his mind was much too active to allow it. They'd stopped at Ramshorn the day before this, but with lord Rames's host still gathering he suggested that they continue on to Oakhilt where he would join them in another two days when the men he'd sent for arrived. It was hard to leave again, but not as harrowing as he'd expected it to be; and the sooner they got back the better their chances would be, and the sooner they could put an end to this. They travelled hard, setting out before the sun rose from the horizon and only stopping after it vanished again. The men he had with him weren't as skilled as the seasoned soldiers they'd taken when the war started, but they would have to better their skills as they went, and try not to die in the process. Then the thought occurred, they still hadn't heard anything from the units that remained behind to hold Harrenhal. He could have a message sent when he reached the next holdfast, asking that their men return to Riverrun. The night dragged and waned, but with sunlight touching the treetops they were mounted and moving once again with Berin leading the way in front of near to two thousand. But it made him feel sad. He wasn't a Taugere, despite growing up in the house of the liege. This wasn't his rightful place... But he will find him. Someone will find him, or offer his safe return for something. He wasn't dead, he wasn't so much as injured. And they must believe - far too valuable, besides. But where was he? Who had him? And why were they keeping silent? They should have heard something by now, didn't they? Or what were they doing, if they did not intend to ransom him? Suddenly his heels dug into the ribs of his horse painfully, lurching the poor creature forward as his hands tightened on the reins to a horrible thought that sickened him to the point of feeling his gut burn, and the soldiers followed. Were they torturing him? Were they trying to break him? Would he still be the same? Would he have his lord, his brother back? _Oh, fuck no..._ _Please, gods help me find him. Please, let him be al right..._

"My lord?" someone called from behind him, desperately trying to keep up.

"Hurry! We have a long way to go!" he replied into the wind, keeping to the road that would cross the border, and for another day and a half all different manner of thoughts tore through his mind. Beyond noon the day following, they were crossing a wide field towards a hill, their unit meant to reach Oakhilt early the next day, when they happened upon a group of peasants, busy digging holes throughout the field. Large, deep pits... They weren't planting crops, unless it were trees. And there was a smell in the air, a familiar smell he couldn't place. A heavy, bitter-sour stench... Berin approached one of the men, busy loosening the earth with a shovel in his hands.

"You. What happened here?" he directed, and the man looked up. His face was hard, covered by a dark beard, his clothes torn and soiled, but his grey eyes clear.

"They came in the night, milord. Told us to flee, they did. If not, we'd be dead too. When we came back, we found 'em. Told my boys we ought to start burying the dead. Is the least we could do." he explained, as well as he could. But Berin's heart stopped, his body freezing over. That was the smell... the smell of death.

"The dead? What dead?" he asked shocked, and the man pointed to the south towards the hill. He urged his horse on, climbing the mound; and then stopped as thousands of stings assaulted him, and he could have gagged for the sight. Hundreds, maybe thousands of men lay dead on the grass, fallen horses scattered amidst them, swords and spears driven into the earth, here and there a lance with a tattered banner. The colours of enemies, and allies.

"Spread out! Search for survivors!" a battlefield was not foreign to him, and he all but missed the bolts of cloth displaying the Rooster, the Badger and the Boar, yet what caught his attention were the others. The dual Crescent Moons, the Ice Shard with a Dagger's Hilt, the Field of Sunflowers and the Black Cat... House Tormont and its vassals, and a good deal of what was left of their own people whom were not left at Harrenhal to hold it... _Oh, fuck... No... This can't be..._ Carefully he moved his horse on through the devastation, calling out and listening to any that would answer and others combed through the bodies, and proceeded to bury their countrymen. Hours later, Edur was found under his fallen horse, his leg forced into an odd angle in the fall and a crossbow shaft lodged through his right eye, and nothing could be done. Another soldier called Berin over, after he had dismounted and given the order for one of the wagons to be cleared, and he moved off to find another familiar face. It was Gerald Tormont, already cold and grey with a broken arm, three arrows into his shoulders and a spear shoved through his stomach, making Berin's own churn that he might not have died quickly. _Oh, fuck no..._ They were friends. They were family. What would he tell their lady this time? What would she do?

"Lord Berin?" a voice broke his train of thought, and he looked up scanning the field.

"Keep searching! Do not let up until we have seen each one of them!" he ordered, but the hope of finding someone alive was growing slimmer and slimmer with each moment the sun lowered to the horizon. _Fuck! What happened here?_ He continued to move through the fallen, taking in each face that lay on the ground. Sunset was drawing near, and he looked up again at the world around him. The deceased and the living that examined them, run-down and sickened for this loathsome fortune. _What happened..?_ They found Luitpold as well, a long gash opening the side of his neck, and his sword fallen not far from his hand, where Berin lowered to his knees next to him, laying his hand on the silent chest, fighting back the heat to his skin. _No... Why? Why this?_ He looked up, searching desperately. Was there no one left alive? _What happened?!_

"My lord! My lord Berin!" a young soldier came running over, panting as he paused to catch his breath.

"Come... Quickly... Survivors... We've found..." he forced through ragged breaths as Berin came to his feet to follow. The boy led him back to the south-west edge of the field, where a silver haired man sat against the belly of his fallen grey destrier.

"My lord?" Berin called to him as he lowered next to him.

"Lord Willmon." he tried again; he was still breathing but his skin was severely pale from blood loss to a gaping wound opened in his side where his hand attempted to hold his skin together...

"Lord Willmon..." Berin's hand gently touched his arm, and his eyes opened to look up, and he smiled weakly.

"Berin... My boy..." he was smiling, and all other thoughts vanished.

"We have to get you back to Mount Ardor." Berin looked up.

"Bring the wagon! Hurry!" even from this distance they he could hear the heavy wheels struggling over the earth as he looked back.

"You'll be al right. Our maester will-" he started, but the cold hand wrapped around his.

"I won't... make it... to Mount Ardor..." Willmon breathed, and then looked at the sun above the ridge of the world.

"Let me... enjoy... my last sunset..." he asked, and every muscle in the Crimson Knight's body tensed.

"You can't give up! You can't! This is not over!" he urged.

"It's fine... I've lived... long enough, Berin." the younger man's fingers tightened, desperately.

"No. You can't mean it. You can't just accept it!" he tried again, but the smile remained.

"Don't worry... Won't you... sit with me... for a while?" he asked, so calmly it was maddening. But Berin took a seat next to him, heartbroken that he could clearly see the amount of pain the lord was in.

"Do you... have wine?" he asked, and Berin had to smile. _I would give you a barrel of poppy milk if I had that..._ he looked back at the men behind him, waiting to move the injured gentleman to the wagon for transport.

"Jevan." Berin raised his hand, and the skinny man quickly delivered a wineskin into his hand, which he offered to lord Tormont after opening it, watching as he drank easily. And then he sighed, and told Berin everything. How they took flight from the wedding at the Twins, they made west to Broken Pass where they crossed the river, hoping they might cut off the legion that was making its way up to the Corridor. They were outnumbered three-to-one, but where they could they used the grounds to their advantage, the woods and the streams to slow the enemy and pick them off. But crossing the pass only saved them half a day, and creating the delays cost them time, so eventually the enemy caught up to them before they could reach a hold. The men they had fought bravely, and fiercely, but even so everyone was killed; what remained of the enemy retreated back south after the Grey Tom took the head of their commander, but the only way to do this was to sacrifice distance to a broad sword, which cut into his abdomen. And he recalled the words of the foe before he fell...

"You cannot go south... Berin, they will kill you... All of you... the moment you step across the border... There's been no word from the others... And I don't think there will be..." he warned, his icy hand closing over Berin's arm.

"You cannot go south... Please... You must return to Mount Ardor... See to its defences... to the protection of your people... To... To my daughter..." he pleaded, his fingers tightening with uncommon strength. Begging desperately for him to understand.

"Please... If Raeghun was taken by someone... as you believe... they will send their demands. But... he will come home... He will..." he said, and then slumped back as if the energy was pulled from him.

"Please..." he slowly reached to his side, and took the longsword from its place to present it to Berin.

"This... This is Talon... my family's arm... Will you... Will you see her safely home?" he asked, barely above a whisper as Berin took hold of the sheath.

"I will." he promised, finding the longsword heavier than regular swords. He pulled the blade slightly from its sheath. That was why - Talon was forged of tempered silver, glorious in the last of the sunlight. Only one other sword matched this beauty.

"What a beautiful sunset..." Willmon admired with a soft smile, and Berin noticed the world around them. It was all bathed in shades of rich copper to gold, half a scarlet sun resting on the rim of the world.

"It is." Berin agreed, sharing the peace this gave with the same easy smile. He'd seen thousands of sunsets, but oddly none like this one. Beautiful... but terrible.

"I must tell you... one other thing... Something that was... long unknown to the world... but to my family... to me... for my desperation..." Willmon told, his body slowly easing under the light.

"I don't know what it means... I never will... but someone might... someone may understand..." he continued, bringing a painful breath into his chest.

"The Breath of Winter... will meld with bright Fire... and dead Stone... and when winter comes again... it is the Atronach... that will stand in flames and snow..." he told, and then looked at Berin.

"I don't know what it means... But my daughter... my Claira... she is the Breath of Winter..." his hand tightened around Berin's wrist again, as a surge of pain raced through him.

"I don't know what it means... but I gave her to flame and stone... the day I begged the sage... for her life..." then he eased once more.

"Please... Please, Berin... Please help her..." he pleaded, and Berin's hand rested on his.

"I will do whatever I can for her." he assured, and found the silver-blue eyes smiling and at peace.

"That is... enough... Thank you..." he breathed out, his body easing completely against the stomach of his horse.

"No... regrets..." The Grey Tom whispered before a final deep breath expanded his chest, then he closed his eyes and he fell completely silent. Berin lowered his head, he wanted to scream. Wanted to tear his own guts out for simply allowing someone to die in front of him. He just sat here, doing nothing... _The Breath of Winter? Bright Fire? Dead Stone? The Atronach?_

"My lord?" he looked up at the soldiers surrounding him, and then stood.

"Move lord Tormont to the wagon, gently if you will." he ordered, and watched as three men moved forward to carefully lay the body on the wagon, next to his son.

"Lord Berin." another voice drew his attention, and he looked back.

"What?!" he sighed, trying to bring calmness to himself.

"What is it?" he tried again. This was becoming overwhelming, Raeghun was much better at this than he would ever be. But now that there was no other, he would try. All of these years, he refused to confess that he'd been jealous of him, but now he hated himself for even only just once wishing he had the same. Perhaps this was his doing, the gods frown upon those with envious hearts... But he never meant for this.

"We've found another survivor, milord." the young soldier reported, and Berin followed. It was Derric. Badly wounded, but alive.

Claira sat on the stone ledge of the gods altar in the sept of Garde's Post, at the feet of the father. It was a quiet day, she hadn't visited the village in months. Milla and the children came with her, but they promised to meet her at the general merchant's store. Then she looked up at the statues, barely longer than her arm, but carved with great care. The bearded Father holding a set of scales in his left hand with his regal face, who made her think of lord Willmon and lord Rychard, and the Mother holding a child in her arms with her loving expression which resembled ladies Alyssa and Madryde, were centred on the altar, the Crone holding a lamp in front of her and the Maiden with a flowing dress and flowers in her hair stood to the Mother's left, while the Warrior with his sword drawn and the Smith ready with his hammer were to the Father's right. The Stranger, however, seemed severely set apart from the others where he watched from his very own stone pedestal. _Is it the loneliness, that made your heart so hard?_ She thought as she examined the features under the carved hood, the features of every face she'd ever seen, and none at all. Then she looked back at the Father, wondering. _What do I say to you? Can I ask you to bring him back to me? To watch over my son for me?_ Honestly, she didn't know. These were the gods of her husband, not hers. Why would they listen to her?

"Good day, my lady." a soft voice called to her, and she glanced back to see the septon behind her. The same tiny little hunched over man that served Rychon's presentation. The one that was blind.

"Good day, septon." she greeted, and he slowly moved forward.

"Odd to see you here, my lady." he breathed as he sat down beside her, and she wondered how he could see at all.

"I came to ask for my family's safety... but I really don't know where to begin. These idols are not mine..." she told, trying to remember. Raeghun was not excessively religious, but he prayed for them occasionally. He would ask the Father for guidance, and the Mother for comfort. He would ask the Smith to strengthen and watch over their home, and the Warrior to strengthen the hearts of his men. The Crone for wisdom, and the Maiden to watch over and protect their children, but very very rarely to the Stranger. And then she saw the septon smile.

"The gods are not biased. When your words fail you, you may only open your heart to them." the septon mentioned.

"My heart?" she asked, confused for a moment.

"Yes, sweet lady. It may be hidden, but your heart speaks so much clearer and louder than any voice could." he assured as his white eyes went to the open door leading outside to the busy village centre, and she nodded. Somehow, that made her feel better.

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you come here?" he asked, and she looked back at the statues.

"I don't know. Perhaps, to find comfort. The weirwoods in the south have been cut down centuries ago, it's no use asking the old ones to watch where they can't... perhaps, one of these would watch over him. If only I could know, where my husband is... that he is treated kindly..." she decided, and he nodded.

"Your lord husband is uninjured, my lady. And no harm will come to him." he suddenly told her with an utmost surety, and her eyes came back to him, staring at him. How could he possibly know that? But the certainty in his words, made her hopeful.

"You sound so sure..." she breathed.

"Faith is a powerful thing, my lady. As long as you believe that, it will be a truth for you." he assured, and then looked her way.

"That is a beautiful pendant." her hand came up to the silver heart hanging from her neck, but the white eyes betrayed nothing.

"It... It's called the Heart of Hope." she told, and he smiled at her again.

"A fitting name. It suits you so well." then he stood.

"You are welcome to stay for as long as you like, sweet lady. These doors are always open." he called back as he sauntered off through one of the narrow doors into a different room, and she smiled. His kindness made her feel better, his words brought her hope. They would keep waiting for her reply. She remained there until the sky took on the orange of late noon, in the silent little sanctuary as the lives of the village passed unnoticed, the farmers and the merchants and the crafters while her sentinels stood watch at the doorway. And as the septon suggested she found it easier to talk to these entities with her heart while she sat at the Father's feet, than she would have when kneeling and beseeching them with words. Her family would be safe. They will all come home to her. Then she stood, smoothing down the front of her rich green dress before gathering the front of the gentle white knitted wool shawl that was draped across her shoulders and hanging to her knees, then lit one of the slender candles and departed the little sept to find her protectors outside where Wymon was talking with one of the passing women, and Falgon simply watched the activities of the village. On the corner next to the bakery, some people were gathered around two entertainers, watching as the taller slender man with dark brown hair tossed around small clubs and apples while a dwarf with light chestnut hair balanced himself on a rolling barrel. Three other guards had accompanied them as well, but were waiting closer to the general merchant's shop where Milla and the children were busy. She looked up at the massive fortress looming over them from the hill a short distance away. You could almost fit the entire Garde's Post into Mount Ardor's outer bailey. At least, should anything ever happen here, these people would have somewhere to go.

"Is everything in order, your grace?" her guardian's deep voice drew her attention back to where she was.

"Yes. We may go home, as soon as Milla is finished." she agreed, and he allowed her to pass him while Wymon led the way to the general dealer's store, waving to his mother who was a large woman standing in the doorway of the brewery where she worked. She listened to the heavy footsteps following hers, almost exactly. Falgon always let her walk in front of him, where he could watch over her. It was rare that he would walk next to her, and almost never in front of her. The Trentins departed the merchants after Milla turned back to thank them; in a basket resting on her arm was a selection of fabrics, embroidery and crochet threads, dyed wool and a pouch of beads for the basket in Claira's common room. Bella held a new doll in her hands, and Vaellion waved a maple wood flute in the air, excited for a chance to play it. Berterin attempted to conceal himself behind his mother as he cast the tall sentinel a fearful glance, and the moment he was free from the confines of the buildings gave his brother a quick shove forward.

"I'll race you home!" he challenged, not waiting for a reply before setting off on the pathway leading to the hold with Vaellion following while one of the guards trailed behind on a quick walk to keep an eye on them. Milla stared after them, perplexed before bringing her attention to Falgon.

"I'm so sorry, ser. I don't know what's wrong with him." she apologised sincerely. His behaviour was disturbing, but he refused to discuss anything. Berin had also not said anything following their discussion.

"It's al right. It will pass... in time." he hoped, watching the boys sprint the stretch of road leading to the bridge that connected the keep to the continent. But from Milla's side, Bella jeered at her brother.

"He's being rude. He should just get a hold of himself." she said as her mother's light eyes rested on her, the girl's expression not hiding her annoyance for the obvious ignorance. And she had to admit, she had become distinctly more sullen since Rychon left.

"Something truly frightened him, Bella." she tried to ease her, but the frustration remained.

"He should know better! Falgon would never hurt us. Ever." she reminded them all, looking at the sentinel, who never even raised his voice to them let alone a hand.

"Try not to be so hard on him, my lady. Things will improve before long." Wymon also tried, and she sighed.

"He's foolish, and bullheaded. He should apologise for this indecency." she determined, and then started forward to return to the castle as well, and Milla stared at her. Her daughter was headstrong, and not shy of her opinions even more so than her brothers. But her otherwise normal courtesy lessened. Then she breathed out, deciding that she'd try talking to both of them again later, then glanced at Claira.

"When you're ready, my lady." she indicated that they could leave, and Claira nodded. Unexpectedly, the dwarf on the barrel came rolling by, circling the ladies and pushing them together as he laughed, and forcing Wymon and the remaining two guardsmen to step back as to avoid him; but a moment later he was sitting on the ground with dust floating about him as the barrel careened down the lane. Rubbing his head, he looked up at Falgon.

"Why didn't you move?" he demanded, but the warrior simply shrugged.

"Sorry." he reached down, and picked the little man up before setting him gently on his feet.

"Are you al right?" Milla asked as the dwarf proceeded to brush the dust from his clothing.

"I'm fine. I've had worse landings than that." he assured, and then looked at the ladies with a smile, extending a hand.

"I'm Berry. My friend there's Joldewin." he introduced, and Milla accepted his gesture.

"I am lady Milla Trentin. And this is lady Claira Taugere of Mount Ardor." she gave their names, gesturing to her friend and the beady black eyes lit up like flares as they met Claira's.

"All my life, I've heard tales of your beauty." then he bowed low.

"But I never thought I would live to meet the Lady of Frost. No words could ever do you any justice, my lady." he praised before looking up at her again.

"I would die a happy man, for the honour of performing in your hall one evening." he continued, and then called his friend over to introduce him to the nobles where he too bowed low to them.

"Your loveliness has been severely understated, milady." he praised, but their courtesy left Claira feeling swept over; and she decided that the unnatural shade of her hair made her all the more alluring.

"Thank you both, for your laurels. I don't believe I've seen you before." she replied courteously.

"We're not from here, milady. We set out from Weeping Town five years ago, scouring the land as travelling entertainers. But the war has kept us north of the Riverlands, for now." Joldewin explained.

"And you've been able to support yourself here?" Milla asked, and Berry smiled modestly.

"It's been meagre, my lady. But we get by. Tavern lodging here don't cost half your limbs, but otherwise camping isn't so bad." he told, and Milla glanced at her friend.

"I have an offer for you, if you're interested." Claira said, and Berry's smile widened.

"Every breath you take has my interest, my lady." he returned eagerly.

"I will have you lodged in the Hawks for as long as you need before continuing your travels. A decent bed and a warm meal each day, on the condition that you share your talents with my villagers without cost, seeing as they enjoy you so much. Any additional tasks you take up for my people, may be for coin." she proposed, and they stared at her. For an instant, she thought them offended but then Joldewin started laughing happily, and Berry brought his hands together.

"This is more, than we hoped for. Thank you so much, wonderful lady." he replied, his voice a sudden squeak. She turned towards one of her sentinels.

"Wymon, would you be so kind as to negotiate my arrangements with Oswell? We'll meet you back at the keep." she asked, and he bowed.

"Yes, my lady." then he looked at the two entertainers.

"Come along, you two. The barkeep ought to know what you look like, at least." he herded them towards the tavern. Neither of them could have been older than three and twenty years. Then the ladies started back to the castle as well, the sky took on an increasing colour of copper under the setting sun. As they walked up the path nearing the hold, Claira thought of her hands, grateful that the wide sleeves of her dress were long enough to conceal her bandaged palms. There was no more discharge from the wounds, now only ugly deep red cuts. She hadn't even realized before Falgon had pointed it out to her.

"Your grace, you might consider adding to your order of sentinels?" Falgon mentioned from behind her, and she glanced back.

"My husband decides who has that right." she reminded him, and then heard him sigh.

"I know." then she stopped, turning to face him.

"Is something bothering you?" despite the caution behind his eyes, he gave her his gentle smile again.

"It's just me and Wymon left, your grace." he told, and she suddenly realised with a shock why her halls felt so empty. Everyone had gone... But she returned his smile, with more confidence than she knew she possessed.

"My fierce, gentle knight. Is there anyone in this country, in this world, that would best you?" she asked him, and he looked down.

"If there is, I haven't met him yet." he confessed, in his modest way.

"Then I don't need anyone else." she assured him, and they continued on towards the bridge, where a figure in grey hurried over the stones towards them, and her heart sank away.

"My ladies..." he breathed softly as he reached them, raising his hands.

"What's wrong?" Claira could already feel her stomach twist and coil as maester Adlyn's deep brown eyes settled on her.

"We've received word from the Riverlands. King Robb, and all of his men are dead. Murdered at the Twins during lord Edmure's wedding." he informed them, and suddenly she felt heavy with all of her limbs refusing to respond.

"My... my family... My father, and my brother? Where are they?" they were with him, but the maester's stare was uncertain.

"There was no mention of them, my lady." a warmth spread from her chest into her face, and the cuts to her palms were aflame. Then she felt Milla's hand on her arm.

"Claira... Berin is on his way back there..." she breathed, and she understood why her fingers trembled. He might not know. Suddenly she moved forward past the maester.

"Find our best rider! Have him take our fastest horse, and go after them!" she ordered, and moments later a young man with a knapsack slung over his shoulder astride a blood bay colt raced off the grounds, taking the same road that the mass of soldiers did almost a week past. It was a miserable night with little sleep, but rather wanting to keep the family together Milla and Falgon sat with Claira in her common room while the children slept on the benches, made comfortable with quilts, sheets and cushions. All except for Berterin, who chose to lock himself in his chamber. Time dragged by slowly, in spite of several attempts at a conversation; but the subject always turned to the questions: What happened? Where were they? But if there was no mention of them, perhaps they escaped? Would the rider make it in time? How long would it take? There was nothing to do, but to wait until the watchful dawn came. With Wymon watching over the children to wake on their own, Claira made her way down to the kitchens with Falgon in her shadow while Milla started on the feast hall. But instead of giving Jeody specific instructions, she allowed him to serve whatever he wished for this morning. She helped Milla in the garden to choose their flowers, before waiting in the southern hall where the children joined them. After breaking their fast on their cook's chosen savoury bread with sausages, tomatoes and tea they returned to the lord's wing to pray under the weirwood fountain as usual, begging for the safety of their loved ones. Or their return, at the very least. Claira looked up at the face in the column, recalling the septon's words. _As long as you believe that, it will be a truth for you..._ And she wanted to make herself believe it. _My husband is unharmed. My son is safe. My father and brother escaped. My family will return to me..._ She stood from the ground, brushing the yellowing leaves from her dress; and thought of sending a small token to the sept for the septon's kindness the day before.

"Milla, would you mind arranging a flower basket for me?" she asked turning to her friend, and she nodded.

"Of course. Shall I have it brought to your chamber?" she asked, and Claira shook her head.

"Not today, I want it sent to the sept. To thank the blind septon for his words." she told, and Milla nodded.

"I will have it sent at the soonest. Some of our girls are heading to the village." she agreed, and they left the wing from where Milla proceeded to the garden with her children, and Claira tended to the few matters that were brought to court. It was a slow morning, and every moment seemed a day. Claira noticed the three girls leaving through the great doors, carrying a basket filled with beautiful colourful flowers, and breathed in deeply.

"Well, what shall we do for the day, ser?" she turned towards her sentinel, and he chuckled.

"Whatever you may care to, your grace." he said, but she didn't know what she felt like doing, or if she cared to do anything at all. Maybe she hoped he would suggest something, but then recalled that she hadn't visited the maester yet.

"First, I believe that my hands require redressing." she mentioned, and then proceeded up to the maester's tower, where their healer undid the bandages before gently cleansing and salving the wounds.

"I can't believe how deep the blade cut, simply from holding it." the maester sighed as he bound clean linens around her hands.

"It's Valyrian steel, maester. It cuts through anything." she reminded him, and then he simply closed his hands around hers as he tied the bandage in place.

"It's taking longer than I would have liked, but it's healing well." he assured, and she nodded.

"Thank you, maester." he softly pet her hand as he smiled.

"Is there still pain?" he asked, and she thought for a moment.

"More stiffness than pain." she said, and he stood to rummage through his cabinet for a small bottle that he brought to her.

"One drop each morning. It should alleviate the discomfort." he advised, and she took it gratefully after thanking him once more, and then left to rejoin her sentinel at the base of the stairs from where they returned down the way to the Hall of Fire, mostly in silence until it felt like her mind would run away.

"Falgon, what do you suppose happened? Do you think the rider will make it?" she asked. She had to ask him, she had to ask someone.

"I can't say that I know, your grace. But the rider will reach them before they cross the border, I'm sure of it." he reassured her as they walked, and she wanted to believe that the rider would be faster alone. _As long as you believe that, it will be a truth for you..._ And her family made it out. Somehow they did. But then the feeling was drowned as the sentry tower bells sang their dismal song, and absolute fear coursed through her body; yet on she forced herself until she stood on the front steps with her body blazing and every sense numb. In the bailey, the guards dispersed to return to their former routines while three soldiers were carrying a weak and wounded sentinel towards the barracks infirmary; Berin stood with his wife in his arms and a familiar sword tied to the saddle of his horse while the children were sitting on the last step. A little further away a wagon waited, covered with a thick textile. It was holding something... And she knew what. A voice sounded behind her, but there were no words... or she didn't care for the words as she moved forward. Berin looked up, his deep green eyes meeting hers the moment he moved forward to block her way, gently taking hold of her shoulders to stop her.

"Claira, maybe you shouldn't." She couldn't feel anything, except the burn. _Get out of my way!_

"This is my family." She pushed past him, unconscious steps taking her to the wagon where she took the canvas and drew it back to reveal their faces, and the scent of death that was heavy, but not unbearable. Uncounted tears flowed down her flaming cheeks as she lay her hands on them. Her father, and her brother. The skin was hard, cold and leathery to the touch. The hair brittle and wiry, but they seemed so peaceful, and every memory was a flash in front of her... She lowered herself between them, resting on the straw and held them. Pressing their grey brows against her skin, its chill only slightly easing the torturous heat. And then she screamed again as something pressed down gently on her back. Screamed that she wanted to die. Screamed until her lungs would no longer accept any air, and the world faded away into a deep silent darkness. She woke to the wood cap of her common room where she lay on a bench, surrounded with pillows and it felt that the smith was hammering away at her head. A sudden painful wave of nausea made her turn, and her hand pressed over her mouth hard, struggling against the sour bile in her throat, but it was of little aid as the bitterness still clung to her and it was a battle she lost. Moments later, feeling relieved but still sick she forced a deep breath into her lungs, before a hand to her back startled her and she looked up. And she hated herself. _Get away from me!_

"You... You shouldn't see me like this..." she whimpered, pressing her face into the pillow under her as he knelt next to her, his hand still resting on her back.

"I don't mind." he soothed as her muscles eased slightly.

"But still..." he brought a goblet of water from the small table, holding it for her.

"I've seen worse, I promise." he assured, and she took the goblet before glancing out the window, at a noon sky.

"What happened..." she realized that she couldn't remember anything, and he slightly drew back staring at her.

"You held them, for a little while. Then you ordered the bodies burnt, and the ashes returned to Pale Haven. Berin and maester Adlyn are tending to the preparations." he explained, as she took a small taste of the water before lying down and pressing her bandaged palm against her brow. The water was sweet, possibly mixed with honey or some other sugary substance.

"Was... Was I screaming?" she asked softly, and for a moment he stared at her in silence while she dreaded the answer.

"No, your grace. You were very calm." he finally said, and she breathed out. How she got here was also unknown, but it really didn't matter. She tried raising herself, but he gently held her to the bench.

"Please, don't try to get up just yet. This was an immense shock to all of you." he advised, and indeed she felt powerless against the onslaught to her skull.

"Where is Milla, and the children?" she asked, bringing both hands to her face after setting the goblet down.

"They are in the east wing, your grace. The news has struck everyone very hard." Claira thought for a moment, and then felt another wave of nausea hit her as the urge to weep once more aggravated the angry smith in her head. Of course, Milla's father was the Grey Tom's bondsman. He would have been among them... He would have been with him...

"I didn't see lord Scharer..." she started.

"Berin had already sent a small group of men off to return his body to Citrine Arch." Falgon told, and she curled up on the bench, holding herself. He could have had her family returned to Pale Haven as well without stopping here; and she would have been spared that ruin. But... that was her burden. Her responsibility.

"Falgon..." her arms constricted around her waist, her body writhing with the unseen agony.

"Yes, my queen?" he watched her, the light from the always burning hearth dancing in his eyes.

"I'm scared... I'm so scared... What will happen?" he breathed out, glancing away for just a moment.

"I don't know, your grace. I can't see the future, but if I could..." then he looked back at her.

"But whatever happens, I will never leave your side." he promised compassionately, this was the only comfort he could offer her in all of this. She grimaced as the smith refused to allow the tears; but she reached for him and he gently took her fingers, avoiding the wounded palms.

"My Falgon..." his powerful hands closed around hers.

"With your permission, I will deliver you to the lord's wing. Rest for a while longer. I will come for you this evening before the burning." It cut into her chest like a knife, but there was nothing left, and she nodded. So he gently slipped his arms under her and raised her from the bench, and walked back to the lord's wing with her resting against his chest. He understood the hurt, better than anyone else, and if he could he would suffer the same pain all over again if it meant she may be spared. But he couldn't do anything for her, and even his promise meant nothing now. The savageries that fate inflicted on the heart, was worse than any weapon could ever cause. He pushed into the lord's wing to find a chamber maid busy dusting the tables, and she cast him a surprised glance.

"Would you kindly see if you can find her grace's pain drops from her chamber?" he asked her, and she vanished up the steps while he set Claira down on the wide divan in front of the hearth.

"Thank you." she whispered as she eased into the fleecy pillows.

"I will return." he assured and then left in silence, once again scolding himself while he walked down the halls. Passing a serving girl, he asked that a charwoman be sent to the common room, and then made his way to the Hall of Fire, finding Berin, Wymon and Adlyn in front of the great hearth discussing this evening. The pyre will be built in the inner bailey, wide enough for both lords, and the wood oiled. The bodies had already been cleaned and bound in linen, awaiting their funeral.

"Thank you for the trouble, maester." Berin thanked, and maester Adlyn nodded before glancing at Falgon.

"I will see to the last of the arrangements, after I have tended our lady." he said, and then left back up to see Claira before he would return to his tower while the sentinels remained in the glow of the fire.

"How is your family?" Falgon asked, watching as his friend shook his head dolefully.

"Heartbroken, of course. But, they'll be al right in time." then he looked up.

"And Claira?" There were no words. The sight of her family, dead on that wagon, left her insentient. Her body moved appropriately enough to indicate life, but there was really nothing. She wasn't there any more. He'd guided her up the stairway, intending to deliver her to the lord's wing, but when she collapsed in the hallway in front of the Hollow, he decided to bring her to her common room where he could stay with her until she came back. He couldn't leave her, not when she was like a corpse herself.

"Not well, it grieves me to say." he confessed, and looked away. _And I can't do anything..._

"But she is stronger than we realize. I believe that with our support, and enough time she will find it." he tried to encourage before bringing his attention back.

"At the moment, we can't demand anything more." and Berin nodded.

"How about you?" Falgon asked as the deep green eyes went to the fire.

"I'll be fine..." he told. They'd already been on their way back to the castle when they met with lord Rames once more, sharing that they will not head south, instead giving them instruction to return to Ramshorn and see to their defences and their people. The rider found them the day after with the news from across the border, and it was easier to understand then. Maester Adlyn tended to Derric who was improving slowly, but it was said that he might never walk again for his wounds, and may need to be released from their order. Others – as much as they could – were returned to their families, nonetheless the smallfolk will expect a tribute at some point. Unfortunately nothing made what they had to suffer any easier, and they would have no choice but to wait. They parted with Falgon and Wymon returning to the barracks to oversee the preparations in the bailey, and Berin going back to their apartments in the east wing to give what he could to comfort his family whom were all distraught and broken, but too soon the only light in the world were those cast by the hearths and the torches while men gathered in the inner bailey around the wood altar, where the Tormonts were laid with great care. Wymon stood next to the pyre, holding a torch in his hand while the lord and lady Trentin with their children took positions on the other side, and maester Adlyn waited at the foot of the altar. Finally, the lady of the hold emerged with Falgon behind her, and took her place at the head, staring at the bodies. At the faces. She couldn't remember giving the order for them to be burnt, but it might be best. There was only one flaw with this, which unfortunately could not be helped... the absence of a heart tree. The custom in Pale Haven was to burn their deceased loved ones in the sight of the weirwood, so they may receive the blessing of the old ones, and a way to the sacred domain of peace... She hoped, that once their ashes were presented to the old ones in the gods grove, and given to the earth like so many before them, they would receive that gift of rest.

"They deserve so much better... They were kind and gentle men. And they were brave and loyal to a fault. They fought for justice, even though they lived for peace." she reflected, on everything. And she was granted one more tear for them, that shimmered in the light of the torch.

"They protected their family fiercely. And they loved, without restraint. Their absence will leave this world bare." She looked at Wymon, wondering if she should take the torch from him to set fire to the wood herself; but a moment later confessed in secret that she would never find it in her heart to do so. He waited patiently until she nodded, giving him permission to touch the flames of the torch to the wood, and the pyre took light in furious flames as they watched the bright fingers gently caress and finally close over them, lifting them into the skies upon tiny glowing embers. There where they could watch from among the stars. She felt arms around her, and when she looked up noticed Milla next to her, trying to comfort her. Trying to soothe the tears that would no longer come. Trying to ease the hurt she could no longer feel for all of her dull senses. Her hand came up, her cold fingers curling around the arm that held her.

"Thank you so much, for bearing this with me, my sweet friend..." Claira whispered, hoping she may quell the still furious smith that had only slightly calmed down before she came down from the lord's wing.

"They were wonderful people, Claira. Your family was robbed of so much, this crime will never be justified." she offered, and the numb fingers gently tightened.

"They were. As was your father, Milla." she turned towards her, meeting the reddened eyes.

"You have my deepest sympathy... although that might not value a great deal right now..." she sighed, hating herself. Cursing the deadness that lingered in her. Condemning herself for not being able to feel anything at this point.

"It's al right." Milla breathed, fixing a lock of hair over Claira's shoulder.

"You should go inside, have your supper and try to get some sleep. This has been a long, tragic day." Claira suggested, and the arms slowly came away from her.

"And you?" the court maiden asked as she looked back at the blazing pyre.

"I'll stay here a little bit longer..." she decided.

"Al right. But if you need anything-" Milla started.

"Don't worry about me now. Be with your family." she again urged, and Milla slowly nodded.

"Very well. Good night." she greeted, and they retreated back into the hold, along with most of the others who had gathered in the bailey for the burning, except for Claira, Falgon, Wymon, maester Adlyn and a handful of others until the flames waned and died, and the pyre was reduced to little more than a smouldering heap from where the ashes were meticulously gathered and stored in two delicate glass jars, and presented to the lady. She stared at the vessels in her broken hands, and then carefully held them to her chest as she looked up at Wymon.

"I'm sorry for sending you around so much. Will you have the carpenter's guild master come see me first thing in the morning?" she asked, but he bowed with a gentle smile.

"I live to serve you, my lady. I will head out with sunrise." he assured, and she returned his gesture.

"Thank you, Wymon." They returned back into the hold, and she made her way to the lord's wing where she lay the jars on two pillows arranged on the table before tending to her bath. She wished for sleep, but it seemed that sleep had no desire to meet with her again. The evening was spent recalling each memory, from what seemed to be ages ago until they arrived here with lord Stark almost two years ago, and the dawn when they left the burning mountain. Just like the one she stared at now... Somehow the night vanished like a butterfly on the wind, and before long a handmaiden entered to help her dress, also informing her that the carpenter's guild master awaited her, and would attend her at her leisure. But even so, she tried not to waste his time, quickly dressing in a dark gown of plum velvet, fastening the smoke grey laces over the front of the bodice while the handmaiden brushed out her long hair, binding it back with a jewelled pin.

"My token was given to the sept?" she asked, recalling that this was the girl that was carrying the basket of flowers the day before.

"It was, milady." she assured, and Claira glanced back tying the laces together.

"And my thanks given to the blind septon?" she enquired, followed by a short silence.

"Septon Costane insisted that there was no blind septon, milady. We asked several times." she told, and Claira looked back in front of her, feeling confused. He was there. He sat with her. She could still hear his voice, the sure words he gave her... Perhaps he was a wanderer? She'd heard that some of the septons travelled the country. She pulled on her wine red slippers and then left the chambers with the jars in her hands while the women proceeded with the chores of the wing, which had been greatly reduced with only one life in the whole of the northern part of the castle; and proceeded to the Hall of Fire with her sentinel keeping watch. The guild master was a short, sturdy man with thick brown curls, hazel eyes, and a cropped beard; earnest and proud but mild mannered. She displayed the jars to him, commissioning the creation of two small caskets, both interlined with cotton padding and emerald green velvet to hold the vials. Both lids were to display the sigil of house Tormont, yet only one would feature a sword as well to indicate her father. He accepted the task fervently, and returned to the guild with his order to start work on the crafts, promising that he would deliver the cases himself in a few days. Watching him leave, Claira glanced up at her protector.

"Falgon. I want you to let Avery go." she suddenly told him, but despite his reservation he acknowledged her.

"The conditions, your grace?" he asked, expecting that there will be terms for his release. But she sighed.

"No conditions. Just let him go..." she ordered, still feeling numb for the past few days. _I will not destroy another family..._ she decided, and he bowed his head.

"As you bid, your grace." he agreed, and she spared a glance at the black arch leading into the earth beneath their keep.

"Now, if you'd please. You may find me after maester Adlyn has tended to my hands." she continued to urge, which he found momentarily strange.

"Very well." he made his way down the stairway to the domain beneath the great fortress, along deep hallways into the darkness of the vaults, the only place that smelt of sweat and shit and soot. The jailer grinned as Falgon entered the main chamber, where the tall skinny man received his 'patrons' as he preferred to call them. Whether they were visitors like Lilly, or prisoners were of little importance to him. Four torches were set on the walls of the wide room, which alternated between shades of black shadows and yellow light. Five deep gulleys ran water through the prison as effluent, and several ducts led to somewhere outside for airing. Manacles hung from the far wall, next to the arch leading to the cells. And beams with more chains hung from the ceiling near the back, where a table stood secluded with shining instruments laid out on the surface – a black leather bull whip among them. Falgon thought it fortunate that sound did not carry further than the second stairway from here. The jailer was renowned among the guards for his skill, although some of the older members would sooner name it barbarism, despite having certain whims and wants that would sooner not be debated. The soldiers that took the prisoners into the vaults, made a point to make their departure again quickly...

"Greetings, ser. What do you want?" he asked, and Falgon sighed. He was blunt, but at least he was friendly. Or he tried to be...

"You will release the runner." he told him, and eyes stared at him, the wide irises ringed with yellow and the black hair hiding most of his narrow, bony face.

"Oh, I will, will I? And since when do you give the orders here in my quarters?" he challenged, his pale skin drinking up the light from the few torches, making it seem to almost glow. He was named Eidolon, but most people knew him only as 'the jailer' and found him an odd and frightening man, but Falgon smiled.

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. Her grace has commanded it." he told, and saw the jailer move back in immediate defeat. He'd always counted himself subject only to the lord of Mount Ardor, or alternatively the lady.

"Oh. Very well, then." he sounded almost disappointed, and then looked away.

"Without further delay, if you would not mind. Her grace was quite insistent." Falgon advised, bringing more disgruntlement to the jailer. Falgon passed him, and he was left to follow, mumbling to himself as they walked down the long passage where a number of prisoners scowled and taunted both the formidable jailer who would on occasion cast them a furious glance, and the tall sentinel whom paid them no mind; only one other prisoner sat in the corner of his cell, eerily silent as they passed while the keys jingled in the lonely darkness. Not much further down they stopped in front of the vault holding the disgraced scout, then Falgon faced the jailer a final time.

"Open the cell." he ordered, and the ringing of the keys mingled with the jailer's muffled complaints as the large key slid into the lock, and hauled the bolt back. Avery looked up to register the tall mass entering, and quickly came to his feet.

"Her grace has stayed your life, and today has ordered your freedom." he informed, and the youngster's face lit up in elated relief.

"Thank you, ser." he applauded him, but he still needed to understand.

"People do not deserve third chances, but they may be graced with a second. And even that is something very hard to get from me. I trust there will be no need to further explain your position." he calmly cautioned, but the perception of a threat was too clear in the light eyes staring back.

"No, ser. Never. I swear it." he promised truly, met with a satisfied smile.

"Good. Now go." Avery passed him, happily departing the dark confines of the castle dungeons to reunite with his beloved wife, and for a while the days in the castle were sullen and silent until the morning the guild master returned with two small maple wood boxes. Claira stared at the containers, which had obviously been painstakingly carved with great care. Each with a set of supports resembling cat's feet. Beautiful designs were carved into the sides, and the lids each displayed the leaping feline of house Tormont in dark ebony, inlaid on the surface. As asked, only one featured the sword, branded onto the light maple wood. The velvet lining the inside of the cases were not as light as expected, rather a deep forest green. But for the guilmaster's dedication to this project, it was beautiful. And he was rewarded with an additional silver stag for each of them. She thoughtfully placed the jars holding the ashes into the boxes, laying her brother and father in the soft velvet cushion of the caskets, and praying for peace over them before sealing the caskets with their lids. She wrapped both boxes in soft linen for their journey, which may start in another day as they waited for final preparations. She asked maester Adlyn to send a raven, to inform her family of the heartache that struck them, and that she would have the remains returned to them with a trusted member of their order. Berin had assumed the task of their safe return himself, for his promise to lord Willmon. Then she looked up, through the doors of the balcony overlooking the Goldfields from the lord's hall. It was a clear day, a white cloud or two drifting past. All seemed so peaceful, so bright, save for a black bird gliding on the wind in the distance. And in her secrecy, she hoped that their days would see improvement from here. Once Berin returned, their lives would continue... Then she left the lord's wing, leaving the small caskets wrapped on the wide round table next to the great doors; they would not be moved until the following morning at least. Falgon followed her down to the southern hall from the doorway, as always. Guardsmen made their way up and down the passages, one or two groups with a hound with them, on their way to their posts or from them; but still it will be a while before their force was near to where it was. She looked through the massive doors revealing the outside, their outer bailey, the strong gatehouse, and the endless fields beyond. It was a marvellous sight, but still now she could not feel much. This tragedy took her family from her, and the heartache might as well take her life as well... She proceeded to the southern hall, and found Milla and Berin in the doorway where she joined them in discussing the next few days. It was decided that he would lead the progress, and present Talon to the new lord Rhegard Tormont himself with five additional guards in attendance. A cart was prepared to hold their necessities, and a Silent Sister from the sept was consigned with the care of the caskets for the journey.

"We'll leave early tomorrow, and only stop to make camp during twilight. If the road still favours travellers, we will make it back in a fortnight." Berin mentioned, and Claira nodded. But then their attention was taken by a page, sent from maester Adlyn's tower.

"Lady Milla. A message has arrived for you." he announced, and she cast Berin a glance that was mixed of puzzlement and worry before following the boy up the steps, then Berin looked at Claira.

"I know it's not getting easier, but I am thankful that it seems you are feeling stronger." he mentioned softly, and she looked down at her hands. Maester Adlyn had still kept the wounds covered, to hide the ugliness. Long mahogany scabs stretched over her palms, lined with dead flaking skin. But he calculated that the wounds would be no more than pink scars in a few weeks, and mere white blemishes within half a year. _Everything heals they say... but I still don't feel much..._ Nothing compared to the murderous sorrow.

"Yes. It will slowly get better, I think. We have to believe that." she breathed, and then looked up at him.

"And I am grateful to you, Berin. That you were with my father in the end. That he did not need to... to die alone..." she said softly, and he glanced away.

"The last thing he said, was that he had no regrets. He died at peace, Claira. Which is more than what most men have, in all of the circumstances. And all he wished for was his family's safety." he told, recalling that miserable dusk. _More specifically, your safety..._ came the thought before he glanced at the sentinel shadowing their lady, deeply concious that in the total uncertainty of the chaotic whirl of their lives, this was the surest ease they had. The greatest warrior of their order, of their kingdom... in this world for all he knew, would dissolve into dust before he allowed anything to ever happen to her. She was everything to him, and each time his dark eyes rested on the delicate form he could see it so clear. And deny it as he might, that was the purest truth.

"Berin?" his attention went back to the blue eyes staring at him.

"My apologies." he pardoned quickly, and she managed a faint smile. She wasn't the only one capable of 'wandering'.

"Did he say anything else to you?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"Nothing of significant note, my lady. It was just idle conversation." he assured, mindful not to aggrieve her yet again, when she only recently seemed to find some stability. But the words he'd been given, the strange term of winter, fire, stone, and something called an Atronach, he shared with the smartest man he knew - their maester, who recorded it in ink precisely. Afterwards he promised to study it, and would reveal everything he could, in the event he found anything at all. This was unknown, he'd never heard it before, or anything resembling it. But Berin knew, like everything else, he would not stop trying until he found something, even if it took him years. Then he guided her into the southern hall as Falgon took his leave to return to the barracks, ensuring that the guards returned to their proper orders and the bailey was cleared so their members could resume their daily training. But rather than taking their usual places at the high table awaiting their morning serving, they made their way outside to the garden where the boys were playing, and Bella sat on the bench to the far back next to the fountain. The seat she always shared with her best friend, the heir of Mount Ardor... whose place was now empty. They continued their conversation, hoping to lighten the day in any way; those bound North to their homes would have reached them by now, and she walked looking over the blue of the Sunset Sea to where the pale of the horizon rested on its surface, wondering where the party sent to Oldtown might be by this time. They should have passed Lannisport at the very least. And Raeghun... Her Raeghun was unhurt. He must be... Rounding the garden route, they started back towards the hall where their serving girls should be placing the last of the morning feast ware. But even before reaching the great doors, rounding a rose quarts shrub, the court maiden made her startling appearance.

"Claira..." she was pale, her cheeks flushed and her eyes reddened from tears. She'd been crying; and again another shard of painful cold was driven into her heart, leaving her body light and her senses dull. It was the message.

"What's wrong?" was her only response, although she could barely feel the words while a stricken sentinel stood between them.

"The letter... It was from Carissa. She... She did not give details, beyond that Rod is indisposed and they are in trouble. She has begged for our help..." she explained through suppressed sobs, and Claira looked down. Smaller vassals, oft did not possess the opulence of great houses; and with three small children it was not entirely unexpected that they would reach out to family in distress. Milla and her husband, were their closest.

"I see." the world was greying, and even their lustrous garden seemed ashen.

"Are you sure about this?" Berin asked, deep set worry in his voice. Then she reached out to him, the rolled parchment still in her shaking hand. He took it, and opened the tiny scroll to read the words himself, and his gaunt face lost colour. Then he looked at Claira, perplexed and disoriented. But she seemed to be adrift herself.

"My lady..." But there was little worth saying.

"You'd best see to your preparations as well, then." she breathed softly, and then moved past them in silence, leaving them staring at one another. What more would be thrown at them? How many more sinister plots could fate devise against them? Then Berin moved forward as his wife dissolved into tears again, and held her tightly.

"Oh, my Milla. Everything will be al right, you'll see." he tried to comfort, feeling her shiver against him.

"I don't want to leave here, Berin. I'm worried about my mother, Rod and Carissa, and I'm worried about Claira. If we leave, she'll be completely alone, but my brother needs us. I... I don't know what to do." he held her.

"She'll be al right, and we'll come back as soon as we can." he reassured her. The remainder of the day was spent altering their arrangements, the cart was to be replaced with a larger, two-horse wagon that would hold the effects they needed. And by morning, they were ready to depart the burning mountain, while Milla held her best friend.

"I don't want to leave you, Claira..." she whispered, but the cold from her was so close to death she could hardly feel her breathe.

"I understand, Milla. Don't worry about me. I'll be al right..." she whispered back, feeling the gentle arms tighten around her, and Milla spared a glance at her husband, standing a few feet away with Falgon.

"I made a promise to her father, that I would help her in any way I can. But, I can't do it alone." Berin told softly, and then looked up at the dark eyes.

"You must help her, my friend. Watch over her, and keep her safe... Please, take care of her." he beseeched him, and he glanced away at the lady of their hold.

"I will. I give you my word." Falgon vowed truthfully.

"We'll come back as soon as we can. When all is settled again." he assured, watching their children descending the great stairway from the castle to greet their aunt before the boys made for their coursers followed by his daughter whom joined her mother and the Silent Sister with the caskets in her hands on the wagon, stacked with crates, chests, barrels and bags for the journey. Bella had been severely reluctant to leave, even going as far as locking herself in her room this morning. But after some persuasion from her father, she complied. Berterin on the other hand, mounted his gelding enthusiastically, seeming eager to get away.

"Farewell, my friend. Until we meet again." Berin greeted, forcing a smile; and they shook hands.

"And to you and your family, lord Berin. Stay safe." Falgon returned, then they approached Claira where her sentinel retook his place at her side, and the head of their sentinels gently embraced her.

"I will ensure that your brother receives the sword back, I promise." he told, and then drew back only seeing her nod.

"Good bye, Claira. We'll see you again, soon." he squeezed her cold hand, and she returned that simple gesture kindly.

"Good bye, Berin. Keep well." she watched as he moved away, mounting his waiting horse where Berterin and Vaellion took places behind him, followed by the wagon and four more guards in the rear. They passed under the great gatehouse, following the road past Garde's Post that would take them to the horizon and then away. The day was colourless, and still... was it because of the clouds?

Falgon sat in the guard's hall staring at the flames of the hearth, feeling chained and destitute, loath of the past week. There were the whispers of dark wings stirring in the east, a Targaryen girl with three dragons, said to be growing fast. If the tales were true, they would make for these lands before too long, just like the Conqueror did then... but that was not what bothered him. Not in the least. The greatest disturbance to him, was the darkness that had fallen over his queen since the wagon left through the gate, bearing what was left of her family. A heavy, black shadow that started to follow her footsteps, and cling to her like a leech to the living. She was distant, and would often shut herself away in the lord's wing without tending to much, and the only ones allowed inside were the chamber maids, a handmaiden to aid the lady and a serving girl from time to time, mostly exchanging pitchers. The healer had attempted to visit her, to advise her, but with no more fortune than the wind against these walls... Fortunate for the members of their hold, if the kitchen master was not given specific instructions he simply served whatever came to mind while master Austinus and maester Adlyn to the best of their abilities attempted to appease and keep further order. But with limited authority, many who came to court was left unsatisfied, and left the keep with meagre advises or the intent to return again at another time. The defence of the castle was his, which thus far had been kept solid, but he had no power over the lives of her people. A marked affair that was frequently brought to their attention was the tribute, now that war was pulling away from them. But until her grace had found her feet, it would unfortunately have to wait. And of course, Berry had come calling at the castle gates several times begging an audience, with little luck. But if anything, it was becoming worse... Wymon's shadow fell across the wall as he sat down on the chair next to Falgon with a heavy sigh.

"More and more people are becoming impatient, the old men can only do so much." he hinted.

"They will have to be patient for a while longer, still. She has suffered devastating blows four times within the span of two months." Falgon told, and Wymon looked away.

"I know... And I wish it didn't have to be this way. But..." he paused for a moment, as if hardening himself for the words.

"I am sorry to say this, Falgon. I know you love her, but the world waits for no one's grief. There are matters that only she can attend to, no one else has the authority." he explained, and Falgon's eyes met his. _I do not love her..._ It was more than that. It was meaning. It was purpose. For him, this was life.

"True as your logic is, there is one thing that heals a wound. Not courtesies, not hands, not words. Time heals wounds, and the deepest wounds take the longest to mend. People must understand that." But these wounds, they weren't healing. They were festering, and no amount of boiling wine would cleanse this poison. No one had seen her since before noon, when she shut herself away again. Her morning routine to continue sharing the tables in the southern hall for their morning meal, seemed to be little more than proof that she was still alive.

"It's not just her isolation, the women say she spends her days standing in front of the hearth, mostly drinking." he told, and then leaned back against the chair.

"Not too long ago, if she took two glasses of rose wine a day, it was a lot." he recalled, and Falgon looked away at the flames. He could not deny that it was worrisome, that decanters were exchanged more frequently now.

"Give her some time, Wymon. I'm sure she'll improve soon." he tried to urge, but if this continued for much longer there might not be anything to return to...

"Al right, but I do hope it doesn't go on for much longer." Wymon breathed as he stood,

"Good night, ser." and started his way up into the barracks halls to retire for the night while Falgon remained where he was. It was already rather late, and he wondered if she could find any rest this night. _Will you see her, please?_ Milla's voice suddenly slammed into him, the same desperate plea he had listened to just a few weeks ago, and he tensed harshly at the thought. _She trusts you, Falgon..._ The voice begged and cried in his head and he grimaced, frustrated for his own ineptitude.

 _What?!_ _What do you want me to do?_ He shouted back, with no one there to answer, and it seemed that the voice had disappeared into the dark stillness that hung in their halls. But then it returned, just a slight whisper like the breeze through the brush. _I don't know... anything..._ He leaned forward slightly, his hand moving through his long thick hair, like he wanted to rake the thoughts from his mind. But they would not leave, and he spared a glance at the empty arch where the stairs led to the guards quarters. Wymon was right, if there was no change soon, they'd face more than impatient callers. Warily he brought himself to his feet and restored Summit in its place before slowly heading up into the dimly lit castle passages, damning himself with each step; and standing in front of the great dark wood doors he listened and wondered, was this the right thing to do? If you required a raging river to flow in a different direction, the only way to do it was to block it off and force it into another canal. He drew a deep breath, and knocked... met with silence. Once more, but nothing. Seeing no alternate options, and the dread increasing, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside where he was relieved to find her standing next to a table, dressed in a flowing gown of black silk with long gauzy sleeves and a dark wine red sash, her hair hanging in a jumble of two-colour locks down her back to her thighs. If she noticed him, she did not turn to meet him.

"Your grace..." he started, gently trying to gain her attention. She looked up, but not back as she took something off the table in front of her.

"Your grace, are you al right?" he asked as he took a step closer, and heard her scoff.

"Am I al right? What a morbid question, ser Falgon…" then she turned with a large chalice of deep red in her hand, her blue eyes bright and more than a gentle rose blush to her cheeks. She smiled.

"I'm fine. Won't you join me? I confess that the wine has a slightly bitter taste, but it will do." she invited, gesturing at the table where a silver pitcher and two more goblets awaited use. He moved forward carefully, shutting the heavy door behind him, the uneasiness increasing.

"I had believed that you did not enjoy the deep red." he mentioned, and she glanced at the pitcher on the table with a soft sigh.

"The sweet wines no longer appeased me, it just tastes like water." she defended as he stared at her.

"And you find the deep more satisfying?" generally, she would be much more partial to the sweeter, lighter wines, and only moderate amounts. He found himself wondering, how much she had.

"It's an acquired taste, but one you get used to... Does that bother you?" she asked as she walked away from him, towards the open balcony doors.

"No. But I will not deny that it worries me that you've been drinking more than you would allow yourself under normal circumstances." he confessed, and again she laughed.

"You sound like my father…" she mocked him, leaving a subtle sting. This was not the girl he met at the Wanderer's Tourney when he found his purpose. Not the woman he'd shadowed for years to keep her safe. This was not the same person that gave meaning to his existence, and the notion that his queen may be lost to this darkness was something suddenly alarming.

"This isn't like you." he told her while her eyes scanned the shadows outside.

"How would you know what I'm like?" she demanded turning back to face him rather ungracefully; the red spilling from the rim of the chalice over her pale hand, but her sparkling eyes hard, yet more desperate than enraged.

"I've spent many years with you, shadowing you. Watching you. I know enough." he replied calmly, hoping gentle words may settle her.

"You don't know! You don't know anything!" she yelled at him, mad misery more controlling of her mind than her once gentle nature.

"I know enough." he said again, still regarding her.

"You don't! You don't know what this feels like! You don't know what it's like to feel like you've lost everything!" she continued, and the subtle sting turned to a bitter one. _That's not true..._

"Do you honestly believe that? You think I've lost nothing?" he asked, still attempting to retain his tranquillity.

"You've always talked about having this happy life, where you had everything. And then you just left!" she accused him, and the bitterness enveloped him for a moment. That horrible, obscure dawn when his gaze turned to a red sunrise.

"Yes, I left. But I wasn't given a choice." he corrected her; had he been given one...

"You still left! Did it ever occur to you-" she started, and he hardened as he realized that the tenderness he'd hoped for had no effect. And it was not altogether dishonest to admit that the situation was growing vexatious.

"Stop it. You're drunk." he suddenly silenced her, and for a moment she stared at him in surprise. Perhaps taken aback by his uncharacteristic insolence, but turned away from him, trying to hide her abashment for both his words, and the truth behind them.

"So what? So what if I am? It's better than feeling this… this pain. This emptiness!" she justified as she looked at the glass in her hand.

"I am completely alone, everyone has left me. My husband is gone. Rychon's been taken from me. My father and my brother were murdered – butchered in some field like poached livestock. Even Berin and Milla left with the children… I'm alone… I have nothing! Just this infuriating heap of stone!" she cried out in despair, and his frustration lessened.

"You're not alone, your grace." Many were still left, maester Adlyn, cook Jeody, master Austinus...

"Get out!" she yelled at him, wishing to continue the pursuit this misery had left her.

"My queen, I gave my word." stricken as she was, he could not leave her. Would it be only the cruelty of fate that knew what this woman could do, when left to her own thoughts... and perhaps hands?

"I said get out!" she spun around, flinging the chalice towards him, and it shattered against the wall next to his head, crimson staining the stones of the wall and dark wood flooring. Inexplicably livid he moved forward suddenly, his strong hands taking hold of her wrists firmly as he glared down at her.

"Stop it!" he ordered, but the frigid blue eyes stared back, equally hard and furious.

"How dare you?" she demanded, struggling against him.

"This isn't you. It's not!" he told, his fingers tightening in his hold; demanding, desirous, desperate...

"Let go of me!" she tugged and writhed for release, but he gripped her tightly.

"This is not you!" he called, his fingers aflame around the cool skin of her wrists.

"Let me go, Falgon! Let me go or I will hit you, I swear!" she threatened, their eyes locked in the desperate struggle as much as their hands. She was lost in the toxic clouds, unafraid. And he pulled her closer to him.

"Then do it! Fucking hit me! Show me that you remember who you are! Show me that your name is not just something plastered onto you like your dress!" he challenged her as tiny spasms rattled down his spine, and her eyes hardened even more.

"You hound!" he released her wrist, and took hold of her neck, drawing her forward and pressing his mouth to hers, perhaps a little bit more forceful than he had intended. He expected the tightness to his chest, for the dizziness and stinging to assault him, for the breathlessness to overwhelm him. But there was nothing. Just her sweet scent as he breathed her in. _Move… Hit me! Do something! Come back… Remember!_ And then she did, pulling away from him she balled her free hand into a fist and she slammed it into his jaw hard, hard enough that he could imagine the taste of blood as he staggered slightly of the force, and she pulled free from him.

"You arrogant, common bastard! I am Claira Taugere of the burning mountain, wife of the Phoenix! I am a lady of the noblest houses in the known world! I don't care what is thrown at me, this is my home, my domain, my people! Thousands may lay siege to these walls, while the rest of Westeros can burn in all the fires, but victory is the red in my blood! From the ashes I will rise. Stronger I will rise!" she screamed at him as he brought his hand to his mouth for but a moment, searching for the crimson that indicated a broken lip, but there was nothing and for an instant he hoped it would remain so. Her voice, and her words were strong. Solid. True and unchanging. For the first time, she was afraid of him. The fear drowning the drunkenness, and then flaming in fury when she hit him. He looked back at her, she was staring at him in both shock and rage.

"That's better." he sighed; what he had tried to evoke, however unplanned, had been successful. Then he bowed to her, gracefully... as if nothing happened.

"With your leave, your grace-" she flung herself forward, mad and distraught.

"You fool! You stubborn, stubborn fool!" she screamed at him, pounding furiously at his broad, powerful chest. But calmly he brought his hands up, and gently lay them on her back, just holding her as the rage melted, and she cried against him; the fist once hammering at him now clutching the neckline of his doublet, and the black ringmail underneath.

"You fool… Why? Why do you always do that? Why…" she whimpered dismally against him, but his hands continued their gentle touch, softly sliding up and down her back in soothing strokes.

"It's al right." he eased, but she looked up with reddened eyes, pulling at the garments.

"Tell me why…" she begged, desperate to understand. And he smiled at her, in his always gentle way as his eyes met the frigid blue of his queen.

"Because I belong to you." and again she dissolved, laying her head against his chest and crying, and a moment later he found them both sitting on the floor together as she clutched his clothing, and he simply held her in his arms, allowing her to weep for all of it all over again, until it passed. Summit had fallen from its clasps onto the carpet but he barely noticed, and all he could think of was her. It was hard. But he knew that pain, better than anyone else. Better than any living man could ever dream, he knew it so well.

"You're all I have... You're all I have left..." she finally whispered against him, calmed from releasing the pent up frustrations, fears, sorrows and rages; and his arms softly tightened around her. _You are not alone_ _..._

"Your father and brother have found peace, and everyone else will return to you before long." he tried to reassure her, but she sat in silence without an answer. Whether she believed him or no, she would not say. Although he hoped for the initial. For yet a little while longer she sat still, closed in his strong arms and nestled against his chest, simply breathing and waiting for the tremors to end before suddenly looking up at him again.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry I struck you… You didn't deserve that…" she apologised, her eyes visibly searching the skin where her fist connected with his face.

"I did. I did deserve it." he acknowledged softly. He had entered her sanctuary impulsively, he'd spoken to her without regard, and then he kissed her without her consent. By every right she had, he should be executed. There was still a tingle to his lips, but not of the blow... yet he supposed that the touch did not last long enough to bring on the sickening sensations he'd experienced with others, like Aurelne and the few before her. Which he found himself subtly grateful for. Then he smiled at her once more.

"You're stronger than you look." he said as he gently wiped a few strands of black and white from her face, securing the hair behind her shoulder.

"Really?" and she managed to return the smile, hopeful for a little strength of her own.

"Yes. Don't ever let that strength leave you." he encouraged, and she leaned against him again with a calm, easy sigh.

"My dear knight... My sweet, silly Falgon…" he held her, happy for this turn, but resentful for the circumstances that forced this. He shouldn't have been here. _You fool... you stubborn, senseless fool..._ Slowly she pulled back, wiping the tacky trails left by the tears from her cheeks.

"I think I need a bath. Stay right here, don't go anywhere." she told him as she stood, and then sauntered off to the bath chamber, disappearing behind the heavy crimson curtain while he remained, mulling over the night. He could hear the gentle rush of the water, spilling from somewhere. The motions of tiny ripples, and the soft splash as water was scooped and spilled; and it abruptly occurred that it would be well past midnight. Moments later she reappeared, dressed in a light green gown of soft chiffon layers, flowing down her figure as she walked while her hair hung freely down her back. A gold ribbon fastened the snug bodice around her neck. He watched as she made her way to the wide divan, and then collapsed onto the cushions, the remnants of the wine having returned. But fortunately, not as embroiled as before. Then she looked at him, drowsily waving him closer; so he stood and approached as she indicated the open seat above her, and he carefully sat down.

"Tell me one of your stories…" she whispered, and he thought for a moment. And then he remembered. It was long ago, shortly after leaving Westeros; he'd joined a starting group of mercenaries of no more than seven men. They were boisterous, gallant and confident, setting their sights on establishing an order large enough to rival even the Golden Company of Braavos. They were hired to accompany a party of maesters, on their way to the Ibben to study the land and its people. The first month was easy enough, while the maesters found that the island was rich in gold, iron, copper and amber; the forests abundant of timber and various animals for pelts; and the inhabitants of this northern island, preferring their own reclusion, for the most part left them to their own. They were short, stout people with disproportionate features but possessed immense strength and their own kind of cunning, and watching their great ships pass by the island coastline it was a clear thing they were master ship builders. But in time, these Ibbenese people grew more cautious of the foreign group than curious. One day, on their way back to camp they passed a group fishing in the shallows, where the youngest of their maesters, a compassionate but rash boy of almost seven and ten, approached a small boy sitting on the shore piling stones, offering him an apple. The mother must have misunderstood, and rushed up to defend him. One of the companions, equally false in his perception, slew her without a thought... It was a slaughter after that. Many died, on both sides. Dozens of Ibbenese, and their entire party save for the two eldest maesters, whom he somehow miraculously returned to the closest city before leaving on his own again. They were uninjured, but not entirely unshaken... Then he looked down, noticing her easy, even breaths. She was asleep, and he wondered what to do. He could keep watch over her for the night here where she slept, and leave with the morning. He could leave her to her sleep, and return with the morning. But then ultimately decided that she may feel most comfortable, and sleep best on her own bed. In silence he stood, removed the heavy cloak, the chest belt, the bracers, doublet and ringmail, leaving him the faded sleeveless tunic. Then he carefully slid his arms under her legs and back, lifting her from the divan she whimpered slightly as her head found a soft resting place against his chest, and he carried her up the steps to the highest room and lay her down on the great bed. Methodically, he folded the quilt three times by length, wrapped a tunic that lay discarded on a chest around it and positioned it next to her before covering her with a soft silken sheet, and after sparing a moment watching her arms wrap around the quilt even in her sleep, he left the lords wing with his effects, without another word, save for the wisdom his beloved had once given him. _"_ _A woman never fights so hard as she does, when protecting her heart..."_ and the many curses running through his head, which remained long after he'd returned to the guard's hall and the sun returned to the world.

When Claira woke, the horizon was already taking on the pink of dawn. She slept peacefully, not being tortured by the restless tossing and turning, and the headache that followed like on so many previous occasions. Languidly her hand slid down her face, the drying skin of the wounds harsh against her cheek, and vague visions of a far off land with distorted people; but when her cold fingers touched her lips she remembered a great dark mass holding her, and a sudden rough kiss... One she was more shocked, than frightened of. It may have been meant to be threatening, even violent. But it was her Falgon, and however unceremonious, he remained gentle. And it could not have been his first choice of action, but her behaviour must have left him little choice; as she'd been less than couth to everyone of late. But he made her see that there was strength left in her, there was hope for yet another sunrise and as long as he stood at her side, she had nothing to fear from anyone. And however hard it may be now, perhaps she might find solace and sedulity in him. " _Departed, I'm afraid. I'm the only one left..."_ He whom had been alone, too... It will get better slowly, and she could face each day as it came to her. What was left to her now, was to thank him for his harshness, it was the irregularity she needed to show her the way again. And then to make amends and see to her people, starting with the tribute. She sat up as a soft knock sounded at the door, and she lowered her feet to the floor.

"Enter." the door slowly edged open, and a young girl with red hair and light grey eyes peered inside. It was her handmaiden Laurene.

"Good morning, milady. I am sorry if I woke you." she greeted as she stepped inside, followed by two chamber maids to start on the chores of the wing.

"You didn't. And I believe it is past time that I returned to my formal routines." she said as she stood, and the girl placed her hands together.

"Very well, milady. Any dress in particular you wish for today?" she asked, and Claira glanced at the wardrobe.

"Black, or at least dark. Our people are still in mourning for their families." she decided, and Laurene rummaged through the wardrobe as Claira waited, finally pulling a gown of black velvet with gold sequence over the bodice and wide sleeves, matched with a pearl and onyx girdle. After dressing, the girl brushed out her long hair and secured it in a long braid that was draped over her right shoulder before fitting her dark grey slippers, and then she departed the lord's wing where her sentinel waited for her, greeting her warmly.

"Good morning, Wymon. Shall we start our day?" she smiled, and he nodded.

"Of course, my lady." her first thought was to see maester Adlyn to tend her hands, and she made for his tower where he received her happily, and dressed the wounds. There was no further need of bandages, the cuts were now smaller. What remained was the damaged and drying skin of her palms, to which he applied a smooth green ointment before closing his hands around hers.

"These should be fully healed within the fortnight, my lady." he reported enthusiastically, and then looked up at her with his deep brown eyes seeming lighter than she remembered.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked, and her fingers tightened in his.

"Not at the moment, thank you maester. And I'm sorry for being so feckless, I hope I may set things right." she said and he smiled petting her hand.

"It's al right, I'm sure everything will be fine." he comforted her, and then she stood.

"Well, I should leave you to your work. I'm sure there's a lot to be done. Until tomorrow, then." he nodded.

"I wish you a fruitful day, my lady." he returned, and she quickly descended the winding steps back to the passage where Wymon remained, and then they proceeded to the castle kitchens to discuss the morning meal with Jeody after she asked for his pardon as well, and to her surprise she met Lilly again. Great with child, but happily so. Regardless of her husband's release from Mount Ardor's vaults, she retained her assignments in the castle wash house, finding it more pleasant than the cows of the farmer; and maester Adlyn had advised that her child may enter this world near to or with the second full moon from now; which they looked forward to. Then she tended to the southern hall, which was indeed in need of a thorough cleaning, and she spared no effort to employ every charwoman, scullion and serving girl available to this task. The floors were swept and washed, the tables and benches scrubbed, the five hearths set throughout the feast hall cleared out, cleaned and restocked with firewood. The drapes were taken down and sent to the wash house, replaced with new ones and the phoenix hung above the Fervid Hearth anew, bright and ablaze as she stared at the vivid colours. _In truth, I've missed this..._ Then she turned to Wymon, still at her side.

"Have you seen Falgon, by any chance?" she asked, and he glanced at the great doors connecting the feast hall and the Hall of Fire, the arch to the barracks far on the other side.

"I believe he is with master Austinus discussing the guardsmen routines, my lady. Some new boys were taken into service not too long ago." he mentioned, and she reflected for an instant. She hadn't realised their numbers did not cease, and even in her absence others tried to maintain order. _I will try harder..._

"Oh, and they're doing well?" she asked, again involved in the world that for so long passed her by heedlessly, perhaps unconsciously.

"Quite well, my lady. Master Austinus is not explicitly as stern as ser Falgon, but the boys are conforming well." he reported, and she smiled.

"Good to hear, I would like them to be happy here." she breathed, and he stared at her.

"It is good to see you like this again, as well. But I admit, this is a sudden turn." he mentioned, and she glanced away.

"I... I realised how much my people need me..." she told softly, but he remained staring at her. Wondering, searching for an explanation she did not give him. Then she faced him again.

"May I ask you one more favour?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Of course, my lady." he agreed.

"Might you ask Falgon to join me in the garden, once he has finished his venture?" he bowed, and then left for the outer bailey where Austinus and Falgon considered the rounds.

"One third of the guards will be set on the outer walls between midnight and dawn." Austinus indicated the walls spanning the stretch holding the front of the stronghold.

"Agreed. And we might consider a dozen patrolling the outer bailey with the hounds." he suggested, and Austinus took that into consideration.

"That sounds reasonable." he sided with the tall sentinel as Wymon joined them.

"I apologise for interrupting you." he interjected politely, and Austinus smiled.

"At ease, ser. We were done." he said and then looked up at Falgon.

"I will see to the times. If there is need of alterations, I will inform you." he said.

"Thank you, master." Falgon nodded, and the elderly gentleman left to tend to the guards.

"Lady Claira has asked for you." Wymon informed, but a strange hesitation flashed behind the dark eyes.

"As her grace commands..." he sighed, wondering if she recalled his violation the evening before.

"Are you al right?" Wymon suddenly asked, and he noticed the grey eyes searching him.

"I'm fine." he told easily, and then moved away to meet his bidding. Or is fate... He passed through the Hall of Fire with its resounding silence, and the feast hall where girls were placing flower bouquets and feast ware on the tables, then through the doors into the lush gardens searching for her. His path led him to the far back of the garden where she awaited him, seated on the stone bench next to the lovely fountain and he bowed respectfully.

"You summoned me, your grace?" he presented himself.

"I did." then she looked around, but the garden was largely deserted. Then she stood and approached him to face him evenly.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, and in that instant the frigid guilt enveloped him; cold and unforgiving. She would hate him, and she should. _I had no right..._ But then he sighed, looking down from her.

"I don't know. I didn't know what else to do." he confessed, and then brought his eyes back to hers, at the blue that overwhelmed him. More curious than angry.

"Talking didn't help, and arguing would only have made it worse. I couldn't handle the situation like I would have done with another man, so what was left to me?" he asked, but did not attempt to justify his actions.

"You swore to protect me." she reminded him.

"I did. So tell me, what do you believe?" he asked her, and then she smiled at him.

"You will never hurt me." she said, absolutely immovable in that truth, something as sure as the sun and the moon in the sky, and he breathed out.

"No, I won't. But for just an instant, you doubted me. And it made you react. Thankfully, the way I hoped for." he explained, and she took a step closer to him.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry I made you do that." he stared at her, something between relief and the remains of guilt behind his striking eyes.

"You're not offended?" he asked, and she fought an urge to laugh.

"No. I know you had a good reason." she let it pass. There were always reasons to him, he was notoriously cautious. He always considered every possible outcome to every situation, and if he could he chose the most amicable way... So if the only choice left to him was to kiss her, it meant that there was no alternate for him.

"I'd like to go see the carpenters after the matters are tended to, and then we can go riding. I haven't been outside in days." she suggested, and he nodded with a happy laugh.

"Of course, your grace." and so the day passed, and their members assembled in the feast hall to break their fast, and it did indeed seem like a better day. With the serfs clearing the hall, most returned to their duties and Claira moved through the Hall of Fire with Falgon and Wymon in her company, intent on starting the day's matters when a group rushed in from outside calling to her and she looked up at them. They were villagers from Garde's Post, mostly women. As was their custom, her sentinels moved in front of her to shield her from the oncoming horde, but her hands gently lay on their arms.

"It's al right..." so they moved away. The first to meet her was an elderly full figured woman with greying hair, light blue eyes whom raised her hands.

"M'lady, please. My husband and my son left home, and I fear they'd not return. Please, the tribute..." she started as Claira accepted her pleading hands.

"Yes, of course." then she looked over them.

"I will see the carpenters myself today, the tribute will be served at dusk in two days. I'm sorry you had to wait this long." she apologised, and they breathed out in relief.

"Thank you, m'lady." the woman laughed, grateful that their people will be remembered properly; and then they left.

"We can have the rest allowed in, I'm sure there are quite a few waiting." Claira said looking at Wymon, and he smiled.

"That was the greatest topic brought to your hall, my lady. There shouldn't be a whole lot more." he mentioned. Then she glanced through the doors, at another group approaching with matters for her hearing.

"Very well. So, let us tend to them." she turned and made her way to the seat looming over the Hall of Fire, where her people brought their grievances and requests, which she all heard and settled to the best of her reasoning until noon came. Finally with the last of the callers gone and mitigated, she rose from the throne.

"Is there anyone left?" Claira asked as she scanned the great hall.

"I believe not, my lady." Wymon assured, hearing the lady sigh.

"Good... We should head out. Meet with the carpenters, and perhaps circle the fields." she proposed, and they headed outside to claim their steeds. Moments later they mounted, and departed the burning mountain, taking the little road down to the village where Claira entered the carpenter's guild. A large structure stowed with timber beams and littered with sawdust, the smell of the wood rich in the air. Several men were busy assembling benches and refining table surfaces, another was rolling a wagon wheel to the door.

"G'day, m'lady. What we do ya for?" A sudden foreign voice startled her, and she turned to meet the lean, narrow face of one of the crafters. He was bony, his hair a tangled mess of braids and a haggard beard covering his emaciated cheeks and jaw; his skin was dark as ebony and his eyes were deep black pools staring at her.

"Very big sorry. Me Qudo... new here." he quickly pardoned, noted of the small jerk when she turned.

"I came to see the guild master." Claira said and he smiled, displaying crooked teeth of pearl white.

"He in back. Me get 'im." he offered, and drifted off with a whistle. _I've missed a lot..._

"He's not from here." Claira noted.

"The tongue sounds southern." Falgon indicated and Wymon glanced at him.

"Dorne?" he tried to identify it, but Falgon smiled.

"Farther." he stressed, and Wymon looked back at the space where the stranger vanished.

"The Summer Isles?" he tried again.

"Sothoryos, perhaps." Falgon decided, and then the guild master appeared with the apprentice following.

"Good day, my lady." he greeted her heartily and then looked back at the ebony man behind him.

"My thanks. Now make sure those wagon wheels are ready, the farmer will come for them shortly." he instructed, and the dark man grinned.

"Aye, sa'." he vanished between the beams, like a skinny shadow.

"I see you've met my newest initiate." the master laughed, and Claira shared the humour.

"It seems I have quite a few new members of my village to meet." she blushed. More things had slipped by her conciousness than she'd realised.

"He's a good worker, although a bit slow. He struggles with the common tongue." he told.

"How will we be of service, my lady?" he asked, giving her his full attention.

"I believe you are aware that our people have been awaiting the tribute to our fallen for a while now. I'd like a pyre built in our eastern fields, ready by dusk in two days." she asked, and he nodded in acknowledgement of his request.

"It will be done so, my lady." he assured, after which she thanked him and returned outside, where Berry rushed to meet her.

"My lady! My lady!" he waved his arms frantically, as if trying desperately to ensure she saw him, but she smiled as he approached.

"Berry, how good to see you." she greeted him with a smile, which he eagerly returned.

"My lady, wondrous and frozen." he clasped his hands together.

"Will you grant me my dying wish? One evening. One evening is all I ask." he pleaded, and she could not help but laugh, taken with his eagerness.

"Of course. My people expect a tribute for our fallen, but once that has passed and all are at peace, I will be happy to receive you." she promised, and his eyes lit up like the sunrise.

"Thank you! Thank you, beautiful and enchanting lady." he praised, nearly jumping up and down of happiness; but then suddenly stopped.

"Oh, my apologies. I must be respectful." he realized, and then bowed low.

"I shall await your invitation, lovely lady." he assured, and then headed away again.

"Well then. Shall we proceed?" Claira asked, looking at her sentinels.

"As you will, your grace." Falgon agreed, and they mounted their steeds. But instead of taking the road back to Mount Ardor, they left the village for the quiet of the grasslands where she immersed herself in its freedom. The sounds of the farmers and animals around them, the gentle rushes of the wind, the rustling of the leaves in the trees, the movements of the muscles in each heavy step of the horses... and the wind on her skin when they spurred the horses to a gallop over the open pastures. Each time Wymon proposed to return to the keep, she thought of an excuse just to make this last a little bit longer. But before the sun disappeared over the ridge of the world, they found themselves back in the outer bailey, surrendering their horses to the stable boys for grooming and feeding, from where they spent what remained of the day in the garden where she sat on the bench near the fountain, just listening to the slow trickle of the water spilling over the edges as she recalled the afternoon. The freedom beyond the walls. Falgon stood off to one side watching the sunset while Wymon settled on the stone wall of the basin, inspecting the sharpness of his dagger. Everything was quiet, and she suspected that it would remain so; but couldn't help the burn to her cheeks as she thought of her family...

"Falgon." his attention came to her, and she forced a smile.

"They'll be al right, won't they?" she asked, and he regarded her with a gentle smile.

"Everyone will be just fine, your grace." he assured, and he meant it. Those far away, and those who remained, and she could breathe in relief. Together, they would wait for all of them to come home. Then she looked at Wymon, resting his head in the palm of his left hand, the elbow balanced on his knee while the hand holding the dagger lay over his thigh.

"Wymon, are you al right?" she asked, and he looked up with an uneasy smile.

"I... Yes, my lady. I... I feel a bit cold, that's all..." he told, but his brow was beaded with droplets of sweat, and his cheeks pale. She stood and approached him, laying her hand against his skin as he sat up, feeling the burn to the back of her hand. She gasped, shocked with guilt. That was why he was eager to return to the keep.

"Go see the maester, meet with Jeody for an early supper and go rest. You can rejoin me when you feel better." she instructed, but his light grey eyes stared at her.

"Are... Are you sure, my lady?" he asked, and she lay her hand on his shoulder.

"Yes. Off you go." she urged, and then he rose to his feet, bowing to her formally before leaving the gardens to meet with maester Adlyn. The burn of guilt spread through her, he was far too complaisant to complain, or tell her he was feeling sick.

"I'm so selfish..." she murmured, and then looked at Falgon, for an instant reflecting that apart from her husband, he was the only one of their members that never fell ill.

"I suppose we should head inside as well." she proposed, and they surrendered to the confines of the hold. Two days dragged past, the routines followed mostly like they always were. After meeting with the healer, Wymon was given medicine for fever and told to rest. But to all's relief, the illness vanished quickly and he returned to his lady's side by noon on the day of the tribute. The pyre was built in the eastern fields as asked, more than twice Claira's height. With the sun resting on the edge of the world, the members of Mount Ardor assembled around the pyre where the rest of their people joined them. Young and old, all those whose families followed their lord to war long ago. And she found herself trying to recall the words he had given the faces staring back, years before that when the realm was threatened by yet a different rebellion. Again, Wymon stood at her side with the burning torch in his hand when the sun made way to twilight, and the sky took on its shade of rich rose. She stared at them, at the mothers, sisters, daughters, grandfathers, little boys, lame, sickly all alike. They whom lost lives to the cruelty of men.

"Thank you all, for making this journey. And I apologise that it took this long to finalize the tribute." she said, but really couldn't think of anything as she looked down at her hands. Many did not come home, and they wouldn't. If what Berin had told her was true, every man from the Corridor that remained south of the Neck after what was now called "The Red Wedding" would have been put to death, and there was nothing she could give their families. No consolation which would ease their burdened hearts. She tried to recall that night, many years ago. What did her husband say? _I can't do this..._ she looked up again, at the faces. _I can't do this..._ But then she remembered. _I am wife of the Phoenix!_ And she took a deep breath.

"I see each of your faces, so much like my own. Stricken by grief and loss while our hearts continue to bleed." she started, and thought back to that night. That night when their loved ones became the heroes of their history.

"But my wish for you, for all of us, is to remember them, not in sorrow and desolation. They left our homes in the golden shine of a sunrise to face a threat; they did this to protect us. To keep our lives safe." she said, and then looked up at the stars, starting to appear in the deepening purple sky.

"Each sunrise we see, belongs to them. It is a new sunrise they gave us all. Cherish it, while remembering why they gave this to us." then she looked back at them.

"I will not ask you to cast off your heavy hearts, for time above all heals these wounds. And I hope that you know, I grieve for all of you..." she paused, the spark of a flame in her chest.

"But, I will not grieve with you." some of the stares facing her passed to momentary confusion.

"My husband has not returned to me, it is true. But neither has he been proven dead, despite all the many whispers. And until I have surety either way, I will continue to hold these lands in his name. I will do whatever I can for you, within reason and without prejudice, all I ask in return is one kindness." she told, and then looked at Wymon who waited patiently.

"Remember why they donned their arms and armour. Remember that they loved us. Remember that all they did, was for us. And with that memory, strive for each day to be better than the last. Remember the sunrise they gave us, and in time when the sun sets, we will be with them again." she told, taking the torch from Wymon whom came forward and presented it to her. Then she turned and made her way to the great pyre, that seemed to reach the sky. To touch the many stars now shining down on them. _Can I do this..? Can I be strong for them, as well..?_ Then her eyes met the dark stare watching her, calm and patient. Strong if yet peaceful. _I am wife of the Phoenix..._

"I will remember." she said as she touched the flames to the straw, waiting as the dry wood took light and then shoved the torch into the centre of the structure, watching it flame and burn. Then Wymon joined her, pushing his own staff into the blaze.

"I will remember." he promised, and then Falgon with the same words; and all the others that came to pledge their memory to this night. Claira, her sentinels and a great part of Mount Ardor's household members spent much of the evening in Garde's Post with their people, sharing memories and hopes for their future, to build forth their days on the remembrance of those who gave their lives back. Even Berry and Joldewin added their dreams, intent on staying in the village and become part of these people, to live out whatever they had left in the shadow of the great keep. Many people approached her, thanking her for her words. The night drew out, and started to grow colder when the lady and her house returned to the warmth of the burning mountain after midnight, and Falgon escorted her back to the lord's wing where she lingered in the heat of the great tiled bath before finally surrendering to her bed. Without knowing why she expected anything different, she lay under the sheets adrift in the many visions that altered between thoughts and vague dreams; but no sure sleep. No fulfilling slumber would ever share her bed again, she thought. And then her husband's face was in front of her, the burning eyes watching her as he smiled; but it was hard to stay the tears in spite of the happiness. She so wished she could touch him, just to feel his warmth against her skin and rid her of the chill in her lonely bed. _Hold on to me, my Claira..._ he whispered, and she cried. _I will... However long it takes, I will..._ She promised, and then his hands came to hers, soothing around hers, seeping into the broken skin of her palms as the warmth spread up her arms into her chest and cheeks. _I love you, my Claira..._ he whispered as he stepped closer and his heat enveloped her. _I love you, Raeghun... I love you..._ and then he was gone, vanished in the dead of the dark night, but his warmth remained. _He will return to me. He will... alive or otherwise, he will return to me..._ and she slipped into one more peaceful slumber.

Yet another week slowly slipped by, each sunrise the same as the last; but life continued. The days remained relatively empty, but they saw betterment in small measures. The castle gates were reopened to the world, as the lands started to settle once more. But still they kept the memories, and hoped each day. Even alone, she continued to spend her mornings under the weirwood in prayer for their future, and watching the stars in the night waiting for the next while her regular routine returned to normal, visiting Jeody's kitchen, having the hall prepared for their people, prayer, attending her court, seeing their ill and wounded, inspections of her grounds, bartering with the village and others who came to call, riding, embroidery or crochet, and relaxing in her gardens before supper and finally retreating to the safety of her sanctuary; all with her sentinels in constant attendance. But Derric... Derric healed under maester Adlyn's care while Claira saw him each day. But his strength did not return, and one sunlit autumn morning Wymon and three more guards took him home to Hillfield. Claira watched with Falgon at her side while the cart pulled through the gate with her sentinel leading, and the others positioned around it where Derric was seated on the back with chests and bags holding his personal effects. He'd been with them for almost two decades, and like Hernaut he was severely reluctant to leave, pleading to stay. But to her gentle words, he listened; and he understood. She watched as the small wagon ambled over the stones of the bridge, and the dark haired sentinel smiled at her one last time, raising his hand and waving while the good memories tugged at her heart. Her circle continued to grow smaller, but she was grateful for those who remained. Then she remembered her promise to Berry, and turned to Falgon.

"Perhaps our hall might benefit from some revelry, bereft as it is." she suggested, and he nodded.

"That seems reasonable, your grace." he agreed, and she sighed.

"Would you-" _stop calling me that?_ But, no. He wouldn't, and she knew it by this time.

"Would you care, to share the high table with me, ser?" she asked, bringing his gentle smile.

"The high table is reserved for the nobility of your hold, your grace." he reminded her, and she laughed.

"How many high-born linger within these walls but me, ser?" she gently challenged him, and he glanced up at the great doors. True, the nobility was meagre save for the few sent from the distances as orderlies.

"Not many, I confess." he relented, and noticed her staring at him giving in to the request.

"If that is your wish, your grace." he again agreed, and they returned to the safety of the keep where she asked a passing serf to bring her invitation to the entertainers currently residing at the village inn, should she find herself in Garde's Post this day. The day passed, as she tried to fill her time with something; when after noon the server returned with the reply that the entertainers will meet the pleasure of the lady's hall the following evening. And in time the darkness of twilight settled over their lands when the party of guards returned with the assurance that Derric was safely reunited with his family, and their people gathered for their evening meal, sharing stories and idle conversation. As agreed, Falgon was seated beside his queen but his serving left largely untouched despite the enticing presentation before returning to their chambers. He accompanied her to the door of the lord's wing where he left her in its safety, then made his way back to the guard's hall to his post, thinking over the days. Her garments remained dark of colour, but he was thankful that her temperament seemed to lighten, and she had not overindulged in the rich liquids of the cellars beyond her usual as it was before. She met with her people, those who came to resolve their minds and their hearts. Whatever they faced in the future, he would stand behind her. He would follow, wherever she led their people, he would carry her where she needed his strength, and he would continue to protect her against whichever threat that came to her. Until her family came home to her where they were meant to be, he would shield her and hold her safe however long it took... The night was deep and long, and he found himself wondering if she was sleeping in the calm darkness; but thought it unlikely. The shadows under her striking eyes were far too obvious, as she hadn't slept much since her husband left, and by accounts even less since suffering the harrowing losses; but there was so little he could offer for any amount of relief or comfort... And for some reason, he recalled the girl he once loved. Uncharacteristic as it was, he hadn't entertained these kinds of thoughts in a long time, but confessed that he wished he could recall her better. It was only the eyes now, the bright green of sunlit pastures... She was daring, once. Fierce, and as strong as a woman could be. But she was gone now. And nothing would ever return her, or his family to this world. All he had was this, and it was the last thing he could treasure. Then he let the thoughts go, fading into his past where they belonged, and he did not care to have them again while he rather gave his attention to the pages of an old book waiting on the table. Perhaps too soon, the sky lightened to the approaching dawn and he tended to his own morning routine to bathe and redress before making his way up to the lord's wing where he waited for her. The handmaidens passed him into the wing, only shadows in pale pink wisps, which he hardly noticed; and a short while later Claira departed the vast northern wing to join her people.

"Good morning, your grace." he greeted with a bow when her eyes met his.

"Good morning, ser." she returned, closing the great door behind her.

"I trust you had a peaceful evening." he hoped, watching her fold her hands in front of her, resting on the front of an elegant plum velvet gown with gold embroidering over the neckline and wide sleeves, her hips hugged by a gold and garnet girdle.

"It was as fair as I could have hoped for, yet it seems that a night of decent sleep is a far off memory, now." she breathed, and he felt for her. Among several other tiny items, he still had a small bottle of Nightshade essence, stashed away in the pouch on his belt; one he'd received many years ago from a herbalist in Lys. A medicine he'd never used, and all but forgotten.

"Perhaps some essence of Nightshade, might help to soothe you?" he proposed, and she sighed.

"I've asked our maester, but he won't allow more than two drops each evening. Other than that, I simply try to pass the time." she told, but somehow managed to smile.

"I might get used to it, after a while. For now, I'm just tired; but I'll manage." she said, and he nodded.

"Very well. At your leisure, your grace." he raised his hand, allowing her to pass him and followed her down the incline to the kitchens where she met with their cook, and arranged their morning meal of honeyed oatmeal with goat milk and fresh fruit. He remained in her company for the rest of the day, except for the time she claimed to return to the lord's garden to pray under her fountain after breaking their fast in the southern hall, and the day followed as much of those before, but with granted improvement. Several came to court with requests more than disputes, including the young man who'd asked her permission to enter courtship; which she now finally allowed in light of settling peace. She met with master Austinus on the state of the barracks, its members and their rounds, pleased that several of the young men had formed indisputable bonds with the hounds since altering the patrols to include them; and all seemed well. She visited Philpot as well, enquiring if he needed anything, and then sent a couple of squires to the forge in Garde's Post with his request for coal, steel ingots and some iron billets to continue maintaining the castle armoury. Then she escaped the keep for a little while with her sentinels on a short ride, reaching the border of the woodland before returning to the safety of the burning mountain, and passing what remained of the day in her common room with Falgon's music softly surrounding her and eventually watching the sun disappear into twilight from the sweetness of the garden after approving the evening banquet of stuffed goose with cauliflower, carrots, spinach and cheese; and preserve tartlets. She sat watching the last glow fade away, again longing for her family. This was the seat her son would share with his friend, and now they were both gone... The gardens were quiet, because the children were gone. The halls of Mount Ardor were quiet, because almost every familiar face she'd known in the past was gone. Her chamber was quiet, because her husband was gone. But perhaps the party sent south reached Hightower by now, and she hoped that things fared better there. With the garden torches being lit, she made her way inside to take her seat at the high table, waiting for their evening banquet, once again with her sentinel by her side; and shortly after her guests, Berry and Joldewin made their appearance, dressed in strikingly colourful garments. They made their way to her, bowing low before the dais from where the noble seats watched over their hall.

"Good evening, lovely lady. We serve at your pleasure." Berry presented them with a wide smile, and Claira nodded.

"Thank you for coming. Please settle in, my people will enjoy your talents." she returned, and they looked up; Joldewin's eyes bright and excited.

"We are truly honoured, to share in your hospitality tonight, milady." he said, and they moved away to enjoy some mead while awaiting the members of the hold to assemble before they would start their presentation; and for an instant Claira wondered what ever happened to Vernon. Accomplished as these two former wanderers were, he was truly exceptional. Perhaps he was pulling a bouquet of flowers from a maiden's golden locks, or summoning a white dove from his fingertips; or once again immersing people in one of his wondrous tales somewhere. Then she looked at Falgon at her side, watching the hall and the light reflected in his eyes; for the slightest of an instant seeing her husband's posture in him. Easy, confident... proud.

"Thank you, ser." his eyes came to her, and she smiled.

"For sharing this with me." she added, and he nodded. He would share everything with her until her world returned to her, however long it took. Every burden and every blessing, and she would never be alone. Whether it was days, weeks, months... or years...


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24 – THE RIGHT

Two moons have passed since the tribute to their people, and the days were long and slowly becoming colder. Barely a week past, the Mother graced Avery and Lilly to meet their daughter, a tiny little girl they named Hazel for her thick brown hair, and she added a little light to the halls, along with two other arrivals from her vassal lords to start service to the lady of the hold. Beatrice Seigre, daughter of lord Jethren Seigre of Elden Castle. A shapely maid of thirteen with thick sunset red hair, pale blue eyes and full lips in a heart shaped face. Although courteous, she was anything but timid. With her came Samantha De Veaux, daughter of young lord Esmond De Veaux of Worthwood Hall, another comely maid of about the same age with rich brown locks, clear hazel eyes, a soft face with a sweet smile. Unlike Beatrice, she was reserved but by no means meek. They both became lady Taugere's ladies-in-waiting, regularly in her company when they attended her in dressing, at her table, during court, and other activities. But they were not necessarily her constant companions as were her sentinels, and allowed a fair deal of freedom when they were not needed, as long as they did not leave the castle alone, nor venture beyond the woodlands visible from the castle walls. They were gifted singers both, but Samantha was the favoured dancer while Beatrice was more prone to music and embroidery. Their presence was a confessed comfort, but only just. However, they were both afraid, or at the very least, shy of the greatest sentinel despite being severely smitten with him. On a slow, wet day, Claira lay on the wide divan in front of the hearth of the lord's hall, dressed in a warm gown of azure blue with gold detailing, just allowing herself to drift in the ambience of gentle rain falling outside and the crackling of the fireplace; her hands resting on the soft pillows above her head. The once deep cuts to her palms were now little more than pink lines across the skin. Having given the household the day to themselves, it was a welcome release. Everyone's been busy lately, yet she welcomed the activity to fill her time, but for now she felt calm and peaceful, still waiting for her family to come home and with each sunset she reminded herself that with another day gone, they were that much closer to her once more. The darkness under her eyes had diminished slightly, seeming more natural but to those closest to her still did not hide her ever present sleeplessness. It was hard, to sleep alone. Her eyes opened to the phoenix on the wall, still in flight, still in search of his lord, and Quill waiting patiently underneath on the hearth shelf... It wasn't even long after the tribute when she received the letter from King's Landing, summoning her to court to pledge herself, her people and her lands to he who would now remain king of Westeros. Many advised her against it, while another few encouraged her to meet with the young king, showing that there remained no ill will. Even her Falgon who would remain by her side should she decide to go, advised her to stay. And so she did. With courtesy she replied to the king's summons, that she will not promote hostility between their lands, and will continue to uphold her people and her country granted they did not suffer any further assaults; but in light of the circumstances and her noble obligations without the aid of a court master, would not be permitted to leave her home; and hoped he may accept her pardon. But then she sighed, and supposed not. The young king was not like to accept an answer that was in opposition with his desires... and wondered how long it would be before he would send for her again. Or send someone for her. But then she looked up, just staring at the high cap of her hall... Her sanctuary, where she felt safe and secure, albeit often lonely. Especially now. And then she wondered where her two remaining guardians were, and what they were doing. In all likelihood they were assessing the grounds, or training, or in the village, or sharing stories and gossip from other places, or reading. Yes, one would definitely be reading. Of their order of ten, only two remained. Her Falgon and Wymon were still at her side, while Berin was away with his family. Gavin and Renko had both been sent with her most precious to keep him safe. Like Hernaut before him, Derric was released, and taken home. Edur was dead, buried and honoured with the rest, as was Adelard and Remir long ago. Colbert, Hilfert and Saerus could be dead as well for all she knew. Many died, both that she knew and that she didn't, and she wished she could have done more, for all of them, or even any of them. Falgon might have been right, to add to the order. But she wouldn't know the first thing about who should be allowed to name themselves to the Sentinels, that ancient and sacred order that have stood by the side of the Lords of Flame and their families, and the Ardent Kings long before that. Theirs could have been as old as the Night's Watch itself, if it wasn't older as there was no way to specify when the Order of Sentinels of Flame was founded. Some speculated it happened suddenly, following an assassination on some ancient King or his family, others thought it happened slowly over many, many years. One thing all agreed on, is that it happened and it stayed to this very day. Nothing had ever been this solid, yet only... Even one of their very best could not bring her husband home to her. Her hands pressed over her face, again feeling the tears. When she slept, she dreamed of him. And then she would wake suddenly to an empty bed, only deepening the bitterness that surrounded her and the endless longing. The presence of others made it bearable but nothing would ever fill that emptiness, and still nothing had been heard making her think that someone was not holding him as Berin had believed. Someone may have taken him, but perhaps he managed to escape them. He could be on the road back to her this very instant. There were stories, but no confirmed reports. Peasants who'd said they'd seen someone resembling the lord Taugere in the Stormlands, the Crownlands, the Reach, even the Vale. One even speculated that one such man had asked passage to Braavos, Pentos or Lys. Men with dark hair and scars, but all of these stories were discounted as runaway visions as no one ever mentioned the eyes; which would be the single most obvious way to identify him. No one in the extent of all of the kingdoms had eyes like he did. Her Raeghun would never hide, and he would never flee. This was his home, this was his family, this was his land; but, he could be anywhere still... he could be-

"My lady?" a sudden knock at her door drew her attention back, and she sat up newly taking in the space around her. She may have been sleeping, her sight was dazed and her limbs felt heavy, and she brought her hand up to her face as the knock sounded again.

"Enter..." the great door slowly edged open, and maester Adlyn stepped inside, seeming somewhat tense as he came closer.

"My lady, I do apologise for disturbing you." he pardoned as she looked up, but managed a small smile.

"It's al right, maester. Is something wrong?" she asked, and he glanced down at a parchment in his hand.

"I'm not sure, my lady. I hope not. I'm quite baffled, if I do say so myself." then he looked up at her again, extending his hand.

"This arrived for you earlier, sent with a child. The boy did not say much, I'm afraid." he explained, and she took the paper. It was rolled up tightly, and bound with twine, but dirty and torn in several places; evidence of a long journey and quite possibly transferred between many different hands. Then she stood from the pillows and slipped the binding from the scroll, opened it and stood before the fire of the hearth as she read the words: " _Sadly, no songs have been sung of the Phoenix; and the Peacock will dance for his mate. Beware of the hunger that follows him.._." again and again she read the words, but only one name came to her. _Why would he..?_ Then she dropped the letter into the flames, watching as it burnt and vanished into the heat of the fire.

"My lady?" she turned back to the maester, watching her curiously.

"It was nothing, maester. You may return to your tower." he seemed to ease, but the deep brown eyes remained uneasy.

"Very well, my lady. If you insist." he turned, and made his way back to the door.

"Thank you, maester. Enjoy your day." he turned back as he stepped through the heavy doors, and nodded.

"And you, my lady." then he was gone, and she was left to the silence of the hall again, watching the light in front of her. _I am not without watchers, after all..._ then she glanced at the open doors of the lord's garden, where shadows still lingered between the pouring raindrops. Within two days the rain cleared, and on the third the song of a horn was answered by the toll of their sentry tower bells and the howling and barking of their hounds. A visitor had come; and from her common room with young Beatrice and Samantha following where she was busy working on a new woollen shawl, they made her way down to the Hall of Fire to meet them, but rather than awaiting them outside she took a place above the grand staircase with her sentinels while the girls waited nearby to see the callers, and moments later the guests entered along with their guards, following three of hers. She stared at the newcomers, a young man whom could not be past his twenty years, clothed in rich silks of green, blue, purple and white with light wavy hair of either light brown or dark gold, and a clean square face approached her happily, with a shadow next to him. Darkly clothed, dark of hair and an equally dark air about him, some years his senior and a bland contrast of the youngster. She glanced at Wymon next to her, his left hand resting on the grip of the sword at his hip. He was tense as he watched them glide over the stones of the Hall towards them, but then the small party stopped at the base of the stairs and the young man looked up with an easy smile before bowing low.

"Good day, lady Claira Taugere. I am ser Jeyson Serrett, son of Lord Janos Serrett of Silver Hill." he greeted, and introduced himself graciously. Even his voice was sweet, as a summer song. Then he straightened, again facing her, his light eyes alternating between striking shades of blue and green, then he brought his hand up indicating the man next to him.

"May I also present, my personal attendant; ser Robar Hill." he indicated, and the man simply nodded his head, his piercing hazel eyes staring at her intently from a lean, chiselled face.

"Good day to you, and welcome to Mount Ardor. What may I do for you?" she received them, and he returned his eyes and his smile to her.

"On request of lord Tywin Lannister, named hand of the king to his grace, king Joffrey Baratheon; I come as emissary to share your home, and promote peace among our realms." he explained, and she heard Wymon scoff next to her.

"If you presume to think that your king has any authority here-" he started, but she raised her hand to mildly silence him.

"My dear Wymon, these men are our guests." she calmed him as he looked at her, and then he nodded while her attention returned to the young man.

"Please do forgive the veracity, ser. My sentinels have been severely protective for a while now." she pardoned, but Jeyson remained smiling at her.

"There is nothing to forgive, gentle lady. I would be as well." he reprieved comfortably, and it made her wonder. His companion had not yet breathed a word, and still coldly stared at her. Her hands came together in front of her.

"In agreement with his grace's... request; I grant you guest right for as long as you choose to stay, ser Serrett. You will have every fitting comfort, as befits your position. You will share my tables, and have freedom of my hold and its grounds. Save for my private apartments to the north. Your horses will be cared for by my stable master, and your guards are welcome to find a suitable space in my barracks." she invited, and once more he bowed gracefully.

"Your warm welcome, and gracious hospitality is greatly appreciated, my lady." he thanked, and she turned to a page waiting nearby.

"Kade, would you be so kind as to present ser Serrett and his companion with the Merigold, and Cardinal apartments in our west wing?" she asked, and the boy moved forward with a smile.

"Of course, milady." then his attention went to the visitors.

"If you'd be so kind, milords. Please follow me." he beckoned them, and they started up the stairway.

"My castle hands will deliver your effects to your respective chambers. Please, take the time to settle in. I will meet with you again tonight, when we may feast together to mark the start of a new, and lasting peace between our people." she said, and Jeyson graced her with a soft laugh that she found secretly pleasant. But then he stopped suddenly, the smile fading as he stared at her. No, not at her. At the mass behind her.

"Thank you so much, my lady." he thanked her again, and then lightly moved past her to follow the boy to the west.

"Shall I escort you to your wing, your grace?" Falgon asked softly, and she tuned to him.

"Thank you, ser. I do believe I may take some time to myself, and prepare for this evening." she decided, and he gently bowed his head as she retreated back towards the incline, Wymon and the girls still at her side, they youngsters already in soft discussion on pulling a marvellous dress for their lady from her wardrobe. Then a presence made him look back towards the stairs, where the darker stranger had stopped in front of him, staring at him. Then he grinned, his hazel eyes bright; seeming to have found an interest.

"And you're what? Her paramour?" he suddenly directed, watching him intently. He was shorter, some years younger, maybe around his mid twenties but by no means reserved.

"Her protector. I understand that you could get confused with the terms, but there is a difference. You might want to listen carefully to distinguish the two." Falgon replied, but the grin remained.

"Tender, aren't we?" he continued, stirring a warmth to the tall sentinel's skin.

"Mind your tongue." he reproved, heedful of the irritation flaring over his shoulders, answering the intent to provoke.

"Why? She won't." Robar glanced at the lady; had he an ounce less control over himself he would have sent a fist into the stranger's jaw, and left his body shattered at the base of the steps.

"Ser Falgon?" he heard her voice, calm and soothing behind him, cooling the air in his chest and the fire over his body.

"You're not worth my frustration." he finally decided, and started to turn.

"I'll be worth far more than that, I assure you." Robar replied, taunting the blaze in him that for now, stayed its wrath.

"You might regret that." Falgon smiled back at him, and then left to follow the lady of the hold up into the castle while Robar stared after him, the sensations rushing through him. _This will be very interesting, indeed..._ then he turned and shadowed the others up the western staircase into the wing that faced the sunset of the world, where the youngster opened a great door to the noble guest who stared at the space in utter astonishment.

"The lavender bath chamber is through the farthest door down the passageway of the west wing. You are welcome to it at your leisure, milord." the boy guided, but Jeyson only just heard him as he stared. The chamber was exceedingly spacious and light, with sunlight flooding through three tall sheltered arches behind daffodil yellow drapery that led onto a grand crescent balcony which overlooked a good part of the gardens, and the Sunset Sea far beyond. A wide canopied bed stood waiting on a dais to his right, covered with gold and ivory silks, the curtaining hanging from the canopy a shade of soft honey. Chests and dressers lined the left wall while a small fireplace stood dormant in the wall to his right where a small table holding a basket of wild flowers, and two goblets waited alongside two chairs, on a brightly coloured Myrish carpet. A wardrobe stood against the wall next to the bed, and a clear mirror cast it's reflection on the wall next to the inner arch. Jeyson stepped inside, marvelling at the space. Even his own room in Silver Hill was not this beguiling, and perhaps only half this size with no balcony. He glanced back, nodding and waiting as the page led Robar further down the long passage to the next apartment before heading happily to the balcony where he rested his hands on the balustrade and breathing in the sweet air that rose up from the garden. _If success is mine, I will be the lord of this keep..._ He laughed again, and then returned inside to test the bed; which was solid and comfortable, and as he lay on his back on the silks the thought passed that the mattress was not as soft as his own, but he would be grateful for the relief of not sleeping a hole in it. For a little while, his thoughts wandered towards the weeks past. The journey to Mount Ardor was shy of three weeks, but before that his father was summoned to council in King's Landing on Lord Tywin's orders. With his oldest brother in command of their keep, and himself having been knighted by ser Tygett Lannister barely a year past, he was allowed to accompany his father to the capital, and he was excited for what waited. Entering the royal council chamber, the young king was nothing short of furious at something.

"The bitch refused me!" he'd called out, and then silence fell over them as the Hand of the King looked up to acknowledge them. Two other lords were already seated.

"My deepest apologies, my lord Hand. Your grace." his father begged their pardon, and they were allowed to take their seats while the king continued his rant.

"I want her dead! I want her head on my gate!" he continued his demands, and then for a moment lowered his voice.

"Send ser Gregor to claim the castle, and send me her vile skull!" he ordered, while the aged lord regarded him coldly with gleaming green eyes flecked with gold; and he couldn't help wondering whom it was they were referring to. Suddenly, lord Tyrion spoke up from the other end of the long table.

"The war on the mainland has only just settled. And now you want to send troops, to attack one of the strongest keeps on this continent? To murder the wife of a liege lord of one of the richest lands we have? A woman, protected by some of the finest warriors there are, not to mention beloved by her people? Forgive me, but how do you mean to gain any success out of that?" he asked, staring at king Joffrey for an answer as he glared back.

"She refused me!" he reminded him again, and lord Tywin breathed a heavy sighed.

"I must agree with Tyrion. She has confirmed that she will not encourage hostility, but granted she has no kin to send here as wards, there are better ways of getting what we want. A woman is not a direct threat." he glanced at the other lords around the table. Lord Brax of Hornvale, lord Estren of Wyndhall and lord Kenning of Kayce, all awaiting the subject they were called for.

"One of you, will travel to Mount Ardor and claim the widow Taugere along with their lands; and bring it under sovereign rule." he ordered, but then Varys glanced at him nervously.

"Begging your pardon, my lord Hand. Lord Taugere has been neither decided nor declared dead." he interjected, and the cold emerald stare came to him.

"What does it matter? He's gone, and even your spies cannot locate him, for all your efforts. Why do we even keep you?" lord Tywin suddenly directed at him, the frustration not hidden; and the master of whispers lowered his head accepting the decision. Then he looked over them, silently deliberating his choices of the lords under his command before finally settling on lord Kenning.

"Lord Kenning, you will travel to the burning mountain, claim the lady and claim her lands." he ordered, and the big man with dark hair and steely grey eyes smiled.

"It will be my pleasure, my lord Hand." he immediately agreed, but again Tyrion regarded both lords with apprehension.

"Which part of 'strongest keep', 'finest warriors' and 'beloved by her people' pray, did you miss?" he asked again, as lord Kenning was known for his assertiveness.

"Might I agree, that force might not be the choice approach for this matter, my lord?" Varys complied. There were mumbles, and murmurs from around the table while he wondered on the circumstances. Then his father, lord Serret looked up.

"May I suggest my own son, my lord?" he suddenly put forth, drawing the chamber to a silence as they stared at him.

"This son?" lord Estren indicated him, stifling a laugh and his father's eyes came to him.

"He is young, gallant and charming as a song. If it please you, my lord. I believe Jeyson will suffice for this venture." the large lord with blue eyes, grey hair and a fierce beard approved, followed by a long silence as the lord at the head of the table stared at him, the bright eyes absorbing him completely. He'd always been afraid of the Great Lion of Lannister, and couldn't decide what it was he saw in the indifferent stare. Would he believe him good enough? For a moment he glanced at Tyrion at the other end of the table, whom if anything seemed pleased of the proposal; and then sat back.

"Very well. You leave immediately." he ordered, and Jeyson lowered his head.

"I will do my best to honour you, my lord Hand. Your grace." he promised, not noticing the young king staring at him, clearly displeased of the change. But with little more to discuss, they left the city that day back to Silver Hill, where he would only linger long enough to load what he needed and then head further north to the Corridor. His gut twisted and fluttered for days while his father told him everything he knew, recollections or spoken words, about the place he would visit and whom he would meet, and could not deny that it was frightening. But more than that, it was exciting. He lingered at their hold for no more than two days while his effects were loaded, and he endured the stories. Moments before leaving Silver Hill, his brother approached him with a final advice of his own.

"Beware the Snare of the North Hag, brother. You will do her bidding for hundreds of years while you slowly freeze to death..." he warned before his father shooed him away.

"Have no mind for your brother's stories. You have one task, claim the lady of the hold as your wife. No more, no less. This is an order of your king." he told, and Jeyson nodded in acceptance. Then he was heading for his horse, and his aunt stopped him, presenting a tiny little box to him, and a gentle smile.

"A gift, for your lady." she whispered, and he smiled.

"Thank you, auntie Jeyne." and then he left the Hill behind for the Mountain. Robar wasn't his first choice of a companion, but his father had remained insistent so he endured him. And also, he was family, although he was not fond of confessing so. A bastard son of an uncle, or great uncle, or something in the line of that. This morning, when the grand stronghold came into view on the horizon it was nothing short of breathtaking, and he stared and marvelled at it heedless of Robar's incessant ranting until they rode through the great gate. Then they entered the famous Hall of Fire, drenched in firelight; and he saw her. Tall and small, graceful and beautiful in deep red and gold with luxurious marbled hair framing her face and tumbling down her back from a jewelled pin, standing in front of a great statue depicting The Warrior with his great sword behind his right shoulder. Fierce and powerful as one would expect, but an odd spot to place an idol; yet for ages these people had been known for their bravery and strength, so having this face of the deity in their hall should not be unbelievable. A solitary soldier stood at her side while her frost blue eyes regarded him. _This will be easy. I don't need Robar..._ he thought at first, and then as he approached her, he met the eyes of the statue behind her. Living eyes of dark gold, a touch away from red... then the god moved, and his confidence left him. Scattered like a flock of pigeons before the leap of a fox, and he thanked the Father that he did not run, preserving his poise.He'd never seen a man that big before, save for ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain himself. And it was only a quick glimpse as he once rode past... But there was something different about this man, something that hid the world behind him. He hadn't even noticed the great burning hearth behind him before he moved away. _I'd better be careful of that one..._ he decided. _Beware the Snare of the North Hag, brother..._ came the voice, and his eyes opened to the canopy of the bed. He didn't feel any different, although he did find her clear blue eyes mesmerizing. If she'd cast a spell upon him, he would have thought he might feel it. Something like sand sliding down his shoulders and back, or tiny tentacles moving through his chest. But there was nothing, just her eyes and her kindness that received them. A soft knock on the hardwood of the door, followed by the shuffling of feet made him sit up to look back, and noticed a young girl with red hair and light grey eyes waiting in front of the door. A pretty girl, short but slender. Then he stood and approached, watching several strong men coming inside carrying the bags, crates and chests holding his effects.

"Hello." he greeted the girl, and she blushed.

"Good day, ser. Lady Claira has asked that I enquire, if your chambers are to your liking?" she asked, and he looked about the space.

"It is wonderful. Please do give her my sincerest thanks, I will be most comfortable here." even her gentle freckles disappeared behind the ruby of her soft cheeks.

"I most certainly will, ser." she promised, and brought her eyes up to his again.

"I look forward to this evening." he added, and she laughed.

"I am sure that her ladyship will enjoy your company, ser." she assured him, and then quickly turned on her heel and left down the hall. Having delivered the items, the serfs left and he busied himself with packing away what he had into the wardrobe and dressers before choosing his apparel for this evening. Fine boots, light silk breeches, a pearl white tunic and a quilted doublet of sapphire blue velvet, lined with emerald green satin and studded with amethyst purple chaplet over the padded shoulders; the Serret sigil emblazoned over left breast, and a gilded leather belt to match. This was his very finest doublet, and he hoped it may meet the lady's delight. But he would leave the sword.

"You mean to garb your way into her bed, boy?" a voice drew his attention, and Robar stood in the doorway, studying the garments he had put aside.

"Are you daft? There is no way-" he started, and his companion walked towards him.

"You came here with a task, best you get to it." he urged, and Jeyson turned towards him.

"I have time. You can give me that, at least." he tried, but the eyes stared at him with no emotion.

"Only so much, and the longer you take the harder it will be for you." Robar told him, and he looked away. Impatient was one of the terms often used to describe his... cousin, was it? Distantly, maybe.

"I won't get near her if she doesn't trust me. I need to work on that, first of all. She has said that her sentinels are severely protective of her..." then he looked back, his thoughts clear in his eyes. He would not be able to just work his way around them, especially him...

"Besides..." then the thin lips pulled up in a sly smile.

"You just worry about her. I'll wind those two so tight, they won't be able to turn their heads." he assured, and Jeyson knew what he meant. He would annoy them and pester them and provoke them relentlessly; he'd already started with one.

"So long as you don't cause trouble for me." he said, trying to sound as stern as his father; but Robar remained smiling at him.

"I'll try not to be too... violent." he promised, the young lord's threat meaning as little as he'd knew it would.

"See to it, then." he allowed sullenly before turning away and continuing his activity, listening to the heavy footfalls leaving and disappearing down the hall. Then his attention went to the little box left on the surface of the dresser, and he took it up in his hands to open it. Inside, lay a pair of elegant earrings, clear sapphires set in silver; and he wondered when may be best to present it to her. Then he smiled. _Tonight, at the feast. That should be appropriate..._ Evening came in rich shades of rose and copper over the horizon, and the guests made their way down to the feast hall to join the members of the hold, where the lady and her sentinels were awaiting them, her grey haired soldier to her left and her noble young ladies next to him; and The Warrior on her right side. Her hair was still as it was this afternoon, but she had donned a dress of glistening pearl white with gold hemlines and a pearl pin set on the low neckline, and the young lord complimented her generously. Ser Jeyson and ser Robar were offered lordly seats opposite from them at the high table, and they conversed pleasantly, sharing their knightly tales while the girls gushed and giggled as the evening feast was served, however Robar remained mostly silent. He was garbed much more simply, in a white cotton tunic under a rich red jerkin with no sigil, and a black belt about his waist. Dark brown breeches and good riding boots reaching to his knees. Their supper consisted of delightful warm mutton pies, followed by boar haunch roasted with cherries, nuts and glazed in honey, lard baked potatoes with creamy spinach and sweet carrots, and stewed fruit with warm custard, along with spiced wine.

"This is a magnificent feast, my lady. Your kitchen master is exceedingly talented." Jeyson complimented as he brought a piece of the succulent roast to his mouth, and she nodded.

"Our Jeody is one of the finest cooks in Westeros, many have complimented his hands." she agreed, and noticed the sigil on his breast. A prime peacock prancing on a cream white field, feathers brightly coloured and displayed with pride. _The Peacock will dance for his mate..._ Then her eyes came to his.

"You are a knight, ser Jeyson?" she enquired, and he smiled warmly.

"I am, my lady. Recently anointed, but still proud for the honour." he replied modestly, and glanced at the men at her sides.

"Your sentinels are knights as well, I assume?" he probed gently.

"Not in the same sense as you, but yes. I suppose they are." she agreed, looking at Wymon.

"Our order is as noble and ancient as any, and they uphold their oaths just as fiercely." she continued, watching the youngster help himself to another piece of pie.

"Men of noble birth, and it clearly shows." he continued to praise them, and Wymon laughed softly. "Of nobility I cannot confess much, I'm afraid. The honour we have to serve this great house, came to us from dedication mostly." he told, the wine having softened his senses somewhat.

"I was a mason's son before I came here, wanting to do more with my life than cut stone. And ser Falgon..." he glanced at the giant on the other side of his lady.

"He was a mercenary." he told, and suddenly Robar sniggered.

"Mercenaries are only as good as the gold they get." he said, and the warm eyes settled on him, hard but indifferent.

"That has long passed me. My devotion here is absolute." he told, and the hazel eyes leered back.

"A mercenary with standards. How rare." he continued to tease, unmindful of the irritated glance from the youngster at his side.

"What they did then is of no matter. Their loyalty values much more, and they are my most trusted." Claira finished the engagement, feeling a light heat to her cheeks as the eyes met hers solidly. Not that long ago, his stare might have made her feel defenceless, naked and violated. But the presence of her strongest covered her like a cloak of steel, and after a long moment his eyes lowered as he smiled.

"Of course it is so, my lady. Unquestioning loyalty such as it is, is a singular quality of late." he agreed, and the heat left her.

"You are a knight as well, ser Robar?" she questioned him, bringing a chalice of sweet rose wine to her lips and he leaned slightly forward.

"Yes, my lady. Knighted by lord Lydden for my service to him in the Greyjoy Rebellion." he told, and she wondered for a moment.

"My husband held the shores beneath Seagard during that time." she softly breathed, seeing the hazel eyes light up.

"He did the lords a great service, cutting off the Greyjoy's supplies. Had he not, it might have taken a good deal longer to end the uprising." then he glanced away for a moment.

"I never did have the honour of meeting him, though." he sighed, almost sadly.

"I remember that. I was just a boy, then." Jeyson added with a bright smile.

"' _The Wall of the West Shore_ ', some of the lesser men had named it." he told, and it made her smile. It sounded strong, and solid. Just as her husband was.

"He protected many people, those who stood under him and the strangers he barely knew." she remembered. It was a good memory. They continued their discussions until well into the night, not minding the passing time. They shared stories of their homes and their families. Ser Jeyson Serret was a third son, the youngest of five. His older brothers were named Joseth and Adrion, both wed and became new fathers recently, one of his second child whom was a daughter and the other of his first, also a daughter. Of his sisters, Julianna was recently wed to lord Lydden's son and expecting her first, while Jeyna was intended to marry a lordling of the Reach. His mother passed from this world many years ago when he was still very young, and his father never wed again; and his aunt remained a widow for sixteen years. They found a sort of comfort in each other, and she took to caring for the children while she had none of her own. And his father continued to govern their keep. Robar chose not to share his own fond memories, beyond stating that he did indeed grow up on the grounds of Silver Hill. Wymon allowed them some of his history, while Falgon revealed no more than a handful of intriguing glimpses of the lands he'd served in. It may have been close to midnight when they left a quiet hall, the greatest part of her people having left for their beds including the lady's little companions. A couple of scullions remained to clear the hall, and she glanced at Wymon. It turned out to be a lovely evening, they hadn't had a night like this for a long time, and her poor guardian was more tired than drunk. He'd offered to help master Austinus with their soldiers, and spent a great deal of time in the barracks, allowing the greatest sentinel to tend to the lady of their hold. He still gave orders and advices when it was needed, but that was where he was supposed to be. At her side.

"Go to bed, ser. You are completely worn, of this day." she urged him, and he straightened slightly.

"But, my lady-" he started, and she gently smiled.

"Ser Falgon will see me up. Go on now, you and master Austinus have worked yourselves as half dead as our soldiers, today." she told, wondering why he had chosen to linger with her long after master Austinus had left the hall for his bed. Then he nodded, secretly grateful for her.

"Very well. Good night, my lady. May you sleep well." he greeted.

"And you, ser." she returned, watching him slowly make his way to the arch of the barracks before turning back to Falgon, who stood behind her right shoulder where he always did while he waited for her to finish her conversations.

"Shall we?" he nodded with his gentle smile.

"Of course, your grace." he followed her towards the great staircase where Jeyson approached her a final time before they would head up into the western wing of the castle, and bowed to her formally.

"Thank you very much, my lady. This was a wonderful evening, and I hope we may share more of the same." his smile and tender honesty made her feel happy.

"You are most welcome, ser. And perhaps, my days will not feel so long any more, until my family is returned to me." she hoped as she stared at him. This afternoon, when she first heard the horn over the fields she was reluctant, and only barely hid an annoyance for those who came to call. But to herself could confess, that this was a small relief and a kindness to her halls. And in a way, however allowed, she did enjoy the youth with his flush lure.

"Good night, my lady. Sleep well." his eyes went up to her sentinel behind her. He was still regardful of the great man.

"And you, ser." he greeted politely, and Falgon nodded.

"Good night, ser." Claira replied, and he left them to the stairs where Robar awaited him; once again he was staring at the lady of the hold with bright eyes and a smile that was... strange. Then they left, and Claira returned to her sanctuary freely with her sentinel at her side. He remained quiet, and again his servings were left largely untouched. He might have had a taste of each course, and a glass of wine. It had been so since she could remember, even having a seat at her right on the high table did not change much; and she supposed he simply did not find it appealing to eat in front of others. He had his reasons, and she would not pester him. He would have something if he was hungry, of course. But she sensed an uneasiness in his silence.

"What do you make of our guests, ser?" she asked for his advice, rounding the curve leading to the lord's wing.

"The boy is harmless. But the other one, his companion... Robar. I remain distrustful of him. And I don't like the way he looks at you." he weighed them, and she glanced at him with a small teasing smile.

"Are you jealous, ser?" she asked, and rued it the moment the word escaped her lips. Perhaps she had indulged excessively in the wine as well, gods forbid... She wanted no return to that darkness.

"Jealous?" he stared at her, confused for a moment and then sighed.

"If that is what my protection of you is, then name it so if you wish." she wanted to strike herself. _What's wrong with you? Are you stupid?_

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Whatever he was, it was not that. Whatever his reason was, that was not it. Then she turned to him, reaching the doors and meeting the eyes looking at her. But, to her relief he did not seem to be offended by her choice of words.

"When he looks at you, he does not see someone precious like I do. He sees a challenge, and every thought going through his head is of how to meet, and win that challenge." he explained, and she nodded. The only thoughts that would be in his, would be of how to keep her safe.

"I'll be careful of him, I promise." she said, and then raised her eyes to see his smile.

"I am thankful for that." he seemed slightly less worried, then.

"You realize why they came?" she asked softly, and he nodded.

"As well as you, your grace." he breathed.

"My husband is not dead, Falgon. He is coming home to me." then she looked away, shunning the bitter thought. _The Peacock may dance all he wants..._

"I will never marry again." she swore.

"And they will do well to honour that." he agreed, and she looked up at him. She had strength of her own, and when she needed she would lean on his.

"Good night, my knight." she raised her hand to him.

"Sleep well, your grace." and he raised his, allowing her fingertips to rest on the black steel of the bracer on his wrist as he bowed to her. Cold, hard and strong. Then she turned and entered her wing, closing the door behind her and listening to his footfalls slowly fading down the hallway outside to return to his chair. He hadn't touched her since that night... then she turned and made her way up to her chamber, and found Laurene lighting another candle to replace one that had burnt out.

"You've been here all night?" Claira asked surprised, and the girl looked up.

"Most of the night, milday." she confessed as Claira came forward.

"You could have gone to bed hours ago, you don't have to wait for me. As soon as your chores are done, you may leave." she told, and the girl blushed.

"My pardon, milday." but Claira smiled at her.

"Go, get some rest. It's late." she dismissed her, and she left the wing as Claira took up a light dress of powder blue and relinquished herself to the bath chamber, soaking in the warm water and cleansing herself before drying and redressing, the heat from the water allowing her senses to diminish slightly to a sleepiness she welcomed. Her hair fell loose and natural down her back as she departed the bath chamber, but as she came into the lord's hall she stopped suddenly, taking in a foreign figure standing in front of the hearth, looking up at the phoenix on the wall and an icy hand wound around her chest.

"You're not supposed to be here." she told, and he turned to meet her eyes.

"I do apologise, I didn't mean to intrude... It's just that..." Ser Jeyson Serret started, glancing at the floor and seeming uncertain of what to say. _If I scream, would someone hear me..?_ But she knew it was unlikely. " _The walls here are three times as thick as anywhere else in the castle_..." her father had told her when he welcomed her to their sanctuary. A place where she had felt safe since her first night on these foreign lands... Then he looked up, shyly.

"Your handmaiden... the pretty red haired girl..." he started, and she recalled.

"Laurene." and he smiled.

"Yes, she said I might still find you awake." he told, and then approached her.

"I'm sorry... I feel quite foolish. I enjoyed this night so much, that..." he fumbled in the pocket of his doublet for a moment, and her hand tensed around something on the table behind her. A chalice perhaps. She'd thrown Falgon before, and missed. Then he brought his out, and presented a tiny wooden box to her, and the icy grip released her in a wave of relief.

"I forgot to give you this." he explained, sounding apologetic. She slowly took the box, and opened it to see a pair of beautiful sapphire and silver earrings. _The boy is harmless..._ her sentinel's words came back, and she softened. He was a boy, and no danger to her. And he at least had the courtesy to wait, instead of wandering around in search of her.

"They're lovely, ser. Thank you." The stones were clear, and luminous. It made her think of her husband's eyes.

"It is my great pleasure. I hope you will wear them." he took her hand and brought it closer before pausing, and staring at her palm.

"What happened to your hands?" he asked, and she gently pulled away.

"My... my husband's sword." she breathed, and he looked back at the weapon resting on the hearth shelf.

"This sword?" he asked, and she glanced at it as well. Remembering how the tiny opal eyes seemed to shimmer with tears on that dreadful day.

"Yes. Quill, the Taugere family arm. I... I was holding it, and..." then he looked back, sorrow in his elegant eyes. He needed no explanations from her.

"I'm sorry. How long ago was this?" he asked softly, and she tried to remember.

"Four months, perhaps. I'm not exactly sure." that time was more a dream than a memory. A horrible, sickening dream.

"And it only recently healed." he breathed, and she nodded.

"It's Valyrian steel." she explained, and again he took her hand, gently running his thumbs over the icy skin of her knuckles.

"Oh... I should leave you. Sleep well, my lady." he bowed, placing his lips tenderly to the tips of her fingers before looking up and smiling at her a last time.

"Good night, ser." then he left without another word.

Morning came, and another, and another; and for a while her halls were happier than they'd been before. The young knight was a pleasantness in her home, and indeed charming. Everyone enjoyed him, and delighted in his presence. Often the maidens would blush and giggle for his easy courtesies but the focus of his interest would remain the lady of the hold. They learnt that he was as skilled in lyre and flute as he was in bow, sword and lance, having given his mornings to training with the soldiers, being able to best most of her archers. Except for Marron of the Strings who had eyes and aim as keen as an eagle. And some times when he and his companion were not hawking or hunting with her master and his officers, he would join her in her common room with songs and tales which the girls found most pleasing, those of ser Duncan the Tall being his favourite, and his personal inspiration. The music was drawing, but admittedly not as sweet as her sentinel's lute. He would attend her at court, aid her in inspections of her hold, ride by her side, face her at her table, and even pour her wine for her. Courteous as he was, he always allowed her the first serving of every meal. Not too long ago, he had asked the lady if she would care to walk with him through their beautiful gardens after supper, which she at first seemed slightly hesitant of as it was not her norm, never having done so before. Not because she couldn't or didn't care to, but simply because she hadn't thought of it, and later quite enjoyed. Thrice he shared a view of __Arun've__ _ _mi Lua__ where he stood at her side looking up at a golden crescent moon with the daunting shadow behind them, but he learnt he had little to fear from the Warrior lest he threaten or disrespect his queen. Once or twice he pointed out that Cersei Lannister was the queen regent, to which the tall man simply responded that he served whom he chose to, and fate had decreed that he be hers. And one full moon evening, near the back of the garden Claira couldn't help staring at the edge of the world where the bright sphere hung low. It was glorious. It's light reflected off the smooth surface of the water, seeming to create a pathway in silver far to the horizon, and she could imagine herself walking on the ocean to somewhere far away. With the moons that followed it was a clear thing that the lady had grown rather fond of the youngster, allowing small gestures like taking her hand in his, and brushing a stray strand of marbled hair from her face, but to those who knew, whenever he drew close to her she would turn away from him or even pull back, denying this subtle desire. He even met several of her vassal lords who came to her court on matters of their country, lord Ernaldus Rames, lord Darius Foch, lord Sebaston Haslinger and lord Dainel Reubel, among others whom seemed to accept his presence graciously. His companion however, remained ever brooding and rowdy, especially around her guards. Falgon, for the most part seemed to ignore him when he japed of his great size and bland appearance, which did little to provoke the warrior as he soon learnt. But then his taunts started to sway to his queen, which annoyed him but not as much as to cause vehement outbursts. Yet, Wymon sometimes found himself in the need of removing himself from the man's presence lest the confrontation turned violent, and did what he could to avoid him. One calm and cool afternoon they found themselves in the garden once again, making their way to the seat next to the fountain from where they could watch the glow off the Sunset Sea, the seam of her dark green dress brushing about her ankles as they walked. Jeyson spared a fleeting glance at the sentinel that followed while the other was helping the master with the guards as he'd often done for some time now, and the young ladies with the maester for some studies; not in their immediate presence allowing them some grace, but close enough to act should he need to. And he grinned as he looked back at her.

"Does he need to follow you everywhere?" he asked softly, and she laughed.

"He is my sentinel. It is to be expected." she said simply, and he cast him another small glance.

"I know, but don't you grow annoyed or weary of the constant presence?" he asked, and she sighed as they reached the bench.

"I used to, but after these many years they've become my shadows. Moreover, it was a direct order from my lord husband, many years ago." she explained, and they sat down on the seat, and he took her hands in his.

"Claira, I would never hurt you." he promised sincerely, recently having found the courage to call her by her name, and she smiled back.

"Yes, I know." in the beginning, it was simply doing as he was told. But now... did he fall in love? He wanted to see her happy, he wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted... to see her beautiful eyes each morning, and it was the first thing he thought of when he woke. He noticed her stare on the blue of the world.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked curiously, and she sat back.

"My family." she said softly, and he gently squeezed her fingers.

"They will all be fine, I am sure." he tried to ease her. It was so strange, this care for people he didn't know, and he found himself praying to the Mother at night to return the lady's family to her unharmed. She'd told him about everyone, those whom sacrificed for her, and whom were so far away from her. She told him of her father and brother, who gave themselves to protect her. Her younger brother who would now hold Pale Haven. Of the head of their Order and his wife that was her court maiden, who was away on urgent matters, and how they had become her family. But her son was the deepest heartache, and he'd been sent away for his safety. She had told him, that she'd become barren after his birth, so he and her husband were all she had. All she would ever have. For her son he hoped with her, but for her husband... It had been so long, it was unlikely that there remained any surety; but he would not say as much. Not to her. It was a sad thing that she was barren, she loved children and he could see as much with baby Hazel and the little ones in the village whenever they visited. If the gods determined that he would not have his own, then he would accept it so. He looked down, at the slender pale fingers in his. _Beware the Snare of the North Hag, brother..._ and secretly he scoffed at those words. Now that he thought about it, Adrion was smiling when he said that to him. He wasn't warning him... He was teasing him. _You're such an insolent sot, brother..._ then he looked back at her face, her stare lost in the vastness of the sky above the ocean. _The only thing cold about her,_ _is_ _her hands. Her lovely, scarred hands..._ His hands softly tightened around hers. _Would her lips be cold as well..?_ He leaned forward slowly, thinking of the touch. But then she pulled away from him.

"I am grateful for your company, Jeyson. You have made my days and my heart lighter. Even my nights seem shorter, somehow." she graced him, and he sat back, once more feeling defeated, but he hid it well.

"You are very welcome. I am pleased, that I may help ease any of your burdens." he said, and she smiled.

"Would that my son were here, he would have liked you. You remind me of him, sometimes." she breathed, and he looked down. _Well, that's better than nothing, I suppose..._

"I hope I may meet him, someday." he'd heard a lot about him, often praised for his great strength. All said he was like his father, and it was clear that he was missed dearly by all in the hold, and he wondered what the odds were that the heir may accept him in a different light. Then she stood, slipping her fingers from his.

"Please excuse me, I must meet with cook Jeody on this evening's selection. I shall meet with you again later." she pardoned, and he looked up with a smile.

"Of course, my lady. Until later, then." she walked away from him, and he was left feeling frustrated with himself, and more than a little vanquished. This was the most he had accomplished in all of this time. Then he stood, deciding he might take some time to himself before the banquet. He watched as Falgon stood on the edge of the garden pathway, waiting to follow as she passed him back to the keep. He was smiling as she vanished between the shrubs. He might even have been trying not to laugh, and he felt the frustration turn into a flush of anger as he stalked forward.

"Do you enjoy watching me fail?" he suddenly asked, and the dark eyes met his.

"More than I enjoy watching you try." he replied openly, and Jeyson felt his face flush warm. For all his kindness, the Warrior was brutally honest. Then he saw the tall mass turn towards him, his dark eyes clear.

"Your reasoning was that you came to ensure peace between the realms, which I commend you for. But your intent, however subtle you attempt to make it, is to claim her hand, along with rule of her dominion. You will find yourself sorely disappointed, ser. You will not have her." he told him, and nothing seemed ever more true as he stood there beaten, staring at the ground. But then he looked up again, trying to be stern.

"And neither will you..." he declared, although he wasn't sure why. If she didn't find a lordling appealing, she would never want a former sell sword. But he saw the powerful face smiling at him, confident and unbiased.

"You mistake me. I do not want her. I do not love her. I do not spend my time wondering what it might be like to have her wake up next to me. My bidding is to protect her, and I will continue to do so until all else has faded." he assured, and again nothing was truer. When his eyes settled on her, it did not resemble the gaze of a lover, there was no desire, no yearning. It was a shield, warding off any malignity directed at her... Jeyson glanced away at the lush green of the garden, having to shield himself from the daunting glare.

"I doubt you will have dire need of that from me, ser Falgon. I did not come here bearing any ill intent on anyone." he sighed.

"Oh, have no doubts. Had I perceived you to be a threat, you would not have seen your second day here. But if you attempt to force anything upon her, best you throw yourself from the sun tower. It will be far less hazardous for you." he said lightly, and Jeyson looked back, startled for an instant by his bluntness.

"You may not choose to believe this. But, I truly do care about her." he confessed, but the dark eyes did not seem as threatening as he'd thought they may, and the smile remained.

"And so, you will respect her. Good day to you." he bowed his head to him and then turned and left, following the garden trail back to the kitchens where she discussed the evening meal of mushroom stuffed swan with fresh bread, country greens with cheese, and berry pies with cream, and retook his place at her side. When she was done they headed up into the castle towards her common room, and he examined her.

"You've become quite taken with the boy." he noted and she glanced back with a smile.

"He's a sweet child, Falgon." then she laughed.

"He's trying so hard, gods preserve me. It seems almost cruel." she sighed, but he found a comfort in the way the young knight could ease her. He may have been cruel himself for his words.

"Regardless, I am contented that he may make you smile again." then she paused and turned to face him.

"My Falgon, you once told me you have an exceptional memory. Have you forgotten how many times you have made me smile?" she asked, and he stared back. _No, of course I haven't. Nor the many tears that fell on my shoulders, your grace..._

"What he grants you seems to be different. It is something happy, and light." he measured it, and she glanced away.

"It is different, of course. He is my guest. And you..." she started, searching for a word. But he nodded.

"I am your shield, your grace." he finished for her, and then she looked back. Her eyes were clear as it met his, its depths shrouding the thoughts behind.

"You are." she agreed as she stared at him. But he was more. Much more. He was her truest knight, her stone and strength... He was her dearest friend. Together they took the halls up where she settled on her chair and took up her embroidery, and he took his place against the wall with the lute in his hands, enveloping her in _The Whispers of Elune_ again, and Beatrice and Samantha once again joined her after finishing their learning. Robar returned from visiting the Hawks with two of their guards, and some from the castle when twilight turned the horizon a fiery red, laughing and japing for the activities they busied themselves with, among the many was gambling, gossiping, telling their tall tales, drinking... and some others less mentioned. He passed Wymon as he came into the great hall, and grinned.

"Working hard, moonshine?" he teased, and Wymon stared at him.

"My name is Wymon. And yes, the strongholds's defences must be upheld at all times, the way our liege lords have enforced it for aeons." he said back, watching the leering eyes.

"I don't know why you bother. How much could be learnt from two old men like you?" Robar continued, and the sentinel felt the warmth in his gut.

"I am five and thirty. My hair is grey because of-" he started.

"Because you killed your sister, I know. That must be the reason you ran." he suddenly said, and the heat vanished into a cold and bitter sting in his chest.

"I did not kill her... It was an accident!" every memory came flashing back. He was eight, and she was ten. The heavy wagon racing down the hill towards him, the stone carrier that he'd forgotten to tie down; and he was right in front of it. And his sister came running towards him.

"It was an accident!" blindly he grabbed the tunic of the man in front of him, hauling him closer.

"It was an accident!" his sister was running towards him, and roughly shoved him away a moment before the sickening sound struck him. The heavy blow of the wagon against flesh, and hundreds of breaking bones. There was no way she could have survived... He felt hands, strong hands on his shoulders while lean callused fingers struggled around his wrists against his grip; then they were forced apart and he was surrounded by a score of guards. But the hazel eyes remained leering back, and the dire urge to meet his stare with a fist remained, and he struggled.

"What happened?" a voice filled the hall, sweet as spring flowers but demanding and he looked up to see the lady of the hold approaching with quick steps and obvious concern over her lovely features, her guardian behind her and her companions trailing. _I did not kill her!_ But his mouth felt dry and viscid. No words would come.

"Escort ser Wymon to his chamber." she ordered as she reached them, and he was cordially guided away by their members while she remained; and then looked at Robar who was staring after him.

"I ask again, what happened?" she asked him, and he looked back.

"I cannot say that I know, my lady. I had heard about his sister from some people in the village, and wished to offer him my condolences. I too, have suffered a loss many years ago, so I know what it feels like." he explained, and then his eyes went back to the arch.

"And he went completely mad." he finished. She'd heard of it too, yet never from him. He was loathe to mention her, or what happened to her.

"I see. You may all settle into the southern hall, I will go see him." she decided, and Robar nodded as he headed away and she turned her steps to the arch of the guard's hall where she moved through to the arch leading up into the barracks, down long hallways with doors both open and closed on either side of her and up three flights of steps to the highest level and again down the passage to the fifth room where a candle was burning on a small table, and Wymon sat on the edge of a fur bed with his head resting in his hands. He was shivering. She approached him softly.

"Wymon. Are you al right?" she asked and he sat back, his eyes fixed on the stone of the floor.

"It was my fault... It has always been my fault..." he breathed softly, and then looked up at her, revealing the sheen of tears in his light grey eyes.

"I've never spoken of it. I thought that if I did not, it would not haunt me..." he told before looking down again.

"I've never truly grieved for her, because I told myself that I was not allowed to... That she hated me for what I did..." his hand went to his face, and he struggled against long suppressed tears. She felt for him, her heart breaking with his and she stepped forward wrapping her arms around him, the fingers of her right hand resting on the strands of grey hair and the other gentle on his back; and she felt his hands on her, shuddering on the curve of her hips and the fingers softly straining over the warm green velvet that covered her skin.

"Oh, Aster... It was my fault... Sweet Mother, have mercy on me... It was my fault..." he whimpered softly as she lulled his head against her with gentle soothing sounds. Whether by his hand or not, he caused it. He was the reason that she lost her life... and no man is as accursed by the gods as the kinslayer...

"I was not there, when it happened. I did not know your sister. But, she knew what could happen, and she came to you nonetheless. She protected you, she saved you because she loved you. And she loves you still, I think." she finally said softly, and drawing a breath he looked up at her.

"You truly believe that, my lady?" she was smiling, ever so gently. Her clear frost blue eyes filled with compassion and truth.

"I do." her cool hands came up, the fingers resting on the sides of his neck and her thumbs gentle on the curves of his jaw as she tenderly rested her lips on the top of his head in a comforting kiss, and he breathed out. _Thank you, Aster. For giving me this life. I will honour your memory, by protecting her, I swear..._ then she pulled away from him.

"Take some days, and rest. You are overburdened." she suggested, and he suddenly looked up again, startled of the proposal.

"But, my lady..." he started, meeting the clear eyes that silenced him without words.

"Please. I will have a serving girl bring your supper here, and send for maester Adlyn to bring you something to ease you." she told, and he lowered his head.

"Yes, my lady." he agreed sullenly, and then she left. He glanced at Falgon, whom had been waiting at the door, and as he turned to follow her, he sat back.

"Falgon." the dark eyes came back to his.

"Do not leave her side. Do not leave her alone with them." he said, and the great sentinel nodded.

"I won't." he promised, and then he was gone like a shadow down the hall, tailing her back to the southern hall where Jeyson and Robar awaited them, and the girls nearer the hearth. There might have been an engagement she realized as she examined them, as Jeyson seemed vexed but Robar stood neutral next to him, his arms folded over his chest. The young knight looked up as she entered the hall approaching them, concern visible in his expression.

"How is he?" he asked as he faced her, and she breathed a sigh.

"He'll be fine. He won't be joining us for a few days, though." she informed, and he breathed out seeming relieved.

"Apologies, my lady. I did not realize he'd be as sensitive of the matter." Robar said softly, and she studied him. The words seemed sincere enough, but it did not reflect in the stare that settled on her.

"It has been a tender point for him, for many years. I only hope that he may find the peace, and forgiveness for himself to heal." she said, and then indicated the high table.

"You may be seated, I will join you in a moment." they left for the table, but Jeyson seemed oddly irritated with his companion. Then she summoned a page passing by towards the Hall of Fire, one of maester Adlyn's apprentices.

"Please be so kind as to ask our maester to tend to ser Wymon, perhaps he might benefit from a glass of dreamwine." she asked, and the boy bowed.

"Yes, m'lady." he hurried off, then she asked a serving girl to deliver a portion of the evening meal to her sentinel's room before taking her place at the high table, with Falgon and the youngsters next to her. They nibbled on nuts, pastry straws baked with cheese and tiny flamed pork sausages with mead while they waited, and Robar indulged them with stories from tourneys where he'd competed, and others where he simply observed, the young ladies listening starry eyed and attentive from their seats. Then he looked at Falgon.

"Have you ever been to a tournament, ser Falgon?" he asked, intrigued.

"Quite a few." he said while Robar drank from his goblet.

"Have you ever participated?" he continued.

"Once, or twice." Falgon replied, and Robar grinned.

"When was the last time?" he asked, and Falgon glanced at his queen.

"King Robert's Wanderer's Tourney. Many, many years ago before I found my purpose." he said, and she smiled up at him.

"Who did you face?" Jeyson asked inquisitively.

"Ser Loren Masur the Steel Guilded, ser Hermus Hardyng, ser Argus Florent and ser Gregor Clegane." he named the four men he had bested, bringing four victories to this great house in honour of his liege.

"Such decorated knights against a... Well, that's rather uncommon." Jeyson noted, but stopped himself lest he might offend the former mercenary.

"The leader of The Black Bannermen is very persuasive, and he knew the Master of the Games from previous services to the king." he explained,

"The Black Bannermen?" Jeyson asked. The name sounded oddly familiar.

"The mercenary group I travelled with before coming here. Not as notable as the Brave Companions, the Gallant Men or the Long Lances, but good at what they're set to when well paid." he told, and then Robar's eyes glinted, a sudden memory flashing behind them.

"Oh, yes! I remember now. Ser Loren lost both his hands to you, and you unhorsed ser Gregor in your first tilt. You went at him without a helm, or even proper armour for that matter. It was a great match." he praised.

"You remember that?" Claira asked, compared to everything else, it seemed a vague memory.

"I do. I was still just a squire at the time." he confirmed, and his grin widened somewhat.

"Pity the matches didn't last a bit longer." he breathed, and Falgon sat back.

"I was meant to kill ser Loren, I chose not to. And ser Gregor was a younger man, then." Falgon mentioned as he sat back.

"So it was..." they continued their discussion while the banquet was brought out, but oddly Claira did not feel hungry, and she ate little more than Falgon did. Neither did she share a walk with Jeyson in the gardens after having the hall cleared, and retired straight to her wing while the others headed for their own. Her sentinel stayed at her side to the great door, only returning to the guard's hall to his seat after seeing that she was safely inside and the door shut. She relinquished herself to the bath before taking a book off the shelf and settling on the wide divan in front of the fireplace, a chalice of berry press waiting for her on the table infused with two drops of essence as maester Adlyn had allowed her for a good long while now. Heedless of the argument unfolding in their western quarter where Jeyson faced his companion, a degree more involved than the ones before.

"We've been here for months, and you haven't done shit!" Robar told angrily, but then sighed.

"I've removed one of them, best you get to it." he urged, but Jeyson stared at him with fire over his hands.

"This is not the way I want to do this!" the young knight threw back.

"You're too lenient. You're taking too long. Just fuck the bitch and get it over with." Robar said irritably, but it made the youngster laugh in disgust.

"And she'd just let me? There's no way-" he started, but Robar stared back indifferently with his arms over his chest.

"I could always hold her down for you. And when you're done, I might have myself some." he said without pause, and Jeyson felt his arms burn from the heat in his chest. Or perhaps it was nausea.

"You're despicable." he told, turning away from the hazel eyes.

"You're weak!" Robar degraded him harshly as he stepped forward, the frustration and impatience clearer than it had been before, but Jeyson looked at him again, defiance screaming from his eyes.

"She's a lady! Not one of your tavern sluts!" he yelled at him, but the older knight remained careless of his resistance.

"It doesn't matter if she's a queen, or a whore. She will grow feelings for you once you stick your cock in her. Maybe even a son." he said, and the sear of the warmth flowed into his legs as well, along with a hundred thoughts to smash in the face in front of him.

"Why in the name of all the gods did I even bring you along? Of _everyone_ , why you?" he questioned loudly, so that the gods would hear him; and rough hands suddenly shoved him back.

"Because your father knew I would get you to finish what we came here for!" Robar answered him.

"Not like this! If I win her, it will be because she accepted me. Not because I forced her!" he shouted back after regaining his footing. For his father's sake he endured Robar, but on multiple occasions he'd wished that things could have been different. Then a hard hand crashed down on his chest violently, slamming him against the wall and the air left him in a sudden gust. Dazed he looked up at the eyes glaring at him.

"I've had enough of your incapability. Now, you will do it my way. And you had best do as I tell you, or I'll fucking do it myself!" he said, and his will left him. He would not have a great deal of choice. Robar was older, crueller and a good deal stronger. He would have no choice...

Claira lay on a calm hillside, showered in the light of the sun and the grass soft, and summer green. Raeghun and Berin were speaking softly a few feet away while Milla and Bella wove crowns of flowers somewhere next to her. Rychon and the boys were chasing each other around a wide elm tree while the sentinels watched over them, and Falgon held his vigil over all from above her. Flowers were blossoming in all their rich colours and filling the air with their sweet scents. Her family was with her, and it was a good day. She looked at the clear sky where white clouds drifted past, one was shaped like a sleeping cat. Another like the head of a horse. And another like a grazing sheep while a gentle breeze swept them idly along... A butterfly floated by, bright in blue and black with wings of clear glass, and settled gently on her cheek, its feet tickling the skin and she found the touch pleasant. It was a Dragontail. _I wish I could stay here..._ she thought. _I wish I could stay here..._ the calmness she felt here was so ensnaring, that she hoped time would stop and she could remain here, simply existing in a world where nothing else made any matter. Another butterfly floated down from the sky, settling on her breast, and another down on her stomach. _I've never seen so many Dragontails in one place..._ more and more and more of them came, drifting down from the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but the gentle touches soon became heavy as the little creatures slowly swarmed her, and a fear of suffocating under the weight flooded her. She looked around, everyone still where they were and she tried to call to them. All of them. Her husband and his friend paid her no mind, the sentinels didn't seem to notice her cries. The boys were too far away, her best friend and her daughter ignored her, and the pressure increased. Then she looked at the warrior above her, reaching for him. _Help me, please..._ he was staring at her, cold and stern as stone. _Falgon!_ The fluttering wings covered her eyes, and the field faded away as the tiny feet danced over her lips. She forced her arms up, unnaturally heavy under the weight of the butterflies; and her legs did not seem to respond to her commands. Suddenly her hand pressed against something solid, and the dream was gone. There was a hand to her breast, gentle but foreign and a mouth against hers. Her eyes opened to meet a familiar face, and fright washed her. She forced him away with a sudden push and a terrified gasp, and he lurched away landing on the carpet.

"You're not meant to be here! Get out!" she yelled, but as she stared at him she calmed. The young knight was shivering, and staring at the floor between his legs where he sat. She stood from the divan where she'd fallen asleep, the book discarded on the floor and the goblet lying empty on its side on the tabletop; and then she knelt next to him.

"Jeyson?" her hand rested on his shuddering shoulder.

"I can't do it... I can't..." he whispered, and she felt lost. Then he looked up, his eyes reddened.

"Robar... he told me to come here. He told me that... to..." then he looked down again.

"But I can't..." his hand covered his face.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have come here... I never should have... I never meant to hurt you..." her arms closed around him, and she soothed him.

"It's al right. You didn't hurt me. You just scared me." she calmed.

"I'm so sorry, Claira..." he muttered again, and felt the gentle pressure of her arms as he battled against the sobs, and her soft comfort. He remembered his mother cradling his head like this long ago, when he was afraid or when he'd gotten hurt. It brought him calmness, and gave him strength. Then looked up at her again.

"I can't... but he might. Robar may be an irritation, but he's a dangerous man. Post a guard at your door, or in your hall. Please..." then he stood, gently pulling her to her feet along with him and holding her hands in his.

"I was sent to claim you, but I will not do it like this. I will not deny that I have fallen in love with you, Claira. But... I understand that if I cannot win you honourably, I will never have you. Nor will any other man." then he forced a smile.

"We will return to Silver Hill. If your husband is alive, he is coming home to you and I have no place here." he gently brought her hands up as she stared at him, utterly baffled at his sudden open honesty, and he softly kissed her fingertips.

"Good night, my lady." he whispered, and then swiftly left the hall without another word and made his way back to the Merigold apartment. _How could I ever let you manipulate me like this, you bastard! I am a Serrett! I Have No Rival!_ Their house words gave him heart. He entered the chamber where Robar sat waiting on the chair, playing with a dirk in his hands and his feet lounged on the table. He stood as Jeyson closed the doors behind him.

"And? How was she?" he asked wickedly, and Jason glared at him, feeling the rage in him.

"I won't do it! I won't do it, do you hear! I won't!" he called, and the face in front of him changed as well, equally furious.

"You useless little worm!" he stalked forward malevolently.

"Shut your mouth! We're leaving!" the eyes stared at him, almost as if in shock.

"I order preparations in the morning." Jeyson told.

"You have fallen under the spell of the North Hag, after all." Robar breathed, and the fury flamed.

"Shut up! She's not a witch! No more than you are a god!" all of those were just stories, fables made up by the feeble minded to frighten children. Besides, witches were old and ugly and cruel. And Claira, she was no more than thirty and still beautiful, and nothing but kind. A sudden searing pain filled his left cheek and rushed down his body as the back of a hand collided with him brutally, sending him down.

"You stupid boy!" Robar yelled at Jeyson where he knelt on the floor hurting; then he moved forward shoving his boot into the boy's gut and he tumbled back.

"Were you half a man, you would do whatever it took to secure your place!" he grabbed hold of the green doublet and hauled the youngster up again, seething down at him. But the youth smiled, his mouth red with blood.

"I'd rather be half a good man, than a whole shitty one like you." Jeyson threw back, the clash of their eyes as brazen as any two swords in war. How many times had he wished this man dead? He'd lost count long ago. But for his lord father, they endured each other. If not for him, they would have killed each other a hundred times over. The hands hardened on him, jerking him roughly and aggravating the pain that lingered in his stomach.

"Hold your tongue you little fool, lest I rip it out for you! Were it not for your father, I would have!" he threatened, and then threw the boy down heartlessly before rising and turning away.

"Would that I was born a Serrett, gods curse me! I would have done it myself! Perhaps I ought to!" he continued as Jeyson raised himself, holding his bruised stomach and still feeling the throb. _If you touch her I will kill you! If you go near her, I will break every one of your fingers!_ He wanted to scream at him, but he settled for a better truth now that she knew.

"You won't get near her. You never will." he told him, but the dark knight did not turn to face him.

"No thanks to you, you witless dolt. If ever a man was as thick as a castle wall, I swear you're as thick as _the_ Wall up north!" Robar looked up at something, but the young knight felt confident that he'd thwarted him. He would never touch her.

"Do what you will, I still order preparations in the morning. My party pulls through the gate in two days." Jeyson told again, but then Robar turned to face him with a dark smile.

"And in two days, you will have your bride whether by your means or mine. She'll be begging you to marry her." he assured, and in a rush of daze the evil glint of his eyes drove all confidence from the young knight.

Claira moved through the garden with Beatrice and Samantha in happy conversation on the past few months before their morning serving would be served; with Falgon in her shadow. She hadn't seen either of her guests yet this morning, which was something odd. Customarily, ser Jeyson would await her at the mouth of the incline on the third level of the Hall of Fire, and they would start their days together. Yet today, he was absent. In all honesty she couldn't care much of what the other one did with himself, so long as he did not cause trouble; and his taunts and japes were mild enough not to cause blatant brawls. She wondered briefly if it was related to what happened the previous night, or perhaps it was early this morning, she couldn't quite tell. But it was deep dark. After Jeyson left the wing she hurried up to the lord's chamber and locked herself in, until her companions and handmaidens came knocking with sunrise. She glanced up at Falgon.

"How is Wymon?" she asked.

"He is finally allowing himself the grief so long denied. He should be fine." he reported, noting that the grey haired sentinel was still confined to his chamber. But better, under the circumstances.

"I am relieved to hear that. Grief is a very hard thing to face, but in the end it makes things easier." Claira breathed recalling her own bitter days, and then her eyes settled on the shadows of the garden. She could still hear the children, could still imagine them playing between the shrubs and the trees. Then she heard Falgon shift next to her as Samantha gasped.

"Good... Good morning, my lady." she turned, and stared at the young face startled. A light bruise covered the left side of his face, lined on the defined cheekbone.

"What happened to you?" she asked anxiously, and he looked down seeming abashed as his hand came up and the fingers gently touched the soft blemish.

"Oh this? It's nothing. I... I hit myself on the edge of a table as I bent over to pick up my belt." he tried to explain, not meeting the dark eyes studying him.

"Have you seen my maester?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"There's no need, my lady. It will be gone in a few days." he assured, and then he looked back at her, attempting to straighten his back through the lingering tenderness to his gut.

"I have ordered preparations to start, as promised. But it will take a while." he told her, and she sighed.

"Jeyson..." but he seemed intent.

"I was not drunk, when I came to... to speak with you, last night. Not on wine, in any case. I do believe that it is best." he resolved, and she managed to smile.

"I understand. If you believe that it is best, then of course all is agreed." then the young knight returned her smile.

"I will try to make my last days worthy for you." he joked, and they shared a small laugh.

"Of course you will, ser." she agreed, and then he turned away, indicating the pathway back to the southern hall.

"May I beg the honour, my lady?" he asked lightly as he held his arm for her, and the cold fingers slipped softly around his elbow.

"You may." they headed inside while Falgon followed, his stare still on the youth. He was chivalrous indeed, but he knew how to lie, and he did it well. Yet, it remained a lie; but why he could not tell. He and his companion had more than a few arguments over the time they'd been here, but it has not been physical until now. However, the topic of the arguments had remained unknown to them. They settled at the high table, awaiting the kitchens to serve; but Robar's seat also remained empty.

"Where is your escort?" Claira asked, and Jeyson looked up, not bothering to have a thought for the open space.

"I'm not certain, my lady. He might be out, seeing to some of the preparations." he said softly as he stared at her, hoping she may remember what he had told her the night before, and she nodded. The day passed much as the ones before, with slow alterations. After supper, the youngsters returned to their chambers while Jeyson walked with Claira to the third level where he bid her a fair night, but the pressure to her hands as he took his leave from her suggested the urgency of his request, and she was left thinking of it with every step she took, and reaching the great doors she looked up at her protector.

"Falgon..." how would he react to a request like this?

"Your grace?" he waited patiently, his dark eyes watching her attentively.

"I have been advised, to post a guardsman at my doors. If there is anyone you may assign..." she started, and then he nodded with a gentle smile.

"With your permission, your grace. I may take my vigil in your hall." he suggested, but grateful as she was it made her feel guilty.

"You've been attending me all day, ser. I cannot expect you to spend the entire night here on guard as well." she tried to decline.

"You can. And all I will need for my watch is a book, nothing more." he assured, and she looked down.

"You'll be dead tired by morning..." she reflected, but he laughed.

"There is no reason to concern yourself for me, your grace. I'll be perfectly fine." he said again, and then she sighed.

"Very well." she pushed the door open and stepped inside, then glanced back.

"Come in." he hesitated for a moment, and she wondered. He hadn't set foot inside the lord's wing either, since that night. Did he remember? Did he even think about it? Then he moved forward and entered her sanctuary, and she closed the door behind him.

"You may take any seat, and of course you are welcome to my bookshelf." she suggested, and he bowed his head.

"Thank you, your grace. I will attempt to remain out of sight." he promised, yet it made her laugh. How could someone so great ever conceal himself?

"Al right. I'll just tend to my routine, and head up to bed." she decided, and he nodded silently. After spending a moment in her garden, offering her prayer to the ancient face, she stole away to her chamber to gather up her white gown and blue silk robe before returning to the bath chamber. When she passed through the lord's hall he was standing in front of her bookshelf, studying the many tomes. Then she closed the heavy curtain of the bath chamber before discarding her dress and wading into the warm water to cleanse, relishing the warmth. She soaked for a good long while before departing, then dried and dressed, pulling the robe over her shoulders and tying the silk sash around her waist. But before returning into the hall, she paused. _Will I get by him without being seen?_ She took a deep breath and stepped out, scanning the hall when a sudden chill spread through her. He was gone. _Did he leave?_ She walked forward, searching.

"Falgon?" and for a moment a deep silence surrounded her until his voice sounded from somewhere.

"Your grace?" once more she walked forward, and found him on the floor against the wall in the nook between the shelf and the door to the balcony overlooking the east fields, Summit resting against the stones beside him.

"You may use a chair, or a pillow at least." she told him, her previous thoughts of wanting to pass through unseen all but forgotten. He looked up at her, his eyes clear and his smile easy.

"I am very comfortable, your grace. There is no need." he said, and already she knew that she would not persuade him otherwise.

"Oh, suit yourself." she laughed softly, and then started to turn.

"Good night, ser." she returned to the table next to the divan, and took up the chalice of essence press always left for her, then started towards the stairs.

"Sleep well, your grace." but before taking the steps up, she paused for another moment, and turned back to him.

"Falgon..." he remained as he was, but his eyes met hers.

"My queen?" _Has there every been anyone in the world, quite like you?_ She smiled at him, at ease in his presence and safe in his care.

"Thank you. For everything." he returned her smile, graceful and true.

"It is my greatest pleasure, your grace." then she made for the silence of her bed, while he returned his attention to the book; and elsewhere a girl walked down the passage through the western wing of the castle, returning to her own room in the servant's quarters in the west of the second level of the castle from the lavender bath chamber, after delivering a box of candles. She should have done it earlier, she knew. But the other girls kept her sufficiently busy, insisting that she help them finish their chores first. _They have an early night, at least..._ she thought tiredly as she walked. Down a long hallway the soft sounds of her footsteps rang off the walls, and one of the great doors opened as she passed.

"You, girl." he called to her intentionally and she paused. There was no one else in the passage, he had to be speaking with her. Then he grinned as she stared at him cautiously.

"Yes, you. Come here." he beckoned her, and she slowly approached him.

"What can I do for you, ser Robar?" she asked, watching the intense hazel eyes glinting down at her.

"I find myself in want of company. Come inside. Join me for a while." he told, without a trace of humility. He moved back from the open door; but she remained staring at him nervously.

"Ser, I... I..." she started, unsure of what to say. But he still grinned, confidently.

"Come. I won't bite... hard." he told, making a jest of it. Disregarding the tightness to her stomach she walked forward, gingerly entering the Cardinal apartment of the west wing. A warm red chamber with a wide arch leading onto a humble balcony overlooking the bay; a wide bed under black silks with a long chest at its foot resting on a deer pelt rug, a table with two chairs and a burning hearth in the wall opposite from the bed aside a wardrobe and two dressers. He closed the door behind her, and then made his way to a dresser that held a pitcher and two goblets.

"You have a name, girl?" he asked, and she fumbled her hands together watching him pour deep red wine into both goblets.

"Laurene, ser." she mentioned modestly, and he looked back at her taking the goblets from the surface.

"You've been here long, Laurene?" he asked, coming back to her.

"Five years in the castle, ser. And I was born in Garde's Post, yes." she told, and he presented one of the goblets to her, which she carefully took and stared at the dark red liquid.

"Ser... I..." she started, still uneasy while he took a good mouthful before lowering the chalice again and smiling at her.

"You can have a cup of wine with me." he encouraged, and then turned heading for the table and chairs while he drank again. Once more she stared at the wine, but then brought the rim to her lips and swallowed. The wine was thick, strong and sour. A richer vintage than what she'd had before. But rather than offend him, she tried to stomach the heavy liquid. Besides, he didn't seem the like to take rejection; his desire for company having sounded more like a command than a request. He sat down as she forced another small mouthful of wine down her throat.

"You have family here?" he asked as he looked up at her, his hand resting on the edge of the table with the chalice between his fingers.

"My mother and brother are in the village, ser." he waved her closer, and she obliged as his piercing eyes absorbed her.

"You're pretty, for a peasant girl." he said, and she blinked. She'd heard that knights were chivalrous, but his courtesy was not as refined as ser Jeyson.

"Thank you, ser." she breathed, and his grin widened as he ushered her even closer, and unthinkingly she took another tentative step forward.

"So what does your family do, in the village?" he asked, and she glanced down at the goblet.

"My mother is a purser at the general merchants, and my brother is a logger for the carpenter's guild." she told, and suddenly his hand slipped around her thigh and pulled her closer onto his knees.

"And your father? What happened to him?" he asked, and she brought the wine to her mouth again before lowering it.

"He... He died by our lord's side, during the siege on Pyke." she told as his finger slid up the skin of her arm. It left a queer tingling over her skin, and she shuddered slightly. She'd spoken to some of the guards in the halls, but she'd never been alone with a man before.

"I see." his left hand gently glided over her hip; and without knowing what else to do, she drank again while he smiled at her.

"Now, I want you to tell me everything, starting with the giant. This, Falgon." he urged, and she shrugged.

"There's not much to tell. He is the lady's shadow, her strongest sentinel. Utterly loyal to her, and more protective of her than a dragon over his gold." she told, and his hand ran through her soft red hair.

"I heard he once slew a hundred men, single handedly." he continued, and she lightly smiled starting to feel warm to her cheeks.

"I cannot say that it was that many, but it is true." she confirmed, and he nodded.

"He's that good?" he asked, pleased that she dared another taste of wine.

"I've never seen him fight, not even in a tourney. But all seems to believe so." she told, feeling his right hand lightly move over her side, the tingling merging with the heat in her stomach.

"Could he use more than one weapon?" he asked, and she seemed to think on that for a moment.

"I don't know, ser. He always has his sword with him, haven't ever seen him with another. Unless he was sparring fists with lord Berin." she told while he listened intently.

"Lord Berin?" he wondered, and she blushed.

"Lord Berin Trentin, he is the head of the Sentinel Order." and then he remembered, he'd seen him before.

"Oh, yes. The Crimson Knight." he identified, and she nodded.

"So, if he's the head of the order, where is he?" he asked, glancing at the goblet in her hands.

"Have some more, it won't kill you." he laughed, and once more she brought the chalice to her lips before looking up.

"Lord Berin has been called up north on urgent matters, he and his family left some months ago. But they should return when all has been resolved." she told, and he chuckled as she flinched, feeling his hand move up her leg. But she did not move to stand. His fingers tightened, pleased that the wine had taken effect quickly, and he would have control of her.

Claira stared at the lightening sky, thinking of the night. She slept and woke, and slept and woke, and slept and woke, and slept again until now. But she didn't feel as restless as she did the night before, and the Dragontails kept their distance. She spent time mulling over what she'd wear today, about what she'd ask Jeody to serve this morning, and about the improvements of her soldiers under master Austinus and Wymon's guidance. If there was the time for it, she'd like to go out riding today, and let Brazier run with her over the fields. She'd asked that the stable master have her husband's big black destrier worked as well from time to time, but he was an appropriately named nineteen hand, unruly stallion sired by his predecessor, and very choosy of whom he allowed on his back. The only men ever to have mounted him, was her Raeghun who'd seasoned the colt himself when he was old enough, and later Berin when he brought him home, along with the sword. Perhaps Falgon would dare to mount the fierce steed today instead of his docile Galeo... Rage was starting to get fat, after all. He wouldn't be much of a warhorse if he was slow and sluggish, even if he was only seven years old. She flexed between the sheets, and wiped the sleep from her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before a soft knock sounded at her door, and she gingerly sat up as her ladies-in-waiting entered with a polite greeting.

"Is ser Falgon still in the hall?" Claira asked as Samantha paused to decide what task to take on first.

"He left when we entered, my lady. He should be waiting outside." she informed, and then moved to the wardrobe to be the first to choose the lady's dress for the day. The last to enter was Laurene and the chambermaids, and Claira examined her. Her hair hung loose around her face, and she was dressed warmly in a wide sleeved dress of dark velvet with a high collar, and a mustard yellow scarf wrapped around her neck. The garb was far too long for her, sloshing around her feet clumsily as she walked, and very loose fitting. It must have been something borrowed from one of the older women. She waited as Samantha chose a dress of deep blue and silver satin from the wardrobe for her, and helped the lady dress while the others started on the chores. While Beatrice gathered her slippers and a jewelled pin for her hair, Claira sat on the chair as Laurene brushed out her hair in silence, the strokes long and laboured, increasing her uneasiness. Her movements were odd as well. She walked slowly, stiffly like she'd sprained an ankle. Then she finally secured the marbled strands with the jewelled pin, and Claira slipped her flat grey slippers over her feet; then stood and faced her young handmaiden. Her eyes were distent, and her freckled cheeks pale, then she glanced at the other girls who were regarding her, and the chambermaids busy with the bed.

"Leave." without question, everyone discarded their activity and made for the door. In an instant, Laurene turned to follow, but Claira's cold fingers wrapped gently around her wrist.

"Not you. You stay." she told, and the girl nervously turned back.

"Yes, milady..." she whispered as the lady stared at her.

"Are you al right?" she asked, and the grey eyes went to the floor.

"Yes, milady..." she whispered again as Claira's hand came to her face. But she couldn't determine a fever.

"Are you sick?" Claira tried again, and Laurene slowly shook her head.

"No, milady..." she continued as Claira's fingers slid down to the bright scarf.

"Look at me, child." the lady said, and the eyes came to her again. Eyes drowned in fear. She'd started to shiver suddenly, but the air wasn't severely cold. The lady's frigid eyes searched her features closely, and then noticed a dark stain under the handmaiden's jaw. Claira gently pulled the fabric away, shocked and horrified as the wrapping fell to the floor. Her throat was covered in bruises, and furious red bite marks were strewn over her chest.

"Laurene, who did this?" she looked down, and started to cry as Claira's arms went around her tightly. She would not answer. How could she? This was her own fault. He'd told her as much when she lay broken and bleeding on the black silks.

"Who did this?" Claira asked again frantically as she held her, and could finally make out a name through the distraught whimpers. White flames exploded through her entire body. Thoughtlessly she seized Laurene's hand and pulled the weeping girl along down to the lord's hall where the other women waited, granting them an almost cold glance as she passed through the arch where she finally released the hand she held.

"Take her to the maester, now!" she ordered unintentionally harshly as she strode for the door and passed through before making for their great hall, her sentinel following dutifully without a word. He must have known. She couldn't remember ever feeling this angry. Laurene was a sweet, shy girl. A maid of ten and four, soft and gentle. She didn't deserve this. Jeyson was waiting at the mouth of the incline as he always did.

"Good morning-" his smile disappeared instantly when he saw her, and he faced her fully.

"What is it? What happened?" he asked, taking well heed of the gleaming frigid eyes.

"Where is Robar?" she asked, passing the young knight with little thought.

"Where is he?" she demanded again, scanning the hall.

"Find him and bring him to me!" for half a heartbeat the faces stared at her, but it felt a day.

"Now!" a handful ran off, and a warm sting filled her shoulder at the touch of a hand.

"Claira, what happened?" she turned, meeting the stricken face of the young man next to her.

"Your companion attacked one of my girls! He brutalized her! I will see his face on my wall before this day is done!" he drew slightly back, all the horror and disgust she felt visible in his clear eyes; and again she seethed, turning towards him.

"Did you know about this?" his mouth opened, but what kind of answer would he give her, for trust is easily lost.

"Did you know?" the terror was clear.

"No! No, of course not." he answered quicker now. There was a scuffling through the hall as some of the soldiers rushed back, dragging a man along and finally threw him down at the base of the steps. He looked up sheepishly.

"You summoned me, my lady?" the rage consumed her and she descended the steps, feeling like she was gliding rather than walking.

"You vile fiend! I should give you to her brother so he can hack out your heart! Had I the strength in my hands, I would stab you myself!" never before had she wanted it more, to take a dagger and shove it through his throat. But he displayed nothing, no guilt, no shame, no shock, no grief... just his frustrating, bland stare.

"If you _ever_ touch any of my people again, I will have your head thrown to the sea, do you understand me? You may have shared my halls as a guest, but you are not above my rule and expected to retain your courtesies!" he looked down, away from her.

"Yes, my lady. I apologise." he didn't even deny it. _Is that it? All you expected and all you would offer?_

"Ser Falgon." he looked up again, suddenly. Something else in the hazel glint of his eyes.

"Take his left ring finger, so he may remember my promise." She did not wait to see his reaction before she turned, intent on returning to maester Adlyn's chambers, but she did hear shouting. Loud and resistive. Let the gods determine if he may survive this. Her father would have done the same, although it may have been a different finger. Or even taken the gonads of a raper. Then a hand took hers, desperate and pleading.

"No! Please, please relinquish his punishment to me. He has come under my emblem, and so I am responsible for him." she looked back at Jeyson next to her, his fingers squeezing hers.

"Please..." he tried again, and then glanced back to where Falgon had seized the knight's left hand and he was on his knees protesting. The hand was bent back awkwardly and the ring finger grasped in a large, powerful hand. In a moment she realized that the great sentinel meant to break the finger off, rather than cut it. And he could easily, given his strength. She might even have found it preferable.

"Wait!" she called, and he lowered his hands instantly, giving her his attention. Then she sighed and turned back to Jeyson.

"This judgement I will give you. Any more, and-" she started, and for just an instant he seemed relieved.

"I will see to it, I promise." he turned and headed towards Robar, and mercifully Flagon released him; yelping as the pressure to his extremities vanished. Jeyson hauled him up and shoved him roughly away to the west wing, where he drove him into the Merigold apartment and closed the door.

"How could you do this?" Jeyson asked with a final shove.

"I needed information." Robar defended as he corrected himself, and another surge of rage flared out through the young knight's limbs.

"There was no need to harm her! Are you that idiotic?" Then the hazel eyes came to him, heinously emotionless.

"It was late, the wine was finished, and I was bored." Jeyson stared at him, waves of fire and ice rushing through him, and images of how he'd kill him flashed through his mind. There might have been a handful of figures in their history, crueller than him.

"There are no words for you. I should have left you! I should have let ser Falgon break your hand, I might even have encouraged him! This is the last time, that I will risk my name for your skin!" he told, and then Robar sighed.

"Well you did. So, what punishment are you planning to give me? Aside from your irritable scolding?" he asked as the young knight stared at him.

"I should whip you like the dog you are!" then he smiled.

"Best get to whipping, then. I have matters to attend to." Robar urged, and all sense left the young knight as he grabbed a thick black leather belt hung over a chair, and released all frustrations as he flogged the man in front of him again, and again, and again. It must have been painful, before long he was lying on the floor, howling like a hound with each lash; but by the fourteenth strike the youngster stopped. Something was wrong. He did not resist. This was a trick. Gaining a few breaths he looked up, with a smile.

"Good. But I would have preferred to be bleeding." Robar taunted him, and another blow crashed down on him, right across his face. The edge of the leather belt bit into the flesh of his cheek, and a trickle of blood escaped the skin.

"There's your blood, you fuckshit! If you go near any of her girls again, I will keep lady Taugere's promise myself!" Jeyson threw the belt down, and turned away from the man lying on the floor.

"You are to remain in your chamber until we leave. I'm sick of you as it is." he breathed, and heard Robar laughing.

"You're not as strong as I'd hoped, and your slant leaves much to be desired. But, I suppose this will serve." he sighed, and with a sickening stab to his gut Jeyson realized that he'd been deceived. He turned back to see the knight stumble to his feet, making little effort to wipe the blood from his face... so it will be visible later.

"You evil, deceitful wretch!" Jeyson threw himself at his escort, a fist aimed for a nose that had been broken twice over the past twenty years. But the powerful hands grabbed hold of his shoulders and hurled him away, crashing into the foot of the bed where he fell on the ground. The world was swimming in a dull haze after his head slammed into the stones of the floor, and he lay there wondering for a moment where his right hand was in this universe. Then the shadow stood over him, grinning down menacingly.

"Tend to your things if you must. I should beg the hag's forgiveness personally." he only heard the words, but no voice; and then the shadow was gone. Claira had hurried back up the incline to the maester's tower where he examined the girl. When he was done he came to Claira alone, and the worst was true. But only the future would determine if a horrible memory, would be all that was left of this. And what she needed now was support and understanding, and the time to heal. She'd proposed that the Laurene leave the castle and go home, but she declined. Claira felt cold and drained as she walked back down the incline. Maester Adlyn gave the girl a cup of apple press with essence and she was bid to return to her room and rest, Claira ordered one of the other maidens to stay with her until told otherwise. Suddenly she stopped, and turned back to Falgon.

"You haven't said a word..." she realized, and he smiled softly.

"You needed no help from me, your grace." he told, and she looked away from him. The events were a whirl of cloudy memories.

"What have I done? What am I doing?" she started questioning herself, but a strong hand rested on her shoulder and she looked at him, the stare calm and reassuring.

"You took control. You are making judgements appropriate to your position." then he smiled again.

"You will rule this domain in your husband's name. And do so, splendidly, I think." he added, and she breathed out, feeling slightly more confident.

"Thank you, ser." her judgement had been made out of rage, not merits. But had her husband been here, he might have reacted much differently. Their morning meal followed later than normal, but with the situation and having received no specific request, Jeody took to serving boiled eggs, fresh bread with cheese, charred bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes with tea; for which her guests were strangely absent. But nonetheless, joined by her little companions she continued with her day much as any other, and following the completion of her daily meeting with master Austinus she returned inside while the girls again joined the maester for lessons. But then she wondered as she walked. Her sentinel was quiet, yet he stayed by her side. He didn't seem as tired as she'd expected, despite having taken no sleep for near to two days. But he would not show it, of course. _He must be moving simply on memory..._ she turned to him.

"Ser Falgon, you really should go get some sleep." she told, but he stared at her.

"There's no need, your grace." he declined, and she looked away.

"How ironic, that my strongest will die of exhaustion." she teased him, and he laughed.

"Don't worry about me. There were times that I went weeks with no amount of sleep, and I've adapted quite well. I'll be al right." he assured again, and she sighed. _Stubborn as stone..._

"Well then, we could take some time in the fields, if there is nothing else that requires my immediate attention." she decided, and they proceeded to the Hall of Fire where one of the knights approached her. She stared at him, taking note of the inflamed weal across his cheek.

"My lady." he bowed to her.

"May I beg a private word with you, for just a moment?" he asked, and she looked back at Falgon. He waited for her reaction, and then she looked back with a nod. He would remain close, there was no threat to her.

"Very well." she moved away with him, just out of hearing distance before stopping.

"You may ask my maester for an ointment, for that." she proposed, indicating his broken cheek; but he smiled.

"Oh, no my lady. It's nothing less than what I deserve, of course. I dare say that young lord Jeyson gave me quite the thrashing." he laughed, which she found out of place.

"He has ordered, that I humbly beg your forgiveness for my actions. I confess that I was out of line, but it was never my intention to harm the girl." he said, but she stared at him, shunning his smile. His words changed nothing.

"You should be on your knees to beg hers as well, and I should expect that you will ensure the Laurene is taken care of for the rest of her days." she told, and he nodded.

"I will do what is needed. As will you." his hazel eyes regarded her, and again the heat raced through her.

"I beg your pardon?" he smiled, his entire demeanour was wrong.

"You will approach the boy, and you will tell him that you reconsidered your circumstances. That the rule of a lord over your lands will be preferable to your own." he determined, and she realized the demand he made of her.

"I will not." she refused, but the leering smile remained.

"You will. The girl was not my first choice, but she did prove to be useful in the end. Hightower may have declared themselves neutral in the war, but they still fall under sovereign rule." he hinted, and the fire in her veins froze.

"You wouldn't dare..." he smirked.

"It's your choice, of course. I trust you will make the right decision." then he walked away, leaving her feeling breathless and lost, her chest aching from the unexpected turn.

"Your grace?" she whirled, finding Falgon behind her.

"They know. Falgon, they know about Oldtown." she whimpered as he stared at her.

"I see..." he understood.

"If anything happens to him, how could I live with myself? I... I don't have a choice..." she whispered, but strangely he regarded her with his calmness.

"Everything will be al right, your grace. You'll see." he said, but right now she couldn't believe it. How would it be al right? What could any of them do otherwise? He was still under her care, and there was no telling what they would do to him if they took him. They couldn't protect him. She could not risk it... Not even for him. Then he raised his hand to the great doors.

"May I suggest we go for your ride, your grace? When we return, we will see to the rest." he said, and for a moment she didn't know what to say. _How could you consider riding right now?_ But she yielded to his suggestion, and sent a passing handmaiden to invite Beatrice and Samantha to join her before heading outside while he followed.

"Bring the horses out for us, and have Rage saddled for me." Falgon told the stable boy as they neared, and he nodded before returning inside. Three brown coursers along with two pale palfreys were prepared for the young ladies and additional guards who would attend them, then Claira's magnificent rose-gold stallion was groomed alongside her husband's gallant black warhorse, whom just would not stand still. Eventually brushed and saddled, the soldiers helped the girls onto their horses and mounted while Falgon helped Claira onto Brazier's back, and only then approached the black destrier. He snorted and pawed at the ground restlessly, then threw his head back with a loud neigh displaying his impatience. But then his bright eyes settled on the tall mass moving towards him, and pulled his ears back.

"Look out!" one of the grooms screamed as the mighty horse reared up, throwing the other boy to the ground. Rage lashed out with one hoof, and then slammed down on the ground, cracking the earth beneath his hard feathered hooves. But then the tall stranger raised a hand and gently touched his nose, and he breathed in the scent. The once flat ears moved forward curiously, and he watched the warrior in front of him, listening to the soft words; all while Claira stared at him in awe. _Even the animals find calmness in you..._ then he moved and mounted easily, taking the reins in his hand and gently nudging the steed forward.

"At your leisure, your grace." he waited patiently, a trait that Rage did not seem to share as he stared out the great gate to the fields far beyond, his head held high and the ears facing forward eagerly. She urged Brazier onward, and the group left the grounds at a brisk trot towards the meadows, where they allowed the horses to run freely. It was liberating, the freedom this brought as the horses ran and the wind swept by. With late noon they returned to the keep, and the choice she had to face. But much as she wished, nothing could alter it. Then she glanced at Falgon. _Would he forgive me? Would he stay with me?_ Then she scolded herself. _Why should I care what he thinks? His charge is my protection._ With a heavy sigh, she entered the castle and up to the second level where Jeyson came down the west staircase with maester Adlyn with him from the west wing, and the ice cold hand clasped down on her. Then she looked at the youngsters.

"You may take the rest of the day to yourself, I will see you both tonight at supper." she told, and they nodded.

"Thank you, my lady." Beatrice smiled, and then she passed Robar as well, where he stood at the base of the stairs speaking with some of the guards that initially came with them, and a passing look of triumph passed over his face. The urge to cry stifled her, and her steps felt heavy.

"It should fade soon, ser. You suffered quite a blow." Maester Adlyn said before Claira eventually faced Jeyson, and he looked down at her perplexed.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and she allowed herself a deep breath.

"Jeyson... I... I need to speak with you..." she whispered, and he took her hands, while maester Adlyn regarded her anxiously.

"Of course." but her words stayed, and she hated herself. Why the cruelty of fate continued to pester her was unfair, but it would not allow her any choices. Her mouth opened, but the words were bitter. Then she noticed the presence next to her, and looked up.

"Your grace. If I may have a word." Falgon suddenly interjected, and she glanced at Jeyson, waiting patiently in front of her; but the dark eyes settled on him as well.

"Before you speak with lord Serret." he added, and after a moment she nodded before he led her away along with the maester. Jeyson watched them curiously, the tall sentinel spoke softly as she stared up at him, her eyes clear and frightened. There seemed to be a brief exchange with the maester as well, but he wouldn't necessarily call it an argument amidst the three. Then descended the steps to Robar, taking hold of his shoulder.

"What did you tell her?" he demanded, and Robar shrugged.

"Just enough to persuade her." he breathed, and then Jeyson looked up again. The great sentinel started to move away from her, and she grabbed his arm. He looked back, and with a final word he slipped away from her as she remained staring at him, her hands clasped in front of her chest while the maester's hands rested on her shoulders. Falgon took a place in the centre atop the grand staircase, and removed Summit from his back, he brought the steel down hard on the stones above the grand staircase; the kiss of the blade on the sunstone created a spark bright as the sun as it rang through the Hall like a bell, and everyone present looked at him. He never looked more The Warrior than he did in that instant.

"I claim the Right of Preservation! Should any wish to challenge this, let them do so with their steel!" he declared loudly. There were mumbles and murmurs throughout the hall, soft sneers and private debates among the whispers, and for half a heartbeat Jeyson felt hopeful. But to his dismay, Robar stepped forward.

"I will challenge your claim." he announced, to another flurry of gasps, grumbles and outright disputes from around them. Falgon watched him, his dark eyes clear and sharp. He said nothing, but nodded in acceptance. Master Austinus glanced between them.

"The claim will be decided in the inner bailey, if it please you. Whenever you're ready." he proposed, and Robar turned to face him.

"The sooner this is done with, old man. The better." he decided, and moved away to prepare himself, and Claira's hand rested on Falgon's arm.

"Falgon..." she felt so guilty, to have him do this along with everything else he'd sacrificed for her. But then he looked down at her.

"I will stand for you. I will fight for you. I will slaughter every house south of the Neck if I have to, and if there is any mercy left in the whims of fate, I will die for you. But I will not watch you subject yourself to anyone lesser than your husband, for any reason. He is of Kings Blood, and no less will ever be worthy of you." he told her, and she felt her heart breaking as he moved away. _Robar may be an irritation, but he's a dangerous man..._ Falgon walked towards the guard's hall to await his challenger in the bailey, and suddenly felt a gentle pull at his cloak, and looked back to see the young knight standing behind him.

"Ser Falgon..." he started, but seemed hesitant. Then he turned back, and the light eyes came up to meet his.

"Be careful." he warned softly, and with another nod Falgon moved away to the bailey where he waited, his hands resting on the pommel of Summit while the tip rested on the hard ground. Others came and slowly massed in a circle, even Wymon came down from his chambers having heard of the challenge. The men were speaking softly among each other, wagering on who would emerge victorious in this. Every member of the burning mountain had absolute confidence in their tallest sentinel, while the meagre few that came from the hill assured that ser Robar was a fine fighter, not to be underestimated. Claira stood with them, every emotion a whirl of autumn leaves in her stomach while Beatrice and Samantha stood at her sides offering their comfort. Moments later ser Robar emerged, completely armoured in shining plate, a wide oak shield on his left arm and a heavy steel flail held in his right. He took a position opposite from Falgon, and grinned while the tall sentinel regarded the weapon. He hated flails, not an easy weapon to defend against.

"I told you, that I will be worth more. Soon, this keep and all of its dominion will be ours, along with your hag." he said, and the dark eyes hardened.

"She is wife of the phoenix. This will not change. I will not allow it." Falgon said back at the grin.

"And you think-" he started, disregarding the darkness falling over the world as the sun disappeared.

"I will not allow it!" the sentinel declared again, and then brought the sword up in front of him.

"Bring your steel if you wish to break my words." he urged, and Robar brought the handle of the flail up.

"As you wish." methodically he started to swing the weapon, and the heavy ball and chain began to whirl above him.

"He's so brave..." Samantha breathed with such admiration she was like to swoon.

"It's just like the old stories, where the knights duelled for a lady's affection." Beatrice agreed softly, but Claira felt dissolved. This might have been heroic, but it was certainly not flattering. This wasn't for her affection. This was for her home, for her family, for whom she was. Someone would die here today, and she'd sooner the girls not see that.

"Perhaps you should head inside..." she urged, but they took hold of her hands.

"We're not leaving you, lady Claira." Beatrice insisted, watching the men ready themselves for a battle, but still Claira felt burdened.

"Maester Adlyn..." Claira breathed, and then looked at him.

"It is a valid claim, my lady. Although, outdated. It has not been used in hundreds of years." he said before returning his deep brown eyes to the men in front of them.

"It falls within the same order as every other Trial by Combat, and the rules are largely identical. However, customarily this right was claimed by close family members to protect maiden daughters. A father, or a brother. On the odd occasion, an uncle. Even a grandfather, if he was still fit to stand in a duel. This came about when the Andals invaded Westeros, and would seek brides from the lines of the First Men." he explained as they stared, and she prayed while her strongest watched his challenger. It was quiet, he could hear the people but it was fading, and for a moment it was as if he could hear Robar's heartbeat from feet away before he was left in silence. The flail whirled through the air, singing its horrible song in the wind as Robar stared at his opponent; and then he struck forward. The spiked ball rang off the steel of Summit, but the sphere continued to fly. The sound of the ball ringing off the steel, left a sting to his ears. Twice more the flail came down, ringing against the sword's edge, and suddenly Falgon moved forward, bringing the sword down and striking upward, cutting through the shield and shoving Robar back, and he tumbled down. _I w_ _ill_ _not fail!_ _I_ _will kill this beast today, even if he struck_ _me down_ _now it won't happen a second time..._ Robar grimaced as he watched Falgon step forward once more, rising the blade; and with a grunt Robar discarded the shattered shield. Moments before the sharp edge cut into the ground he rolled away, and jumped up, throwing a fist for the tall sentinel's face; but suddenly uncurled his fingers, and a cloud of dust exploded into his eyes. Claira called for him, but strong hands held her in place. _I'm_ _so warm_ _, my throat is drying... and I want to scream and beg him to stop... what will I do if I lose him? He is my protector... the one I need... I can not lose him now... not like this... not by the hand of a monster!_ Falgon's free arm came up in defence as he grunted for the sting in his eyes, and the flail sang again. Robar threw it forward and grinned as the chain coiled around the face of the blade, _I will kill him today! He will not let me lose! I am the one who will show everyone what I, Robar am capable of!_ and he jerked it away suddenly, ripping the sword from Falgon's grasp and it fell in the dust feet away. With an evil grin the knight continued his assault, and Falgon was forced to defend, bringing his arms in front of him; and the heavy ball rang against the black steel of the bracers on his wrists. Claira stared in horror, again held back by strong hands on her shoulders. For the first time, he disregarded the rules of his own training, and gave ground. She wanted to scream, to run and place herself between them; but Wymon held her as another blow sounded through the bailey, and Falgon was down on one knee, still defending. The ball sang through the air. _I don't feel anything... But... I can hear everyone screaming... I can hear my name... I can hear my queen screaming... That dying scream... She is the only one! I hear my queen... I can see her eyes staring at me..._

"Bid your bitch good bye, I'll be sure to grace her as I did that peasant girl." Robar whispered, and the bailey blackened. The words cut through him like arrows, leaving a sting to his heart. Darkness enveloped him, and the world dissolved into dust as he forgot everything, and everyone. _This is the only time I will kneel in front of_ _anyone, but her_ _!_ Robar smiled, drunk on his early victory. _He must really love the white northern whore..._ The flail whirled towards him, in an instant Falgon raised his left arm forward and the chain coiled around his wrist over the armour.

"Allow me to grace you." he smiled as he looked up, and then shot forward back to his feet with Summit in his right hand. The last remaining thoughts came and went through Robar's head like the flash of a falling star, and everything went black as sound drowned out, and two arms flew through the air with his agonizing screams. Robar stared at his open elbows, blood gushing out and soaking the earth, then he turned with eyes wide with terror. Falgon looked back at him, and swung a last time, opening the knight's soft throat precisely just above the gorget with the tip of his blade and the body fell, jerking a final few times before ceasing entirely. A deep silence held the bailey, and then it erupted with hundreds of voices, cheers and scorns. But the right had been defended, all agreed. Falgon replaced his weapon in its place, and returned to his queen whom stared at him with bright eyes. She felt numb watching him, too shocked to manage her thoughts beyond that she just witnessed a death, but in him she saw a light that breathed sentience to her again. A true fighter. He is her sentinel. Above all, the one who will die for her and protect her before all seven hells rose up out of the ground. And even then, he will remain standing. As he came closer, she glanced at the face of the sword, and it was as if the blade was smiling in victory. Just a light flush of green behind the leering red, glowing with pride. And then he was in front of her; he smiled and bowed his head to her. She looked down, at his wrists. There were light scratches on the surface of the black steel, but nothing else, not even a dent. Then she looked at Jeyson at her side, staring at the lifeless man lying on the red ground.

"Jeyson..." then he looked at her, and breathed out heavily.

"I... We..." his words had escaped him as he looked back where their soldiers gathered around him. But then he smiled.

"I've wanted him dead for a long time. And I should feel pity, but I don't." he finally managed before turning back to her.

"However, he remains what he was. I should take him home, and have him buried beside his father. Would your maester be so kind, as to help with the preparations?" he asked, and she nodded. The night was empty and quiet, and the comings and goings of the keep passed with little attention. The body of the knight was delivered to the maester's chamber for treatment, those who chose to gathered in the southern hall for supper; but her little companions accompanied maester Adlyn to his tower before retiring to their chambers. These things were not like the stories, they were real, and it was terrifying. She hoped the shock would fade in time. Being robbed of her own hunger as well, Claira returned to the lord's wing instead with Falgon at her side, and she called him inside once more. As he stood on the carpet waiting for her instructions she closed the door and approached him.

"My knight..." he turned to her.

"My queen?" she stared at him.

"What you did for me..." she started, and he smiled.

"Is nothing less than what I was meant to." he insisted, and she thought, bringing back each terrible moment.

"He could have killed you. I've never seen you driven back like that, before." she whispered, but he gave her an odd look. Something mixed between amusement and curiosity.

"You doubted me?" he asked, and for an instant she didn't know what to say.

"You... you gave ground. You moved back, that is something against your own training." she reminded, and suddenly he laughed.

"I needed my sword, your grace. Strong as I am, it's difficult to punch through steel plate." he said, and breathless she glared at him for a time before laughing.

"You fool! Here you had me thinking..." she stared at him a moment longer, and then dissolved as her arms went around him.

"How can I ever thank you enough?" his arms circled her, and he held her for a while. She would never be safer, than under him. She would never be stronger, than with him. She could never be braver, without him...

"You are very welcome, your grace." he whispered, feeling the warmth to his skin. Then he drew back gently.

"Perhaps you may try getting some rest. We've had a long day." he said softly, and she nodded.

"Will you stay?" she asked, and he glanced away.

"If you wish it so." he sighed, and she smiled.

"Only for tonight. Our guests leave tomorrow." she teased, and he laughed.

"Very well." he agreed, and she left to see to her routine. Her prayer to the fountain, and a warm bath left her feeling light and at ease, then she returned to him where he'd retaken the space between the bookshelf and the open door with the book in his hands.

"Good night, ser Falgon." he looked up at her, his stark features gentle in the candlelight.

"Sleep well, your grace." half a heartbeat later she leaned down, placing her hands gently to his cheeks and laying her mouth to his brow in a soft kiss before rising away, and making her way up the stairs to her chamber, but all he could do was stare at the empty space. He smiled, savouring the warm touch. It made him think of a mother. She'd been mothering everyone more and more for near to a year now, since her children were taken from her. But he had found himself thinking of that night, time and time again, even though he knew he shouldn't. Her lips soft and warm against his... _You insufferable fool!_ He should not think of it again, and would not. And so, he instead gave his attention to the book in his hands.

Before noon the day following, Claira and her companions stood with Jeyson at the base of the steps leading into the castle, his party assembled and prepared to leave. The body of ser Robar had been balmed and wrapped, then loaded onto the back of a waiting cart along with their effects. Then he took her hands in his, bringing the cool fingers to his mouth.

"Farewell, Claira. And, thank you again, for everything." he said, and she smiled.

"Fair winds, and warm days to you, Jeyson." then she glanced at the waiting group.

"What will you tell your father?" she asked, aware that he would have to tell them that he failed in his task.

"The truth, I suppose." then he glanced at Falgon.

"Besides. A right was claimed, challenged and defended. They will have to understand that." he breathed, and then laughed.

"After all, I don't believe that the king would appreciate it if I married before he did. I might just make it back in time for that." he japed, having heard that the young king's marriage to lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden was predicted to be one of the grandest events of their age for the time it took to arrange.

"Well, enjoy that as much as you can, ser." she shared a laugh with him.

"Oh, I will. It's the closest I'll get to a wedding right now." he breathed in,

"I wish you every happiness, lady Taugere. I will do whatever I can to help keep assaults from your borders, but with my position I might not have a great deal of success. And if I am able to, I will send something for Laurene." then he glanced at Falgon a last time.

"You will remain safe for all of your days, as long as The Warrior protects you." he said, and she couldn't help but blush softly. Then his attention went to the great sentinel, ever present by her side.

"Take care of her, ser." Falgon nodded.

"I will." he promised again, and then the knight left after another gentle kiss to her cold fingers. He mounted his grey courser, and led his people through the gates back home; and with peace Claira returned back into her own house with her people and maester Adlyn accompanying them.

"Ser Falgon?" he started, and the sentinel looked at him.

"Do you wish for the Right to be made known?" he asked, and Falgon spared a moment's thought for it before smiling.

"No, it's not needed. Those who must know will, and if the need arises I will invoke the claim again. The Grand Maester is as old as the Right himself, he can explain it to them." he decided when Claira suddenly turned back.

"But, if they send demands to Mae-" she started and maester Adlyn smiled.

"Do not worry, lady Claira. As it happens, the Right extends to all children who fall under your care as well. No child of your house may be claimed as a pawn against you, blood or otherwise." he explained, and she felt relief wash over her, and she wondered why this right was forgotten. But if it was forgotten... she looked at Falgon.

"How did you know?" he shrugged lightly.

"My people often used it. Suffice it to say that our invaders saw little success." he told, and she stared at him before sighing.

"Well then, I have no doubt that my invaders will have as much success as they did." she teased him, and he smiled back.

"Oh, less your grace." he joked back, and despite the light air around them, the words were as solid as he was. Then she glanced at the doorway leading to their servants quarters. _I should go see Laurene..._ then she looked back.

"Off with the maester both of two, you still have lessons to attend to." she issued the girls, and they moved obediently off with the healer while her attention went to her sentinel.

"Please excuse me for a while, Falgon. You may come find me later." she pardoned, and then headed up the stairs and into the extensive blocks that housed their castle servants, making her way down the many steps and passages to a room far to the north west of the hold where she found her young handmaiden sitting on the edge of the bed, the other sitting on the tiny chair in the corner busy with mending shoes. Claira passed a glance between the girls and then stepped inside.

"Go get something to eat, I'll sit with her for a little while." she told the girl, and laying the shoes aside she stood and issued a small formal curtsy before leaving for the kitchen. Then Claira sighed and stepped forward, taking a seat next to the girl on the bed where she'd been mostly sleeping since early the day before. They talked for a little while, just about small things before Claira's attention went to the girl's condition.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, and Laurene wiped at her face.

"I'll be al right. Maester Adlyn has given me a lot of medicines, so I don't hurt as much now." she breathed, and felt cold fingers around hers.

"I'm so sorry. Nothing will ever set right the wrong that's been done to you, and it happened in my home." Claira said, but the wilful redhead looked up at her.

"It wasn't your fault, milady. And Robar's dead, now." she managed to smile.

"It will take time, but I won't let this rule me. I... I will take back my life." she whispered, and Claira admired her.

"You're so strong, Laurene. I'm proud of you." then she took hold of the small hand in hers.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home? Maybe some time with your family will do you good." she suggested again, and Laurene took a deep breath.

"I'll go visit. But, I'm not leaving. This is my home." she insisted, and Claira nodded accepting her choice.

"Very well. We'll do everything we can to help you." she offered, and Laurene returned the gentle pressure to her hands.

"Thank you, milady." then Claira stood.

"If you need anything, all you need is to come to me." the light grey eyes regarded her, they were still red and swollen from crying; but despite all of that there was hope. Hope for a new day, better than this one.

"I will." then Claira released her hands.

"Get plenty of rest. And see maester Adlyn whenever you need to." she gave her final advice, and then returned back the way she came, passing the girl she'd sent away a while ago, on her way back to her assignment. She was trying, but gods only knew she would have to try harder for her people. She found her sentinel waiting for her, in front of the great hearth where he bowed to her formally. Wymon was with him, and he mimicked the gesture kindly. There were others as well, who looked to her, and bowed their heads as she looked over all of them until her gaze was lost on the world outside. Her home. Her house. Her country. Her people. Her family. Her pride. Her fire. Her responsibility. And she will hold it. __From the Ashes we Rise. Stronger we Rise!__


	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25 - THE ARDENT QUEEN

Milla stood in their chamber, packing away clean clothing into the dressers while a single chambermaid cleaned the room and her mind wandered over the past. They'd been back at Citrine Arch for near to two years. When they arrived, Carissa received them gratefully, explaining that the unexpected loss of lord Scharer left both her husband and lady Bea in a state of sorrow so overbearing that they could barely manage. For a time, the lady had locked herself away while Rod tried to maintain everything, but found himself overwhelmed and her father's body remained on the vigil bier, surrounded by the bright flowers that gave her childhood home its status. But with their aid, two days later he was released to the shimmering river like his father before him, and his long before. Berin was made Surrogate Castellan while Rod regained his footing and his senses, and Milla took the hold's responsibilities along with Carissa, leaving her mother to grieve and heal. With the Silent Sister and Berterin, Berin who had been to the stronghold twice - the second time in the company of the Tormonts themselves, returned the caskets and the sword Talon to Pale Haven personally, and returned within three days. Barely a fortnight after that lord Roose Bolton arrived at Citrine Arch, ordering their fealty to him as the new Warden of the North. As lord of their holdfast, Rod had little choice but to concede, and swore loyalty to the Boltons of the Dreadfort. The White Hold fell silent after that, and on multiple occasions the warden's soldiers came coercing to reveal it's location, with little luck. There was just nothing. Like the entire castle and its grounds and all who dwelt on it disappeared into the mist, but she did not fear for them. Berterin had made a new friend, though. Ormont of Highpoint, and they spent most of their days together. He was a tall boy of ten and five, thin as a reed and straight as a dirk, with sand brown hair and clear brown eyes. A hard, scarred face but gentle manners. It was said that the boy possessed the gift of "greensight", and although the two boys had similar talents, what Berterin saw was quite different. His visions did not come from dreams, it was a living energy made known to his eyes, and visible in all that he saw. Only, some more prominent than others. But, with Ormont's help he seemed to improve, and even started using this form of 'sight' to predict an opponent's movements in sparring. In time, it became easy to notice when Ormont saw something, as his gaze would dwell to the sky above him like some magical creature flew overhead; he shared many of them but these aspects rarely made any sense. Simple flashes that lasted but a moment, among them a great fire swallowed by a shadow, two cats swimming upstream in a storm, a blue bird flying over The Wall, and as recently as a fortnight ago, a blooming sunflower drenched in warm blood... Vaellion made new friends as well, but where his brother preferred the weight of a sword or mace in his hand, he favoured the longbow and a quiver of arrows. Bella spent her time with family, and loved taking her little cousins to the garden. Leufroy was six, Reyne was almost five and Basilius was just past three, and he enjoyed wandering around... and there would be a fourth before too long. Carissa was already showing.

"Milla!" she looked up from the drawers, answering her husband's voice. A moment later he entered their chamber, with a queer smile.

"Your mother is asking for you. She wants to know if the tea was delivered to your father." he laughed softly, and Milla sighed.

"Al right, I'll be down in a moment." after a long absence, lady Bea rejoined them seeming no more distraught than years ago. Somehow, she had the firm belief that her husband was still there. But they left her be. If it was something that comforted her, they left it so. Then she smiled.

"And you?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I need to speak with Rod. I want the soldiers running the grounds before they take up their weapons, today." he decided. They'd had their frustrations, with such differences. Rod was a good man, and admired by all. But he was much too lenient as far as discipline of the soldiers went, and had received a good deal of complaints from some of the men since Berin took management of the castle's defences. He'd asked that the training be lessened with at least an hour, of which none would be had. And so, the differences remained. But despite the arguments, they saw betterment nonetheless. They left the chamber together, heading down to join their family. They parted ways again in the main hall where Berin made for the lord's audience chamber to meet with Rod, and Milla spared an admiring glance for the unique artefact mounted on the wall above the hearth. Strong mahogany wood carved into woven sunflowers, the petals laid with gold leaf and the cores set with black gems; and a long curved blade of green gilded steel. The Scharer family arm, unlike other houses, was not a weapon. It was a tool. A magnificent scythe named "Harvest Bringer". The legend told that as long as this blade remained in their home, their harvests would be bountiful; and true they had seen plentiful years that seemed to disregard any form of weather changes, whether it was the heat of summer, or the chill of winter. She made her way outside, facing a clear morning sky. Citrine Arch faced south-east, the front of the castle only enjoying the copper sunlight of late noon; but it did not lessen the rays that spilled in through each great window. Two high towers flanking the long halls of the stronghold connected by an arch gave the castle its unique appearance, and two sets of wide stairways leading down to the great rounded bailey was joined by a grand stone deck bordered with more high arches. And yet another immense arched gate allowed entry through the keep's outer wall. The stable, armoury and the castle forge was set against the right wall, and the stores and training grounds was off to the left where Berterin and Ormont duelled with sword and mace, and Vaellion loosed arrows at a straw target along with his companion. Lady Bea sat on the stone bench at a rounded stone table on the deck, busy arranging flowers in a large vase in front of her, and Milla approached.

"You called for me?" she asked gently as she stopped next to her, and the elderly woman looked up.

"Oh, yes my sweet. Did you see that your father was served his tea? He always takes lemon tea in the morning." she asked, reminding her of an old custom.

"Yes, Mammy. I did." she lied, but it was a small lie. One that would comfort a forlorn heart.

"Thank you. Please join me, Carissa and Bella should be down soon." she invited, and Milla took the seat next to her, claiming one of the red roses lying on the table and started removing the leaves. They spoke softly, wondering if the new baby would be a boy or a girl, and what name Carissa would choose, while Bea commented that 'Jehan' would be a fine option for a boy. Shortly after, the children emerged doddering down the stairs followed by Bella, carrying a tray with a pitcher and several pewter cups and Carissa holding a platter with small cinnamon rolls and brandy cakes. They settled in at the table, continuing their discussion while the little ones played and laughed on the deck, chasing the many Mourning Cloak butterflies that fluttered between the vine covered arches. Carissa pulled the delicate wool shawl together over her shoulders. Had it not been for the wind, it might have been a warm day. Berin came down the steps, scanning the bailey for the soldiers that would be under his training today, and called them together.

"Quickly! Into two columns, hurry up!" he called over them, and a third of the eighty seven castle guards rushed together. They waited while Berin inspected them, and once he was satisfied that all was in order he turned for the gate, where to his annoyance a group of forty men entered abruptly, carrying the flayed man on their shields. At their front was a big boned, fleshy youth with sloped shoulders. A small, meaty mouth was set in a wet-lipped smile amidst pink and blotchy skin, seeming unnatural under a broad nose, and long, dark, dry hair was left at the mercy of the wind. His distinctive eyes gave his identity, for they resembled his father Roose's. The small, close-set eyes scanned the faces on the grounds; oddly pale, like two chips of dirty ice. Berin knew him for lord Bolton's son. _Bastard son..._ he quickly corrected himself. Next to him on a dark palfrey sat a haggard man, gaunt and bony with wild greying hair. He seemed so out of place, he would never face someone fully and would always look down or away from those in front of him. They called him Reek, on occasion. But again he couldn't resist the thought that he knew him from somewhere. Then Ramsay's attention fell on him solidly while most of his men dismounted and dispersed into the bailey.

"We've come to collect tax." Ramsay Snow announced, but Berin stared back unaffected by his icy stare.

"Ours have been paid." he told, but the smile remained.

"You were short." the youngster curtly said, and Berin felt the rise of warmth through his arms.

"This is the second time since the turn of the moon that you've come. What do you want?" he asked irritably, barely noticing the soldiers starting to amble about in search of valuables. The Trentin sons, turned to watch.

"Sixty bags of seeds, and two chests of silver. That should settle your debt." Ramsay demanded, and Berin spared a quick glance at the stores. There were only one hundred and ten bags left.

"Our farmers need to plant those seeds, or there won't be a decent harvest." Berin denied, but the crooked smile turned into a horrid grin.

"Well, if you can't pay your taxes, we'll need to take something else." he looked up at the women on the deck, taking in each face before suddenly motioning to the men.

"Take the girl!" he suddenly commanded, and watching several soldiers move up the stairs it left a petrifying chill in his veins, and turmoil flooded the yard. Berin tried to move forward, but three more soldiers blocked his way. A string of men with blades created a wall between the soldiers behind him and those from the Dreadfort.

"No!" Milla screamed as she rose to her feet, watching in terror as two of the soldiers seized her only daughter by her arms and started to drag her away. Shocked beyond motion, Bea looked on wide eyed and crying; but Carissa, truly as the gallant little woman she was, abruptly stood and stepped forward, near to disregardful of her state.

"You can't do this! You can't!" she yelled at them, intent on intervening when a hand suddenly grabbed onto her dress to hold her back.

"Let go of her!" Berin ordered, still trying to battle his way through the soldiers that held him back, following each torturous moment that she struggled and fought against them while they pulled her down the stairs to the horses. _No! Not my girl! Not my Bella!_ He wanted to scream, to draw his blade and demonstrate the proper way of flaying, although it was left inside.

"Leave my sister alone!" Berterin yelled as he threw himself at one of the soldiers, followed by Ormont. He knocked the man to the ground, but an unseen fist flung him to the dust where the sharp tip of a sword held him in place, and a quick strike knocked the blade from his friend's hand. Vaellion and his companion both raised their bows, but with five men facing them it was difficult to decide whom to aim at.

"Let her go!" Berin roared again, disregarding the angry fingers digging into his arms as he forced himself forward.

"Enough!" everyone looked up, acknowledging the lord of the hold whom came from the great doors to discover the event. Then he looked at Ramsay.

"Leave her! Take the bags and the silver and go!" he exclaimed, looking at a man at the base of the steps.

"Wert, open the stores." he told, and the man moved away. Mercifully, Bella slipped from the soldier's grasp and ran from them, Berin wretched himself free from the hands and finally wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she shivered and whimpered against him. He felt suddenly warm and tired, hateful of the shudder coursing through him. A gentle hand rested on him, and Milla held them both. Berterin forced himself to his feet, wiping a drop of red from his lip; but the soldiers moved away as a group started carrying bags of seeds and two chests to a wagon evidently waiting outside. Berin looked up, the urge to slaughter each of them lingered in the boil of his stomach. With the last of the bags claimed and stowed on the wagon, the soldiers remounted their steeds and filed out through the gates, but Berin watched them, resentful to release his hold. Ramsay turned his courser with a final hard glance at them and followed; the leer in his pale grey eyes indicative that this would not be their last visit. Which in itself would not have been overly daunting, but for the hunger behind the glare. Finally with them gone, he allowed himself an easier breath and then looked at the soldiers.

"Back to your routines. We'll resume training tomorrow." he sighed, and made his way back into the shelter of the castle with his family, leaving the men to return to their day. With evenfall, Berin met Rod yet again in his audience chamber where he was seated at his desk and a clamour of letters were strewn about the surface. He stared at the space in front of him, candles and torches creating long distorted figures across the walls and his gaunt face; a horn held in his right hand. Berin paused, wondering for a moment what to say to the lord whom seemed so beaten. He'd sacrificed the livelihood of his people, to save his daughter. Then he took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

"Rod, your people are heavily burdened by these war taxes. What you did..." he started, but unexpectedly saw the younger gentleman smile.

"It's al right, Berin. We've gotten by with as little as twelve bags before. I'll confess it was a fucking meagre year, but we survived." then he looked up, his green eyes clear and without any resent.

"Besides, your daughter is worth far more than sixty sacks of seeds, wouldn't you say?" he added, bringing the horn to his mouth while Berin glanced down, a soft smile of his own.

"Thank you." he breathed, and then Rod stood and rounded the table towards him.

"You've given so much to us, lord Trentin. Without you, and your family, mine and our lives might have turned out far worse." he told, and then laughed softly.

"Bella is my niece, and I love her. If it is within my power, I will never allow her any harm." he assured, and they took hands.

"We will continue to help you as much as we can, my lord." Berin returned, and it seemed lighter then, but Rod sighed.

"Things have changed a lot. Lord Eddard Stark would never have seized a member of someone's family as compensation for tax." he breathed dismally. But no, that was not the true reason. They came for her, and they needed a reason to take her... Bella sat on her bed, running her fingers over her bare arms. She'd never been as afraid as she was today, the terror of being ripped from her family overwhelming every other sense. She was completely unprepared, and everything she'd learnt left her mind in that instant. She hadn't realised the hurt to her arms before her father brought her back inside, and only now noticed the discoloured blemishes left by the cruel grips. She could still hear her mother screaming when she watched her father struggle, fighting to get to her and he couldn't. Saw her brother struggle, fighting to get to her and he couldn't. She missed home, missed aunt Claira and uncle Raeghun, missed young Rychon and fierce Falgon. Then she smothered a sting of heat to her eyes and strangled a sob when a soft knock to her door drew her attention, and she quickly pulled her robe over her shoulders.

"Enter." the door cautiously edged open, and Berterin peered inside. When she smiled at him, he stepped in and closed the door before coming to her.

"Bella, are you al right?" he asked as he took a seat next to her, hearing her sigh.

"Yes. A bit bruised, but no more." she assured, showing him the purplish stains on her skin, but he laughed running his finger over a distorted thumbprint.

"Oh, don't worry. Knowing you, the shock will fade sooner than the bruises." he softly teased, making her smile. His mouth was still swollen, and a red stain marred his throat where the blade rested against him; and for some reason she recalled the day she struck him. She had apologised, but still felt now that she acted rashly. Then she took his hand in hers, hard and callused from training.

"Thank you, for standing up for me." she breathed, and he smiled.

"We would never, have just let them take you." he promised, so to keep herself from crying she laughed.

"I know." Then he held her, and her arms went around his waist. Her brave little brothers, who were taller than she was now. How they'd changed over the past two years... Berin stood in front of the window, bare to the breeze watching the darkness outside where the shadows were only broken here and there by a single flickering light, wondering when they'd come back. He heard his wife moving on the silken sheets behind him.

"My Knight, come to bed." her voice called to him, barely above a whisper. But he breathed in, filling his chest with the cool air.

"Berin?" Milla raised herself, staring at him.

"It's getting harder, to protect Bella..." he muttered, then she stood and joined him, gently resting her skin against his as he faced her and softly kissed her brow before looking back to the window, feeling her soft arms circling his waist, easing the ache.

"I've included her in the training so she would be able to protect herself, and she'd be fine against one or two. But if a horde of soldiers swarm her like they did today, then..." he didn't want to imagine it, he couldn't. _I couldn't do anything... gods be good, if Falgon were here, any man who touched her would have lost his arms..._ He wished he was stronger, then.

"Oh, my love..." Milla breathed against him, sharing his concerns. Then he looked down at her again.

"She's beautiful, Milla. She draws attention. And I should have known she would not avoid the eyes of the lordlings." he told, and her light green eyes met his.

"We could consider sending her back to Mount Ardor?" she proposed, and drawing as it was it was a dangerous suggestion.

"Not alone, we've only brought four guards. I can't risk it." he declined, and they stood for a while as he recalled that place. She wanted to stay there, perhaps he shouldn't have made her come with them. There was nowhere in the world she'd be safer than their true home, where a threat on a lady of the burning mountain was instantly as dire a crime as murder. Then his thoughts went to the blade stowed in his dresser, the one they'd brought back from Pale Haven.

"The sooner we go home, the better..." he sighed, secretly hoping that it would come sooner rather than later. Important as they were, they could not remain here. Not if it placed his family in danger... Staring up at the stars he wondered how their lady was doing, all alone in that immense stronghold. Had her lord returned..?

Claira sat at the head of the great table in the Hollow drenched in the light of a full moon, only barely broken by the firelight around her while she stared at a selection of maps open on the surface, trying to mull over the situations. But it seemed, her mind was not partial to the task and she'd already sent master Austinus down to rest. Their men had defended their lands tirelessly, and despite ser Serrett's best efforts she believed, they'd been probed by several raids and other attempts on their domain. The patrols did their best to keep the peace, but were picked off where possible. The parties did not carry colours, but it was not hard to guess where they came from; and they would continue to gnaw at their strengths, while slowly trying to seize their landmarks; while it was left to her lords to either protect them or reclaim them in the end, either one of these leading to loss of lives. Several supply posts have been claimed and reclaimed, small villages raided, and watchtowers overwhelmed and recovered. Yet, perhaps there was hope that circumstances might calm. The much anticipated royal wedding came and went, a grand and tragic day all the same when their king was poisoned at the feast; and following his funeral young Tommen Baratheon now sat the Iron Throne as king. She found herself thinking of her family so far away, and wondered what they were doing. Was Bella still dancing, and were their sons becoming as strong as their fathers? She received a letter from her dear friend around each turn of the moon with new events and developments, and as much as she could tried to reply although there was less and less to report on, and honestly in most instances just could not find the time to do so. One moment she'd think of the letter before her attention was needed on a different matter, and at evening she'd realize she'd forgotten about the letter, but would reply the next day. So, on and on it went. She'd heard nothing of her brother for a long time. " _The Silence of the Mist_ " they called it, and she knew it well. It has happened in the past, several times; where the White Hold disappeared under the gaze of the old gods. When there was danger and uncertainty, this was a method they fell to, to protect themselves and their people. But apart from that, she had all but lost hope to receive a ransom for her lord husband, there was not so much as a rumour or even a whisper now; and despite still watching the stars each night and asking him where he was, and when he would come home to her, she tried not to expect it. Mayhaps, if she did not expect, she would not suffer so. If he had fallen to anyone, or was seen or heard of to any degree, she would know what to do and how to bear it. But the uncertainty was far worse... She couldn't tell if this helped her at all, but how she missed all of them, and would continue to wait until the end of time if she must, and had told as much to many. Of course they came, athirst for more land and the grand status that would come with it. Some charming, some courteous, some polite, others insistent, demanding and even forceful. All received the same answer, heated or otherwise. Some days were better than others... _Focus, you lunk!_ She jerked her thoughts back to the table. Two months ago, a group of highwaymen under leadership of a hedge knight going by the name of ser Cyrtos of Greenpine seized a fortress that was known as "The Fountain" that held their main crossroads, the pathway connecting the King's Road to the Honey Road. It was one of their strongest keeps, a great rounded stronghold surrounded by a river, initially under control of lord Seigre's castellan. To continue maintaining flow through their lands, they would need to retake it. But so far, they'd had little success and each force was essentially destroyed outside the gates, forcing her to send orders to the rest of their vassals to hold off their assaults, until their men healed and they could bolster their numbers. It was discouraging, to say the least. She glanced at Falgon, who silently stood off to one side in the shadows, once again admiring the tapestry on the wall. Then she sat back with a heavy sigh.

"No thoughts yet, your grace?" he seemed to share her frustration, which he hid remarkably well. She was grateful for him, on so many matters he shared his opinions and advices with her when they were alone, and she always took his words to heart along with her own. But he always left any choices to her, whether she used his persuasions or not. But once he did ask her why she preferred her men wait for nightfall before attempting to reclaim a target post or tower, and she simply smiled. _Cats hunt in the dark, ser..._ They saw better success with this, and their people knew their lands well. But here, it was different. _Raeghun would never have just sat here, wondering what to do... He would have gone out himself, would have helped his people, would have protected them..._

"You use strategy in everything you do, whether you notice it or not. I've spent years of my life having to think my way out of situations, and for a long time I didn't think I'd have much use for it. But right now, I have no idea what to do..." she breathed dismally, but then she heard him chuckle.

"You'll figure it out, your grace." he encouraged, but she slid a scarred palm down her cheek.

"You know what my family is famed for? My father used to make us play chess every day, since we were old enough to know how. We were not allowed to leave the hall until someone was in check-mate. It was maddening, if you didn't chew off your wrists of boredom. Sometimes we'd have to sit there the entire day, many times into the night." she continued to glare at the maps as he turned back.

"He wanted you to learn. Not all situations call for a sword." he mentioned, and she recalled a dormant memory, one that could allow her a smile.

"Indeed not. Some battles were won without having to lift an arrow. My father used to say, 'Own the field; know your people, their strengths and weaknesses; your land, its heights and depths, every river every stone. Use what you're given. Know where you can move, and they can't. Where they can, and you can't. Calculate your risk – what will you gain if you win, and what will you lose if you don't, and strike accordingly'." she brought it back. It was in her father's library, when he showed them each landmark of the North. Every stronghold, every settlement, every forest, every mountain, every stream, every meadow, every road, every cave. All from the Wall down to the swamps.

"Wisdom. Not always something passed down through the many generations." Falgon admired as he came over to share her view of the maps, his fingers resting on the edge of the scroll. For a moment she stared at his powerful hands. They were enormous. Palm-to-palm, her fingers might only reach the base of the second joints... Then she looked back at the parchments, lit by the low candle flames.

"My brother Gerald was better suited to it than I ever was, he always won. Occasionally he would have the courtesy to hand the game to me. I remember this one late summer day, we've been sitting there from morning on a single gruelling match which, at the time balanced on a stalemate. With my father watching us, and insisting on a victory, there wasn't much to do but sit and mull over every move or submit." she remembered, and it dragged on until late into the night.

"It must have taken a great deal of patience." he reflected, tracing the long road from Mount Ardor to The Fountain with a finger. _Those hands carried me so gently, and they killed for me..._ She looked down at her own hands. Soft hands with long, delicate, pale fingers resting on the surface of the table. _And I can't even hold a dagger properly..._ She sighed again.

"That was the only thing I was good at. Being patient, and Gerald surrendered by nightfall." she sat remembering, he couldn't move, and she couldn't. Or perhaps, wouldn't. That would have meant instant victory, or defeat. It all depended on a single decision. One action. On either side.

"Patience…" then she stood. _They can't_ _move_ _around much_ _,_ _but_ _we could, and_ _we have to find out how and where.._. He looked at her.

"Your grace?" she stared at the maps. A high hill was situated to the west of The Fountain, flanked by a rich woodland towards the north. Then she looked up at him.

"Find Maester Adlyn for me." he bowed his head, and left the chamber while she was left examining the area. The woodland stretched in half an arch before ending at the edge of the river, and continuing again on the other side. The Fountain had two gates on either side of the river which flowed southward, and the fortress itself had two towers on her flanks, aside from the gate towers. And it was halved with a high wall, set with another gate. Inspections would be done in either one of the two baileys before allowing passage through the middle gate, and out the other. The armoury was on the west side. And a gated drain allowed the river to pass through the bowels of the river castle. If she could do this right, The Fountain would be back under their control before the next full moon... Some moments later Falgon returned with maester Adlyn just behind him.

"You called for me, my lady?" he asked, and she looked up.

"I did, maester. I apologise for waking you." she told as she rounded the table towards them.

"I was not asleep yet, my lady. How may I be of service?" he presented himself eagerly, stepping forward.

"According to the raven's letter you received what was the count at The Fountain?" she asked, and he thought for a moment, recalling the letter.

"Five hundred and seventeen men, my lady." he told, and she glanced back having the first threads of a design.

"Any mention of prisoners?" but he shook his head.

"No, my lady. But I highly doubt that Ser Cyrtos would have taken any prisoners." he said, and then watched her walk back to the table, laying her hands on the surface.

"With full stores, how long would it take for them to run out of food?" she asked, and he thought on that as well.

"A fortnight, perhaps three weeks; but there are some nearby farms, not to mention the rich woodlands around the Fountain." he explained, and she glanced back.

"We will sever their resources, completely. Have messages sent to inform the farmers to make for the Settlements. And then we must post hunters and sentries in the woodland to scarcen the wildlife, they'll have naught but squirrels and linnets. They must take down any of the ravens sent from their tower as well. And for every scouting or hunting party that leaves that gate I want a head count..." she started, and the maester stared at her.

"My lady, the lords have insisted on a full onslaught." he reminded, several of their vassals had offered to take the bulk of their arms to the fortress walls. Not as thick as Storm's End, but strong nonetheless, and lord Seigre's attempts to retake the castle remained unsuccessful several times, with most unfavourable results.

"And how many of those onslaughts have already failed? The greatest part of our fighting force have suffered at those walls... We have to think of a different approach." she decided.

"The Fountain is heavily fortified, and can withstand the assault of entire armies with only minimal hands on their side of the walls. We don't have the men, or the resources, yet. But for now, we have the time, so let us make the best use of it. They're not going anywhere." she turned back to them, debating her choices. Their most important asset right now, and the last week would deal the decisive blow if she could get the men inside desperate enough.

"Please have the arrangements made as soon as possible, I will give further instructions when I am sure of the course." she said, but after another heartbeat of silent eyes the maester bowed.

"As you command, my lady." he left back to his tower, from where with first light, the ravens would fly. Claira spared a last look at the maps, still wondering and hoping that she could manage this.

"Is something wrong, your grace?" her attention came back to the dark eyes staring at her, attentive and caring.

"No. I... we should both get some rest. And I need to think." she decided, and he escorted her back to her sanctuary. But, of sleep there was little; so she spent her night trying to plan out her strategy. She would have to divide a force into two units, their greatest force on the west side of the hold and another smaller on the east side, if she could find a way to get them there without being noticed. And she would need two commanders, one over each group with people they trusted who could, and must unite their efforts precisely, someone who their men would follow without question; and someone they trusted enough to take risks for. With only a count of one hundred and eight soldiers inside the castle, and limited prospects that could be hoped for from their surrounding dominion their mass would be meagre. And with lord Seigre's strengths near to completely depleted, lord Haslinger would have to be enticed to lend them his arms in this venture. And unfortunate as her circumstances were, she didn't have a great deal of options. As for the leaders, in light of Berin's absence, master Austinus would be an obvious choice, yet he had his grievances of late, struggling with painful joints. She did not know the experience of the other men to a certain extent... Morning came, with little more progress than the day before and with her little companions at study she found herself back in the Hollow with the maps after breaking their fast, prayer, inspections and several court matters. She had to find a way... Then a mass came into the Hollow, taking a respectable position behind her.

"I apologise for disrupting you, my lady." master Austinus excused, and she glanced back.

"It's al right, master. Regrettably, I've made no progress yet." she breathed as she looked back at him.

"What may I do for you?" he smiled as he looked down.

"I was hoping, I might do something for you." he said, and then their eyes met.

"My lady, may I suggest that you consider appointing a Battle Master to aid you, in the defence of our realm?" she stared at him for a moment. She'd heard of Battle Masters before, and according to the family records, he whom was known to history as "The Old King", Jahaerys I Targaryen himself in his youth during 50 AC had appointed Balendron, a second son of house Taugere, noted for his skill and valour, as his Battle Master, while his elder brother Vaerind remained at Mount Ardor to eventually succeed their father Lord Rhaevard; but their service diminished and later ceased entirely some decades after that. It was a very high position, and in general held by men of noble birth if the records were unquestionable. If Kings and Lords were equals, then so were the Hands and Battle Masters. She smiled.

"And who shall I appoint in that position, master? You?" she asked, rather hoping he might accept, but he laughed softly.

"No, my lady. I'm too old for that, if I must confess it so directly. A Battle Master must be a leader, as well as a warrior himself. You need a young, experienced soldier. A clever man, with the hearts of your people." he guided, and she took that in as she wondered over those in her hold. Berin would have been ideal, for obvious reasons.

"Oh. Thank you, I will think on that." she promised, and he nodded.

"I do believe you will find the best man for this office, my lady." he assured, then bowed his head to her and left with a quick inconspicuous glance at the sentinel in his usual indistinct place while she stood contemplating her options, which again were not a great deal. Her nobles would no doubt jump at the opportunity, and she had their loyalty that much was true. But whose trust did she have beyond any question? It was an imperishable place in the home of the liege lord, and currently Darius Foch had enough to deal with, taking care of his brother's family as well as his own while reigning over both Earndale Palace and Boatwright. Lord Rames still had governance of Hurlton Fortress and Ramshorn, lord Florentius oversaw Hornsney from Longdale Citadel with its many farms and their illustrious honey production. And of course, there were lords Haslinger, Garrener and Seigre... The holdfasts of both Reubel and De Veaux were on the east side of The Fountain along The Bite, all with their own lesser bondsmen, their losses, positions and obligations. And all of these men had their own way of doing things. Who would abandon their whims to her instructions? With no clearer answer, she returned her attention to the maps and continued to deliberate on their way forward. The river was deep and wide, but not as wide where the forest was once connected before the water cut through it. Yet still, they would need ropes, and sets of barrels if it was necessary... More days passed, and quickly a week blew by like so many leaves in the wind. The time to move, was quickly approaching and she could not waste any more time. All of her men were avid soldiers, but only a handful displayed the potential as leaders according to master Austinus. Marron of the Strings would be promising, but he did not have the kind of draw to him that was truly needed. There was only one other. Someone who was dominant without being forceful, who gained respect simply with his presence. He had no grand ambitions and did not aspire to be worshipped by others, despite it being so whether he wanted it or not. He was a warrior, and a leader. A champion who would be followed even to the gates of the seventh hell... And so he will be. She stared hard at the maps on the table in the Hollow, as hard and bitter as the reality of this was, she had no other choices now. There was no time left. With a deep breath she turned to her great shadow.

"Ser Falgon. I... I need you and Wymon to go out, and reclaim the Fountain." she told him while he stared back at her, every emotion behind the striking eyes while she tried not to be crushed under the weight. He was the best choice. Right now, he was her only choice. There was no one she trusted more, than him.

"Your grace, my place is at your side." he gently reminded her, and while she understood the reluctance there were more important things.

"If Berin were here, I would have asked him. But he's not. And Wymon, kind and capable as he is, I don't believe he can handle these situations alone. He doesn't have the experience that you do." she gave him her reasons, and he glanced down away from her.

"I cannot leave you unprotected, even here." he refused, and the heat ate at her senses.

"As long as I am inside the castle, and the gates are sealed, nothing can happen to me." she said, but he continued to watch the stones, the reflection in his eyes nothing short of insolent.

"My purpose is to protect you. I cannot do this, when I am not near you. You need-" just now, just this once he needed to think of something aside from her. Their people, needed them more. Their people needed their help, they needed their security. If she could not give them this, why was she here? Why did she become the wife of one of the greatest liege lords?

"I don't need you, here! I need you out there." she suddenly told him, and the dark eyes came up to hers, harder than before. It was hurtful, and she hated herself for it. She did need him, more than anything to be true. But, their people needed him most right now.

"I made a promise." he breathed, remembering it so vividly... _When peril is present in any circumstances, never leave her side again..._ _Promise me..._ There was no way he could refuse.

"I release you from that promise!" she exclaimed, but he stared at her a moment longer before suddenly smiling like it was a joke, but his eyes glinted with defiance.

"Forgive me, your grace. But, you cannot release me from a promise, that was not made to you." he threw back, and already she felt defeated. If he would not submit, she might as well surrender the Corridor.

"Please, Falgon... Please, I need your help. I can't do this alone." she beseeched him, one last time. For yet another long moment he stared at her, his bewitching eyes sharp and hard and resistive. _Please... What should I do to convince you?_ There were methods, of course. Lordships, lands, payments of various forms. None of which he would be interested in, of course. He never wanted anything. And yet, maybe... Then unexpectedly he softened, looking down from her once again.

"Very well, your grace. I will do all I can to help you. But, I will leave your side _only_ when we have no alternative." he finally agreed, and just then she felt she could embrace him. Wrap her arms around him and drive the air from him. With him, she need fear no one. With him, she had a chance. With him, they could win. Then he returned his eyes to her.

"What is my assignment, your grace?" he asked, prepared for what might come, and she ushered him to the table with the maps.

"The Fountain must be retaken, with men you trust. And you must be precise..." she started to explain.

Rychon sat at the table in his chamber where Wink was busy pillaging a basket which would normally hold flowers, paging through a book from his uncle's library. A small space, but comfortable all the same. He'd been here for more than two years, and his thirteenth name day had come and gone. He couldn't go out here like he used to, but to try and continue his training he erected target post along the walls of the castle, the only place he could still run, while Gavin and Renko continued to help him. Their methods were not at all like Falgon's, but it kept him strong. Their days were long and lonely, and growing colder; but if the cold was of the changing weather or his longing for his family was often a cause of silent debate for him. Not a day had passed that he did not miss his mother, his father, his aunt and uncle and cousins or friends, and of course his teacher; and he wondered what they were doing and if they missed him as much as he did them. But he tried to endure, and each new day brought him slowly closer to home, and it would be a lie that he did not look forward to it. He enjoyed it here, and once or twice tried to see the Wall from the height of the tallest tower, but so far he'd had no luck. A knock at the door drew his attention, and he looked up.

"Enter." the door edged open, and his cousin with bright blue eyes and the light hair of her mother, peered inside.

"Supper is about to be served." she announced, and he stood.

"Al right, I'm coming." he stood, taking his pet up and bringing him up to his shoulder as he followed her down to the high hall where he supped on butter and parsley goose, a stew of spiced greens and fresh bread among familiar faces. Every once in a while he would tear off a small piece of meat and feed it to his ferret, who lounged peacefully across his shoulders. They shared stories, and an excited proposition from their uncle to go camping, which he found himself quite excited about. They'd done it a few times before, and as long as they kept to the thick of the woods, there was little danger to them, and he found it preferable to the isolation these thick walls seemed to force on them. Then he looked up, spying a shadow passing through the hall having come to claim their evening serving, and his heart skipped a beat. She was a pretty girl of fifteen years named Talia, daughter to the castle blacksmith and gifted with a hammer, pale and tall and slim as a straw with brown eyes and long black ringlets usually worn in a braid that hung to her thighs. _If the wind blew too hard, she'd float away..._ came the thought. Then she looked his way and smiled, aware that he'd noticed her. She was dressed like a man, in soiled black riding boots, dark boiled leather breeches with a faded tunic under a belted jerkin. And he supposed, for her occupation of helping her father in the forge, it was much more practical than a gown. But she made him think of Bella. Perhaps it was the hair. _Maybe I'll ask her for a short walk, tomorrow..._ After the hall was cleared, but feeling no need for sleep he made his way to the library and took a seat at the table where a chessboard waited, the pieces moved about. He and his cousin had been playing this afternoon, and he was quite good; but with little progress for some hours they had decided to retake the game tomorrow. He might as well take some time to think on how he would do that. With nothing more to do himself, Wink sat on the table surface washing himself, and Rychon smirked.

"Yes, you do that. You're dirty, besides." he teased his friend, and for a moment the little creature looked at him with a shiny eye before continuing, and his own attention went back to the board. He needed to protect his king, so couldn't move either the bishops or the left side knight. The rooks would be useless, so really all he had were the pawns, one knight and his queen.

"I saw you staring at me, my lord." came a soft voice, and he looked up to see Talia standing in the great archway, leaning against the frame.

"Why wouldn't I look at you? You're a pretty girl." he replied, and she smiled coming forward.

"Well now, what a compliment." she teased, and scanned the board.

"Making any progress?" she asked, allowing her hand to rest on the table surface and he took notice of them. Her hands were lean, hard, scarred and callused. Evidence of years of forging arms and armour.

"Not yet, but I have time." he breathed, and then watched Wink come forward to sniff at her hand.

"Aw, how cute." she smiled, scratching his cheek and he squeaked happily at the touch.

"Proper gentleman, that one." Rychon teased, hearing her laugh. She had a gentle, lady-like laugh, just like Bella. Then she turned, and rested herself against the table, bringing her long black braid over her left shoulder to flow over her chest and lap.

"So, are you happy here?" she asked, and he looked up at her brown eyes.

"I am content, but I miss my family." he confessed, and she nodded.

"There's a special lady waiting for you back home?" she asked,

"I don't know. There might be." No suitors were considered when he left home, but perhaps his mother had received proposals over the time he was gone. Then he felt her fingers, softly on his.

"I'm sure she will be a delight to you." then she looked at him for a long moment, a whimsical smile in her brown eyes.

"Have you ever kissed a girl before, my lord?" she asked suddenly, and he felt his cheeks grow warm, hoping it was not a flush of red.

"Of course I have." he quickly replied, thankful that his voice remained even. But then she laughed lightly.

"I meant properly, my lord." she moved forward like a shadow, sliding herself over his knees.

"If you're to have a genteel lady as a wife, you'd best know how to please her." she whispered from where she sat, using the tip of her braid to caress his cheek. Again it was a pleasant feeling, but not entirely the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"I could teach you, if you want?" she offered openly, and he felt as taken aback as he was warm.

"I don't think your father would appreciate that." he tried, but she smiled again, bringing her face closer to his.

"He's a blacksmith, and you're a lordling. He'll be overjoyed." he stared at her, it wasn't the butterflies. More like little worms, tickling and wiggling their way through his gut.

"I don't want to hurt you." he tried again, and she took hold of his right hand.

"If you do it right, you won't." she told bringing his hand around her side and laying it gently on the small of her back.

"It's all in the touch." she whispered close to his ear, and his left hand softly slid along her leg to her hip. She gently lay her right fingers to his cheek, her long braid left coiled between their thighs, and moved forward pressing her lips softly to his, her left hand rested on his arm; with a subtle motion her fingers pressed into his skin, and he pulled her closer to him, deepening his kiss. For half a heartbeat she broke the contact with a satisfied smile.

"Good..." then she kissed him again, more fervently than before; and he returned her fire with his own. She took his left hand, just resting on her thigh and brought it to her cheek, gently guiding his fingers into her hair, thin fragile strands, not as thick as his his mother's but still soft as he brought her closer yet again. He learnt more of kissing in that single moment than he ever could from a lifetime of watching. When he drew back from her, Talia was breathing hard and her hair and clothing appeared slightly disordered where his hands had been. A needle of guild pricked at him.

"Did I hurt you?" she looked up, but smiled.

"A little." his hands came away from her.

"I'm sorry." he looked away to hide the blush teasing at his cheeks, but she took his face between her palms and brought his eyes back to hers.

"It's al right. You're just eager, that's all." then she brought herself closer once more.

"You will learn. And I am resilient enough to guide you." she whispered again, so close to his ear that it sent a flush of warm tingles down his neck into his stomach, where the tiny worms still squirmed around.

Their troops lingered in the darkness, awaiting the dawn. Falgon watched the soldiers, mounted on the lord's great Rage, whom he'd started riding more over the past months. He was younger and faster than the big brown warhorse, and far from as mild, but easier to handle once one had his understanding. The night-black steed stood where he was, but made a frightful noise as he chewed at his bit excitedly, and Falgon ran his hand along the strong neck to calm him. He was eager, as any one else; _You're_ _a very_ _bold_ _one, aren't you_ _..._ then he glanced at a restless lord Haslinger who lingered at their side, his banners with the black and white twin horse heads on autumn orange blowing in the night breeze along with the burning phoenix. Several days ago, he and Wymon rode from the gate of the burning mountain with a count of soldiers behind them, and specific instructions while master Austinus remained at his queen's side, with sixty guards to keep the castle. The gates were to remain sealed until their return. Avery had been severely insistent to join them, hoping to redeem his honour which was allowed, while what they needed was cunning and stealth as much as strength. Lord Sebaston Haslinger and his men united with them on the road on the morning two days past. He was a small man barely five and a half feet tall, thin with dark grey hair and a clean, narrow face; but fierce and proud, his temperament more than made up for any shortcomings. Just past midnight Wymon took two hundred men down through the shroud of the thick forest to the riverside with ropes and barrels, Jevan, Marron and Avery in his company. The scout reports stated that the inhabitants started to grow anxious, yet still they could not wait too long. They only had this one chance. He looked up at the sky as a gentle breeze blew by, shifting the heavy brown cloak hanging from his shoulders and brushing his hair softly over his cheek. It was starting to lighten. The air was cool, but the wind was high and blowing south-east, which could be advantageous.

"Milord?" one of the men came softly up to him from amidst the soldiers.

"We wait for the signal." he reminded, before looking down.

"And I am no lord." he added. The soldier nodded, and then returned back the way they came while the great warrior watched the men. _They should be almost ready..._ all of them had received their instructions, orders they had to follow expressly, with little margin for error should they hope to have victory. If they were too soon, they would fail. If they were too late, they would fail. If they could not coordinate their efforts, they would fail. And because she trusted none more, she had decided to send them. _Divide the force into two units..._ she had told.

"This is a waste of time." lord Haslinger quipped irritably, his grey destrier moving about impatiently beneath him.

"We wait for the signal." Falgon insisted again as his eyes went to the thick shadows of the woodland where Wymon watched the men of his unit. Twelve men were hammering thick beams into the earth, but the rush of the river and the howl of the wind smothered the sound. Jevan coiled a link of rope around his waist and waded into the water, before swimming hard for the other side. Moments later he emerged, sopping wet and exhausted but otherwise no worse as he continued to tie the rope around the thick trunk of a tree, tying it securely and waving back.

"Good, now string up the rest of the lines." Wymon ordered quickly, and five more men used the rope to cross. Marron stood with a raised arm, a swift bird perched on his wrist while he waited and five more ropes were strung across the rushing waters. The moment the final rope was tethered, Wymon looked back at him and he let the raptor fly into the sky. Now they would cross. The wide wings took the bird high and it flew for home while Falgon continued to watch the heavens. _It shouldn't be long, now..._ But it would be false to think that his own soldiers were not growing equally as impatient as those inside.

"We should move, ser. We're not here for an outing." lord Haslinger again urged.

"We wait." Falgon refused, heedless of the nettled glare of the green eyes but there were no more words. The noble had been glowering at him since late the day before because all of their soldiers, even those under the horse banners obeyed his orders without question, so easily that it was magical. Truth be told he didn't ask for it, it just happened, and it peeved the lord to no end... And then, with the grey of dawn on the horizon, a crimson shadow glided over them with a single loud screech. The red falcon. His attention went to the soldiers ambling about behind them.

"Mount up!" all of them obeyed instantly, rising on their chargers and destriers with banners streaming,

"Now, we move." he nodded at the lord beside him, and led the mass forward to take their position on the high hill. _Make sure they see you, but stay out of range..._ her words came back. From the height, the stonghold came into view. A large fortress, the pikemen and archers wandering around on the walls. He took Summit from his back, and rose the blade into the sky for all to see, the steel glimmering in the fresh light.

"Mount Ardor!" his voice was loud and clear, even more drawing and daunting than the dozen wails of their warhorns flooding the plains and over the distant keep, his echoed by the voices around him that screamed and called and cried, rising high and sweeping over the land, some voices shouting for lord Haslinger's seat, Cainhorn Keep. More and more heads appeared behind the embrasures to see the banners of Taugere and Haslinger; they had their attention solidly. _Good, now we have to keep it..._ The whistle of arrows were all but drowned out, the shafts digging into the hillside just out of range.

"Why are we not charging them?" lord Haslinger suddenly demanded, his heavy mace drawn for battle.

"Hold ground. Our second unit must take up position on the other side while a runner secures the west gate. You will have your battle soon enough, lord Haslinger." Falgon told him, irrespective of the high-born's stature. Their battlecries and shouts continued, echoing through the shadows of the wood where Avery suspended himself from the last rope over the middle of the river. He looked up at Wymon, remounting his horse on the east side before the sentinel raised his hand, giving the approval to proceed with his instruction. He breathed once, twice and a third time before falling silently into the cold water and drifting downriver in the current, aiming for the drain that would deliver him into the keep unseen. The west battalion kept until the ground was littered with arrows while they held that position, shouting and screaming and cursing. But eventually, the archers learnt they won't be reached, and the sky was changing to the peach sheen of dawn. Then Falgon replaced his sword and turned the black stallion around.

"Retreat!" The soldiers complied again without much thought, wheeling their steeds around and vanishing from the hilltop to the base of the hill.

"But-" the lord started up again, suddenly met with the hard, sharp eyes and it seemed the light receded slightly back to where it was meant to spill from.

"Pull back! If you cannot follow orders, give me your men and head home. Now are you going to stop your grumbling and fall in, or no?" the green eyes stared back, shocked and enraged, and he knew what it was he was thinking. Her grace would no doubt hear of his belligerence; but lord Haslinger complied nonetheless, lowering his mace and following. _Now, we wait..._ Falgon looked up, absorbing the world around them. The wind, the chirping of birds, the rush of the river, the light from the east where Wymon led his company towards the castle, and formed a long line just out of range. His voice rose into the sky, followed by the shouting of men that all cried for the burning mountain. Wymon grinned, watching the shadows dart across the walls as the soldiers came scrambling this way. _Come on you louts... Come and get us..._ He looked at the archer at his side.

"Marron, let them know we're here." he instructed, and the tall black haired man raised his bow, aiming for one of the towers, his sight along the edge of a pinewood arrow. He held his breath for half a heartbeat, and let the arrow fly into the tower. Falgon had closed his eyes, focusing on the castle. _The gates must be secured..._ she instructed. A single resounding echo sounded over them as something hard struck the bell of the east tower, and he turned his horse a final time. He heard the strain of chains and cogs, the heavy creak of wood and the angry clang of metal. The east gate was opened, which meant that the mid gate was left open while men were fighting. _Now, Avery. Hurry..._ There were more screams and shouts and curses, and the sudden loud crash he was waiting for followed by the shutter of chains and laboured groan of wood. The west gate was lowered. He looked up, intent and focused as he gripped the reins tightly, and glanced back.

"Now storm the gate! Take the castle!" he ordered, and spurred Rage forward. The great destrier reared up with excitement and charged as the others followed, fervent and eager over the height and towards the open gate, lord Haslinger as ferocious as any with his heavy mace in his hand as he raced forward boundless; all with a fury thought lost to the tales of ancient heroes as the shadows of invisible clouds enveloped the world...

Two guards kept vigil at the high door as Claira paced the stones in front of the window of the Hollow overlooking the outer bailey and lands far beyond, shadowed under a clouded sky. In light of the absence of her sentinels, Master Austinus had seen to her protection earnestly, permitting her solitude only in the privacy of the lord's wing and her common room with her ladies-in-waiting, elsewise she was never left alone. Yet, even so she'd been feeling sickly anxious since the day before, her soldiers should have returned by now. What if she failed them? What if something happened to them? They should have been given more time, more men, more means... That castle was all but impregnable, how could she ever have expected them to retake it with the limited men they had available? For close to a fortnight she prayed to all she knew to watch over them, and to bring them safely home whether they saw victory or not.

"Milady?" she looked back to see Laurene in the doorway, holding a baby boy wrapped in a soft wool blanket in her arms. She faced her with a soft smile, coming towards her.

"Laurene. How is little Ricket?" she asked, and the girl looked down at the child.

"Much better now, milady." she breathed. The boy had been suffering from colic, but with the healer's aid the pain was eased. Ricket Flare was a tiny little thing, with his mother's light grey eyes and his father's dark hair. The initial discovery was nothing short of a shock and Laurene was understandably frightened, but with great support and understanding from family and those close to her, she decided to keep her son instead of sending him off to be raised by another. And with Hazel, he added a little laughter to the vast halls. And as promised, Jeyson had sent her a token. A raven arrived at the castle half a year ago with a letter, and a small slim shaft as long and thin as her finger, filled with small gemstones.

"Wonderful." the lady watched the little one, sleeping peacefully against his young mother's shoulder and it reminded her so much of her own.

"May I?" Laurene smiled shyly.

"Certainly, milady." she surrendered him, and Claira held him close to her breast rocking gently.

"May I have your tea served here, milady? Or would you prefer it be delivered to your common room?" the girl asked as Claira glanced back at the window.

"You may have it delivered to my common room, I believe I should head up. My little companions should be nearly done with their lessons, as well." she decided, and Laurene nodded.

"At once, milady." she lingered a moment longer.

"Has there been any word?" she asked softly, and Claira sighed.

"Nothing yet, but they should be home soon." Claira tried to reassure her, and then smiled again to bring her comfort.

"We must never lose our hope. They are all, our most exceptional warriors." she told, knowing why she felt so uneasy.

"Go have something to eat before you see to the tea, you must keep yourself well nourished as well. I'll hold on to Ricket for a while." she offered, and Laurene bowed her head gratefully.

"Thank you so much, milady. For everything." she praised, then turned and hurried off to the kitchen while Claira returned to the window, again scanning the outside world that was unnervingly quiet. _Where are you?_ Then she looked down at Ricket, still sleeping serenely.

"Well then, let's head on up, shall we?" she made her way up to her common room, where the two guards assigned to her duly retook their places at the door and she settled into her chair. She thought of her family, of her son and her love; reminiscing over long past memories and almost drifted off to sleep herself with the small body against her before Laurene returned with a tray holding fresh tea and a small plate of crispels, setting it down on the table next to the chair before reclaiming the baby.

"Thank you, Laurene. You may take the rest of the day for yourself." she dismissed her, and the girl curtsied lightly before vanishing from the chamber just as Beatrice and Samantha entered and took their places. Claira proceeded to fill one of the fine cups with the dark liquid and stirred honey into the tea, and then the youngsters claimed cups of their own. Then she took up her embroidery work as she waited for it to cool, listening to the girls converse on their lessons and how much they enjoyed the burning mountain. She pulled black thread through the fabric, filling out the ears of a black horse, set in a ring of purple roses; her work had improved substantially with Beatrice's eager help lately and the visions became clearer. Then she glanced out of the window, where it was slowly starting to grow darker. It might have been late noon. _Where are you..?_ She sipped at the tea, and enjoyed two of the sweet pastries before continuing her work, adding some silver threads to accentuate the flowing mane; but then her attention was drawn away by the sound washing over the fields. She stood and made her way to the window as the bells gave answer, and witnessed a black river flowing towards the keep, banners held high and vivid in the sky, and several cattle wagons following. Her hands covered her mouth to stop a happy cry. They've come home. She left everything as it was in the common room and made her way down to the great doors with the young ladies behind her to receive her soldiers, and the two guards following dutifully; and then she waited on the highest step with many of her castle women, awaiting their fathers and husbands and brothers and sons. What seemed like an eternity later, the heavy gate opened to them, and Rage came trotting through, high-gaited and proud with his raised head and alert ears, as always chewing merrily at his bit as if to announce their victory, her sentinel mounted straight and valiant on his back. The rest followed behind them, Wymon on his dark courser and Sebaston on his grey destrier, and all of their men. Claira smiled, taking in each of the faces. Avery and Marron among them. The stable boys emerged quickly to tend to the horses, and Falgon dismounted, sparing a last moment where he bowed his head to the noble steed, whom in turn responded by throwing his head up and down agreeably before being led away. The soldiers started to mass together while Falgon then approached the castle, his company flowing along and then he stopped in front of her, bowing gracefully before looking up from several steps down. She desperately tried to restrain the happy laughter, and the want to embrace all of them; but settled for a softer gesture.

"Welcome home." she received them, and her sentinel smiled back.

"The Fountain is yours, your grace. Currently under guard of Jevan and his battalion, until a new overseer is assigned." he announced, and she felt light as a feather, floating in the elation. Jevan the Jackal might be an ordinary soldier, but he was smart and good at what he did.

"You've done exceedingly well, all of you. Go now and rest with the knowledge that you've done our country a great service, and you have my sincerest gratitude." with The Fountain back under their control, travel through the Corridor would return to normal. She lingered a moment longer, watching the soldiers disperse while Avery and Marron came up the steps to meet with their loved ones. The scout took his daughter up in his arms before greeting his wife, and the archer met happily with the red haired handmaiden, and a fond kiss to the little boy's brow. He'd told his companions that the child was his, irrespective of the timespan. Although he was twenty years Laurene's senior, he was kind and supportive; he would be good to her. Then her attention went to the girls behind her.

"Beatrice, Samantha. Please be so kind as to see to our feast hall for this evening. Be generous, we have something to celebrate." she told, and the youngsters smiled happily.

"Yes, my lady." Beatrice replied excitedly, and then she and her friend hurried to the southern hall. Finally her attention went back to the sentinel lingering in front of her while the others returned to their own.

"Come." she beckoned him, and he followed duly into the keep behind her.

"You took longer than expected." she mentioned.

"My apologies, your grace. We were delayed for a couple of days, as fever fell on young Avery." he explained. The cold water of the river took an unfair toll on him, but with the castle maester's help he was able to ride again in two days, provided he continued the use of the medicines and was not expected to exert himself for a while.

"I see. Then it is good that he is better, and you're all home." then she paused and looked back at him.

"He did well. We would have had far more difficulties without his adeptness for discretion." Falgon smiled, the boy was deserving of his praise.

"What was the fate of those holding the castle?" she asked.

"Put to the sword for their crimes against your people, your grace. A handful has fled, but we have men looking for them, with the same orders." he told. Her Raeghun might have made the same judgement...

"How many casualties, ser?" she asked softly, but he smiled.

"One hundred and seventy three injured, your grace. But, no lives lost." he told, and she breathed out relieved.

"How wonderful. And again, thank you for doing this for me." she breathed, then the presence of lord Haslinger drew her attention.

"My lady, may I have a word? In private, if it please you?" he suddenly asked, apparently he had a dire matter that required her urgent attention.

"Certainly, my lord. If you'd be so kind as to await me in the Hollow, I will meet with you momentarily. A decanter of rich Arbor Gold was supplied this afternoon, please feel free to enjoy some." she agreed, and he moved away towards the lord's counsel chamber after a final hard stare at her sentinel. One she noticed.

"Did something happen I should know about?" she asked, curiously cautious before returning her attention to Falgon, who gently shrugged.

"I might have been a bit uncompromising, your grace." he confessed, and she took a deep breath.

"Well then, I should not keep such a proud man waiting." but she smiled at him.

"You've had long, hard days. Go get some sleep, you may rejoin me later." she suggested, but he smiled back.

"If it please, your grace. I would retake my place at your side." he countered, and she sighed.

"As you wish." he followed her to the door of the Hollow, where she entered and closed the door while he waited outside, joyful to be back where he could retake his place at her side, and the calmness once again. For a time there was silence in the halls, but then he heard a voice from inside the chamber. Hard and angry. He wondered if he should dare enter, to be at her side. But then, unexpectedly the enraged voice died... _What is happening?_ Suddenly the door was flung open, and a red-faced lord Sebaston Haslinger stormed out alone, seething as Falgon watched him stomp down the hallway. He drew a deep breath, and then entered to find his queen standing in front of the window, the new twilight seeping into her dark green satin dress and her hands together in front of her. He approached carefully.

"Is everything in order, your grace?" he asked, and she turned to him. Her blue eyes hard, but clear.

"Yes, of course." she reassured him before glancing at the table against the wall where the pitcher and a selection of goblets awaited use.

"Would you care for a cup of wine, ser?" she asked moving away as he watched her, her demeanour seemed to have taken a blow of frustration.

"If it please, your grace." he agreed, and she took up the ewer, pouring the rich clear wine into two chalices before replacing it. She took the goblets and came back to him, presenting one to him; which he took gently. Then she sighed, bringing the chalice to her mouth before looking up at him.

"Lord Haslinger had his complaints. He obviously took exception to the fact that his soldiers complied more easily to your orders than his." she revealed, taking a sip of the wine as Falgon sighed looking at the glass in his hand. He might have been a bit less harsh, but in the tension of battle that was not his norm. When swords were drawn and bows were strung, there was no place for compassion and diplomacy. You follow orders or you die, you fight or you die. It has always been that way. Then he looked up.

"I apologise, your grace. And will ask lord Haslinger's forgiveness for offending him." he decided, but then she smiled at him.

"You will do no such thing." she told him, and for a moment he could only stare back in confusion.

"Your grace?" she glanced away, placing the chalice on the table and taking a deep breath before looking back at him, an easier smile than before.

"You were trained to be a warrior, Falgon. But you were born to be a leader. That's why men respect you, that's why men follow you. That's why they adhere to you with so little resistance. And if lord Haslinger is to see more of you, he'd have to conform to that." she said, and again looked down at her hands, recalling their final exchange, following an uncalled for quittance from the vassal lord. _Have you forgotten me, or yourself, my lord? I remain the wife of your liege lord, and until he is returned to me these lands will fall under my rule. You would do well to keep that in mind..._ then he stormed out. Whom she chose to serve in her name for the sake of her people, remained hers.

"Would you give me the freedom to ask more of you?" she brought her eyes back to his, again not finding quite the identifying colour of his striking eyes. Always, with that slight hint of red...

"If it is within my power, your grace." he agreed softly. _Of course it is within your power..._ she almost laughed.

"Master Austinus came to see me, with a suggestion. It is a noble title, but I cannot imagine anyone else in this position, and you have proven yourself worthy as well as capable beyond any doubt." she started as he listened attentively, waiting for his order. Then she breathed in again, in all she did this was the best choice. There was nothing clearer, nothing surer.

"Ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, I would name you my Battle Master. If you want it." she issued, watching him stare back in silence. Then he finally breathed, glancing away with a smile.

"Battle Masters have not served in Westeros for almost two hundred years." he recollected, Battle Masters faded away even before the tragedy labelled the "Dance of the Dragons". By all accounts, this position will be higher even than Berin's.

"Then I will have the only one." she said with pride, and then he looked back at her, with an expression she couldn't understand. And she didn't know why, but he seemed... sad.

"Your grace... When you found me, I was nothing. I had nothing. I wandered from place to place, wielding my sword so that I may... get by. You and your lord husband, took me from that. You gave me everything I didn't have. A name, a home, a family, a purpose. I received all these greatest gifts, simply because your eyes met mine, one day long ago. Who am I, to want anything more?" he asked softly, and her eyes lowered. Such a great and powerful man, whom was capable of immeasurable things, who stood above all others in all things... who remained so humble in spite of all else. Whom else, could compare to him but her lord husband himself? How and where, would she ever find anyone worthy?

"But, I would be honoured to accept, if I may make one condition of my own." she heard him, and it felt her heart would leap from her chest as she looked up, his eyes settled on her once again. _Yes, anything..._ _Ask anything of me, I will see it done..._

"Name it." she permitted, and he smiled.

"That nothing else changes. I will serve as your Battle Master, and should a threat rise against us I will meet it, granted that I retain my initial place at your side as your protector." he put forth, and she stared at him, not knowing if she should feel shocked or overjoyed. _Is that it? No lordship? No lands? No treasures?_ But she allowed herself the happiness. _Thank you, my Falgon..._

"Done. The Rite of Decoration will take place with the next full moon." she decided, and he bowed his head.

With the recovery or The Fountain, the greatest part of routines returned to normal throughout the Corridor while the moon continued to change. Lord Haslinger had elected to return to Cainhorn Keep due to fatigue and other pressing matters, however had agreed to have his youngest son attend the forthcoming counsel meeting regarding other annual affairs. Yet, before long the vassal banners streamed through the gates of Mount Ardor as the lords and their personal attendants arrived, taking up residence in the east and west wings of the great castle, and all high-born loyals settled into the halls of the burning mountain. But Vega did not attend, for which she found herself grateful. What he needed to know, he will be made aware of by others. He might hold Bristlemane Stronghold, but his was still a lesser name. One clear noon while the weather graced them with some warmth, Claira dismissed her little companions for some enjoyment in the garden while she herself sat at the head of the wide table in the Hollow, where her husband would have; her sentinels behind her and her banner-men in her presence while they discussed their matters of state.

"Very well. Raise the taxes by the annual percentage; but raise compensation as well. In addition to that, favour export prices to demand, but don't make it unreasonable. We must still keep it balanced." she agreed to lord Violet's proposal, and he stared at her for a moment longer.

"My lady?" she sighed, bringing her eyes to his.

"Our own people have been struck hard by the wars, they won't be able to trade for basic needs if they don't have the coin to do so." she added, and he nodded making a note on the parchment in front of him.

"As you bid, my lady." he concluded, passing his calculations. Then she looked at lord Rames, to her left side.

"Lord Rames, please have your son Elduin take up control of The Fountain, and all its attended lands. The soldiers already stationed there, will remain under his orders." she further decreed, and the lord bowed his head, secretly grateful for more grounds where they flocks may grow.

"With pleasure, my lady." he agreed, but lord Seigre looked on appalled.

"My lady, The Fountain has been under my family's control for decades." he reminded, then her eyes met his.

"And then it was taken from you by a band of raiders. Tell me, lord Seigre. How many attempts did you make, to reclaim that castle?" she asked, and a moment of silence followed.

"Five, my lady..." he breathed.

"All with the same outcome." she sat back, the light cascading off the twilight blue of her dress.

"I sent out my personal force with the aid of lord Haslinger, and they retook it in their first assault while yours were still inadequate. The river fortress will go to lord Rames, until otherwise decided." she finished, and he slowly nodded. Several other points were made as well, of possible losses should they suffer more attacks; and currently the most vulnerable lands were those along The Bite. And while the Honey Road was the main passageway through their country, being the most used; other smaller roads like the Red Fox Path to the south and the Roseberry Trail to the north that leads directly to Moat Cailin may also fall victim to enemy plunders and advantages.

"How many patrol units are still active?" Claira asked, glancing at master Austinus.

"Between one hundred and seventy three, and two hundred and twelve, my lady. The parties range between fourteen and twenty two men." he reported, and she thought for that on a moment. Currently, there was not much to bolster their forces, but perhaps they could try to have more eyes on their grounds.

"With our numbers still insufficient, we may consider dividing the patrol of the country into two groups. The first is to continue their rounds of the country going north and west, while the second is to reverse their rounds heading south and west instead. They would cross paths, but with the rotation we will have a fairer chance to identify and repel any attempts." then she looked up.

"But continue managing your defences as well as you can, we must improve our strengths by any reasonable means." she told, and they agreed to that.

"How fares the restoration of our fleet, lord Foch?" she asked as her attention went to Darius.

"Up to twenty seven ships, my lady. Not including _The Honey Horn_ and her flagships, _Sweet Sickle_ and _Golden Maiden_." he reported, and she nodded. These were the only three ships of the original fleet that remained unscathed, as they were still in port when the attack came.

"Good. Keep working on that as much as is reasonable." she encouraged, and he agreed. Then her eyes went over them, raising yet another matter.

"Further, on the advice of my master-at-arms, ser Austinus; I have seen fit to appoint a Battle Master to help me in defence of our country." she announced, and the want of better positions among the men started as she'd expected. Lord Haslinger's son, was the first to stand.

"I would be greatly honoured, to take up this position for you, my lady." he offered eagerly, in turn followed by lord Reubel.

"It will be a privilege to serve in this position under your name, my lady." he put forth, and young lord De Veaux also stood to add his name.

"Should the position be granted, I swear I will not fail you, my lady." he promised sincerely, but she raised her hand to silence them.

"Your offers are very kind, my lords. But, I have already chosen." she told, and they stared back at her.

"Ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, will serve as my Battle Master." she proclaimed, and those who had offered their names slowly retook their places. All, but for lord Reubel as his deep blue eyes watched the tall man at her side. It was an uneasy notion to accept, that a commoner would be raised above their own standing.

"My lady, begging your pardon, but to appoint... your own sentinel, in such an important position may be... too much. Perhaps, a soldier with more experience-" he started to persuade her, met with the frost blue staring back.

"He may be young, but in addition to being highly skilled, my people respect him, and he assumes command easily. Also, he has experience in foreign countries as much as our own. I believe, that he is well suited to the position." she finished glancing up at him, ever present and patient behind her before looking back.

"His Rite of Decoration will take place in the Hall of Fire in three days time. Those of you whom wish to remain and attend this ceremony, and offer your arms are welcome to my halls. Those who would return to their homes to see to their affairs, are free to do so." she finished, and then thought for a moment looking over them. Some seemed either indifferent, or less than happy with her decision, except for lords Foch, Rames and Violet who were smiling. The heads of her strongest and most loyal vassals.

"Are there any other matters?" she asked, followed by a moment of silence, and a discreet exchange between a few of them.

"Only one, my lady. It concerns your marriage." lord Garrener said, and she stared at him curiously as a young page came forward laying a selection of letters in front of her before stepping away.

"What about it?" she looked at the letters, sealed with the sigils of several of their houses. The green axe and bow on purple of Garrener atop all the others. He glanced at the lords beside him, his eyes suggestive. Then lord Violet softly breathed out.

"Begging your pardon, my lady. The lord refers to your re-marriage." he directed, a subtle disdain for the word. He could have liked it just as much as she did, since the others were too craven to clarify. It might have been something they discussed among themselves before this meeting, which of them would offer themselves, their sons or cousins or nephews. But she felt a sudden surge of warmth through her stomach realising what the letters were. _How dare you? All of you! Are you that willing to abandon him?_

"What is my husband's name?" she asked, attempting to control her voice. Several more exchanges followed between the men.

"My lady, proposals have been made from-" lord Reubel started, and the fire flared out over her limbs.

"What is my husband's name?!" she demanded, challenging them for an answer. But there was silence as they stared at her, and she forced a breath into her chest.

"Very well. To those of you who do not know, or have forgotten. My husband's name is Raeghun Taugere of the burning mountain, lord of Mount Ardor and liege of the Corridor. This will not change under any circumstances. Now I trust that I have made myself clear on that point. And while I thank you kindly for your years of support and counsel; this is one thing you cannot ask of me." she refused, and then took the letters from the table and held them out to her sentinel.

"Ser Falgon, if you'd be so kind as to answer these for me, please." He took the letters from her, and without pause walked to the fireplace and dropped them into the flames. If her words were not enough, that would convince the hard staring eyes.

"Until my husband's body or his head rests in my tombs, he is not dead." she told them, and she heard the voice of lord Seigre.

"But, soldiers brought his sword back." he reminded, but she scoffed at those words.

"You may lose a sword, like anything else." she added, and lord Garrener sat forward, resting his hands on the surface of the table.

"My lady, you must consider-" he started, fuelling the blaze through her bowels.

"I will not! I will not consider it." she snapped at him.

"Lady Claira, it's been over two years. The obligations of this keep was not meant for the shoulders of one person alone." lord Seigre attempted a gentler way to persuade her, but she refused to be swayed. By anyone.

"That does not matter. I am a Taugere, my lords. I will never remarry. I will reign the burning mountain in my husband's name until either he is returned to me or until my death, alternate to my son coming of age and he succeeds me." she finished, met with another silence as they graciously decided to keep further arguments to themselves.

"If there is nothing else of importance, you are free to leave." she dismissed them, and they stood issuing a respectable bow before departing the Hollow, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to reclaim herself. She would never be her husband's equal, she knew; and prayed many times for the strength to uphold his name. She had to try harder, she had to be harder, she had to be stronger...

"I am one of your lords. I have a right, to your hand." she looked up to meet the smirking face of lord Garrener, watching her. His dim blue eyes taking in the flawless pale skin of her open shoulders amidst her beautiful marbled hair hanging freely down her bare back from her jewelled pin, and the curve of her body under the dark blue velvet dress that had but a broad satin ribbon decorated with silver thread coiled around her neck and along the low sleeves. The same details that lined the wide seams. He was a tall man with fiery auburn hair, pale blue eyes and a waist as big as his self-pride. And thrice a widower, as well. His first wife died in childbirth, the second to food poisoning, and the third to an unfortunate fall down the tower stairs. _Must I have you thrown from the stairs before you understand my position?_

"All of your rights were forsaken the moment you entered my grounds, save that you may be allowed to leave here alive. Should I not find you to be an annoyance." she threw back, and the grin faded.

"This is not Dorne. A woman is not a man's equal." he told deliberately, and she sat back with a sigh.

"No, it is not. This is the Corridor, of course. It falls under governance of Mount Ardor." she agreed, and then smiled.

"And I rule here." his face hardened, and she noticed his hands clench into fists.

"Now if you'd pardon me, my lord. I do have more matters that require my attention." she again dismissed him, and after a recognising stare for the warriors shielding her, he turned and marched away into the hall. Again she claimed a breath, silently acknowledging that this was severely tiring. If her vassal lords continued to take offence, she would have very little support in the end. But she was a Taugere, and could not allow herself to be intimidated or manipulated for any reason. Not for anyone. But then she smiled as she looked up, in the sweet reprieve. With Falgon and Wymon she will always be safe, and it was her heart that she needed to protect. Then she stood, turning to her sentinels and saw Wymon smiling broadly, finally releasing the laughter softly that he tried so hard to withhold.

"You find my situation amusing, ser?" she asked, and he strangled the sounds.

"No, my lady." but then the smile came again.

"But I do enjoy watching you put them down, so gracefully." he confessed, followed by another soft snigger, one she had no choice but to share.

"It's anything but graceful, I'll admit." she breathed,

"But good all the same, my lady." he bowed his head to her as Falgon watched her, a smile of his own.

"Well, I should meet with Jeody on tonight's selections. You may take the rest of the day for yourself, I'm sure you have things to do." she allowed him, and Wymon bowed to her before heading away, then she looked at Falgon.

"They don't seem to approve." she sighed, but his easy smile remained.

"They will adjust." he reassured, and she laughed.

"They'd better." then she turned.

"Shall we?" he followed down the hallways, watching her. He had once compared her to a flake of frost, glowing in the flames. Glimmering, but delicate and fragile. She wasn't that flake, not any more. Still beautiful in its shine, but hard and unyielding. Somewhere, the flake of frost had become a diamond…

"Am I being cruel, Falgon? Am I being unfair?" she suddenly asked him in the silence of the passage, and he felt for her. Again, like many times before she started doubting herself.

"No, your grace. I do not believe you are being either cruel or unfair. You are protecting your people to the best of your capability, why should you not be allowed to protect yourself?" he countered, and heard her softly sigh again recalling the heated exchanges she was forced into.

"They're being rather insistent…" she said, and he jeered. Those pompous badgers may squabble and claw until their teeth fell out, their strength will never match hers. Not truly.

"They may insist all they want, and that is all. None may force you. And they will remain to insist for the next fifty years, some may even demand it from you for their continued support. But they still cannot force you." he told, and she suddenly stopped turning to him, her eyes bright and almost luminous in the light of the torches lining the walls.

"Now you're sounding insistent." she said, and he felt a slight guilt pull at him before bowing his head.

"My apologies, your grace. I only meant that a choice that concerns your life and the way you live it, cannot be made by anyone but yourself." he corrected, but then she stepped closer to him.

"You're right. They will keep insisting, and the only power I have to oppose them is the name of my husband, and my words. Which might only shield me so long." she looked down from him.

"I won't be able to stand for long, not on my own. I will need your strength, as well." she whispered, but he smiled then.

"You have it, my queen. Always. In everything." he promised, then she looked up at him with a grateful smile behind her shining eyes.

"Thank you." then they proceeded down the incline, where she found a group of nobles on the second level in front of the great hearth, engaged in a subtle discussion. But as she neared them, they turned and acknowledged her.

"My lords." Ernaldus raised his hands to her, and she gave her hand freely.

"If it please, my lady. We have decided to stay for the Rite." he told, sparing a glance for those behind him. Darius smiled warmly at Falgon.

"You are very welcome, of course." she said, grateful for their loyalty, and then the lord of Hurlton looked back at her.

"The absence of lord Raeghun is a tragic void, but until otherwise is proven, we will keep believing with you. Nothing will alter our standings." he assured, and she stared at him for a moment.

"My lord..." then he smiled. His thick mane of brown hair and fierce beard for a moment had him resembling a snarling lion, but how she admired him.

"You are a Taugere, lady Claira. Our houses, served under an Ardent Queen many centuries ago, I see no reason to forget that. Until your lord husband is returned, you have the support of Hurlton Fortress, and all who stand under us. And if you believe that your sentinel is worthy of the title you grant him, by all the gods we will serve under his command when needed." he vowed again.

"As will ours." lord Foch added his numbers, and then Florentius stepped forward.

"You will have our strength, my lady. Longdale is yours, for however long you need it." he promised, followed by lords De Veaux and Haslinger on his father's behalf, and she stared at them.

"Thank you..." she breathed, the eagerness of these regal noblemen leaving her overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude. They would not forget their bonds, would not abandon her or her family.

"Thank you all, so much. I am forever in your debt, my lords." she praised them, the kind faces that looked back, and continued to share her halls as the moon completed its turn and its full silver light showered down on the burning mountain. But lord Garrener, Reubel and Seigre elected to return to their strongholds to manage their concerns, leaving their word to rise should they be called upon. The fires burnt brightly, the great hearth in all its splendour, and vibrant banners displayed along the walls while Claira gave Jeody freedom of the kitchen, and he spent three days planning and preparing a lavish feast to follow the ceremony; certainly taking to the task passionately. Yet none seemed so enthusiastic as Wymon, who was often heard commenting on any possible improvements. With late noon, Claira decided it was time to prepare herself for the occasion, and while her little companions were given the opportunity to do the same, she retired to the lord's chamber, where with her handmaiden's help she redressed in a grand mantled dress of fire red silk with gold detailing across the bodice, hemlines and seams of the wide sleeves. A girdle of gold, pearl and ruby to match the gown hugged her hips and a circlet with the same effects would rest on her brow after Laurene finished brushing her hair. She waited patiently, feeling each gentle stroke through her thick marbled hair, counting another moment and wondering what the others were doing, and reflecting on the letter they received this morning from the south. It was a sad thing that her house could celebrate something, while King's Landing mourned with a funeral. And no one less, than the Hand of the King, lord Tywin Lannister. She didn't know how he died, but people made their own conclusions. Some say that his heart simply stopped, others say that he fell and broke his neck. And others, said an assassin stole into his bedchamber and slew him in his sleep, and somehow all of these seemed so unlikely while she tried to recall him. He was a stoic man, who never smiled although he held his courtesies. He might not have been young any more, but he was fierce in his ways. She couldn't imagine that he had held a sword in his hand in decades, but he was powerful. It would be a lie to say she did not admire him, and Westeros would have a difficult time finding a lord who was close to equal to serve as Hand of the King. But perhaps, her lands would suffer less. Tommen was a soft and gentle boy, even for a king. Finally the girl brought strands together at the back and carefully secured them with the jewelled pin before moving around, styling some loose stands to frame her face. Then Laurene took the circlet from the dresser surface and gently fit it into place, and stared at the lady in front of her for a long moment with an enchanted smile.

"Is something wrong?" Claira asked as the girl moved back.

"No, milady. You look wonderful." she praised, waiting as Claira slipped garnet red suede shoes with small heels onto her feet and then stood to feel them. They were comfortable, and the low heels gave enough balance so that she won't stumble. Then she took a deep breath, looking through the window where the sun hung low, gleaming red over the water of the Sunset Sea. The ceremony was set to start at dusk.

"Well, we should head down. The Rite will start, soon." she decided, and Laurene nodded before turning and picking up the basket where Ricket lay sleeping, and they proceeded down to the Hall of Fire where Beatrice and Samantha awaited her at the base of the incline, looking equally exquisite. The entire space bursting with life. Each member of the keep was present, those from the village came, and others from nearby farms and settlements, many also took up positions on the third level looking down. All who could, waited eagerly for the distinction of the new Battle Master. Claira took a place in front of the throne with her little companions to her left, speaking and laughing excitedly of the event as she stood listening to the mass of voices diminish to a soft exchange here and there while another young page started his way down the long pathway amidst the people to the barracks, and disappeared through the arch. Maester Adlyn waited to her right side and two squires holding the Taugere standards stood next to the rails on the first step; her leal lords all in the row closest to the grand staircase. There was music from somewhere, soft sways of a flute to entertain the waiting horde. She focused on breathing for a while, watching the faces that crammed her great hall. After all the loss they'd suffered, she didn't expect this many people to come. The last of the light vanished behind the horizon quickly, and then the same boy was seen silently making his way outside. And then there was movement. From the arch to the barracks came master Austinus, dressed elegantly in dark breeches, high boots, a fine white shirt and a smooth leather jerkin, his sword and dagger on the studded belt at his waist and a black cloak from his shoulders. And then came Wymon, dressed in the same attire. They paused on the steps in front of her, bowing formally before assuming their places next to maester Adlyn. And then came her sentinel, tall and valorous and straight as a lance down the masses that stared in silence, sure and confident in his steps until he stood before her, five steps down from where she stood so he looked up at her. He looked exactly the same as he always has. She returned his gentle smile before looking over her people, raising her hands.

"Thank you all for attending this proud occasion, when we may honour one of our greatest members." she called over them, the words reaching each corner of the space, and then brought her hands back in front of her.

"Our lands, and our people have suffered under attacks from those who would seek to test our strengths, and break our spirits. But by standing together, we will defend ourselves and our homes from whomever comes. We will stand against them with courage. We will force back whatever hand wishes to claim us. And we will do it, with the leadership and power of the finest in this country." she continued, and then looked back at him with a subtle nod. Again he approached until he towered over her, then took the sword from his back and knelt in front of her, laying the glimmering blade by her feet. The firelight reflected off his smooth dark hair, like beams of gold, and she wondered why she never noticed before. Perhaps because the last time she looked down on him like this, was when her lord husband named him her sentinel, and she was far away from him, standing next to her husband who sat on the phoenix throne. Quill was far too big for her hands, and so because she had no sword to dub him, she lay her right hand on his shoulder with her blessing.

"Ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, Sentinel of Flame. In the sight of gods and men, I entrust you with the title of Battle Master, under my name. I charge you to be brave and just, and to be true in your duty. But remain gentle to the innocent and defenceless." she declared for all to hear, and she felt Falgon move with a breath.

"Before all who bears witness, gods and men, new, old and forgotten. I swear my sword and my being to your house, and name." he promised, and then looked up, the light of the great hearth in his eyes.

"By the sun and the sea, and all in between; eternal I shall stand." he added, and she smiled brightly with so much happiness and assurance before her hand came away from him.

"Rise, Falgon of the Fire Hall. Battle Master of The Corridor." she named him, and he stood replacing the Valyrian steel great sword where it belonged.

"I know you will serve with pride." she said freely, and he bowed his head. He turned to the mass behind them, assaulted with a wave of overzealous applause and cheers followed by the tolling of the sentry tower bells as she watched him standing high and fierce beside her, feeling warm. _My Raeghun will approve... I know he will..._ When the zealous acclaim calmed, the heads of each vassal house came from the horde, and all offered their hands to the Battle Master, symbolizing their good faith and trust, and he accepted their gestures graciously while discussions floated about the hall. Slowly the smallfolk departed the hall back to Garde's Post where the Inn Keeper Oswell, and the other owners and farmers had planned their own festivities following the award with lavish music, dancing and drinking; the nobility was allowed a calmer night in the castle's southern hall where they indulged in Berry and Joldewin's energetic displays, dancing to the lovely sounds of girl with a harp and Jeody's fine talents where they were served rich potato and leek soup with bacon bits and bread rolls, Turkeys stuffed with pork sausage, mushrooms, spinach and cheese. Seared lamb with wild herbs and garlic. Butter-grilled herring, sole and rosefish with lemon sauce. Spiced potatoes, sweet carrots, pots of creamed vegetables. Figs and grapes and cherries. Tartlets, cakes, berry and apple pies, warm custard, curdled cream, wines and meads and ciders, all while exchanging soft conversation on present betterment and future hope and Falgon again sat at Claira's right side at the high table, all at ease and the words light and cheerful. This was a good day. And when all was thoroughly jaded, they slowly sauntered off to their apartments, and the Battle Master accompanied his Queen back to her sanctuary. Claira felt a bit clumsy, cursing the final glass of wine. But she felt content, only so wishing that her dear Raeghun and Rychon were there. But with Falgon with her, it wasn't so bad. Although he didn't eat much again, save for perhaps a few tastes of each course with a goblet of mead.

"For such a big man, you certainly don't eat a lot." she lightly teased him, but heard him laugh.

"I just wasn't hungry, that's all." he brushed it off, and she glanced at him.

"You almost never eat anything." she reminded him, seeing him shrug slightly.

"I'm almost never hungry. But if I need to, I will have something. I promise." he told, and she sighed.

"Jeody certainly went to great lengths. I haven't seen a feast like that in a long time." she breathed, again admiring the excitable kitchen master's gift. If the opportunity came, he spared no effort or expense to make it grand, and she found herself remembering Rychon's presentation, Berin and Milla's wedding feast, and Raeghun's succession.

"He loves what he does, and has no objection to displaying it." Falgon agreed as they rounded the curve towards the lord's wing.

"We have some extraordinary people here. Our jailer, our cook, our healer..." then she smiled at him.

"And now our Battle Master." she announced happily, turning to him in half a whirl, but stumbled. He caught her easily, and drew her up.

"Careful. Don't hurt yourself." he gently steadied her as she blushed.

"I'm so sorry, I'm not used to heels..." she muttered, feeling so foolish. Perhaps if she'd started wearing them sooner like Milla did, she would be. _I shouldn't be like this..._ but he smiled back, regardless of the burn of her hands on his arms.

"It's al right. And I will do my best to be worthy of the title you gave me, your grace." he once again promised as he guided her further up the incline.

"There is no one better, my Falgon." she praised as they walked together for another while, and then she stopped and started pushing the heavy door open, reflecting on lord Garrener, his words and why he did not stay.

"Would you take a last cup with me, ser?" she invited, but he wavered for a moment before nodding.

"If it please, your grace. But you've allowed yourself a bit more, than usual." he softly cautioned, and she laughed.

"Oh, gods be good. No wine. Just apple press." she assured, and he gingerly agreed, then entered the lord's hall with her where she poured clear amber liquid into two goblets and offered him one.

"Thank you." she smiled, and then turned taking the circlet from her brow and laying it on the small table next to the divan and sat down on the wide fleecy pillows. Then she removed her shoes and brought her feet up onto the softness next to her, and rested her back against the curved armrest, allowing her body to ease and just take in the calmness. Then she looked at him, just watching her.

"You may sit down." she told him, and he nodded. But instead of claiming the space next to her, he chose a seat facing her and then drank from the goblet. For a long moment, there was silence as she stared at the chalice in her hands, the fingers of her right hand running along the edge. She kept thinking of lord Garrener, who had been less than pleased.

"Falgon..." then she looked up at him, his eyes attentive on her.

"Do you think, I should be concerned about lord Garrener? What if... What if he turns on me?" she asked, and he glanced away seeming to reflect on that.

"I don't think he'll risk it. He will gain nothing, and lose everything." he said, and for a moment she flushed.

"Gain nothing?" then he looked back.

"Because whatever attempts he makes, will fail. I assure you." he said, and she eased again lowering her eyes. Of course they will fail. All of them will fail...

"Do you remember house Coder?" she asked, and he stared at her for a moment.

"I've heard of them. A few words, here and there. But nothing in detail. It seems that there was no deep fondness for them." he replied, and suddenly she recalled.

"Oh, forgive me." she paused, softly smiling.

"I've forgotten that you were not with us, yet..." then she sighed.

"Unfortunately, no Rains of Castamere was ever sung for Coder..." she breathed. There was a reason Coder did not attend any more.

"Years ago, lord Coder insulted the wife of the liege lord's son. For his words he was banished from the Corridor, and their hold fell silent. Two years later, he appeared with a host at the gates of Mount Ardor, demanding an audience with lord Taugere and the head of the North Witch..." her hands hardened, remembering that horrible night.

"There was a clash outside the walls; the lord, his son and the sentinels took the field themselves with a count of one hundred and seventy nine men, against near three hundred..." That was one of the most frightening nights of her life, and she remembered fighting against Gavin who held her inside.

"That battle was won, if one could call it that. But, the liege lord was injured. He took an arrow to the knee, and the wound became corrupted. He left this world barely a week later..." she felt the heat to her cheeks, she was the last one to be with him when he passed. She remembered the cool of his hand in hers, the pallid skin. And that last breath...

"Within a fortnight of the new lord's succession, he received a message from lord Coder's son. A second threat." she remembered him, how hard his eyes had become as he crumpled the note in his hands.

"What happened?" she heard her sentinel softly, and smiled as she looked up at him. His elbows were resting on his knees, his posture slightly leaned forward as he listened.

"Lord Coder's son wanted a burning. My husband gave him one. Blackmantle Hall has remained forsaken ever since..." she finished, bringing the chalice to her lips and swallowing. That one thing was the cruellest her husband had ever done, and the result was shocking. But she understood his judgement, and she accepted it. Vaguely, his words came back to her when she asked him about it. _I cannot rule these lands with kindness and compassion alone..._

"I see." he breathed, looking at the fire of the hearth.

"Well, if lord Garrener has a shred of sense he would remember their fate, for his own may yet be far worse." he added, and she had to bite down a snigger.

"What could be worse than being burned alive, ser?" she asked, and he looked back at her.

"Your husband is the liege lord. He is gifted of mercy, and has the right to exercise it at his discretion. I, as your protector, and because I made a promise to him, am under no obligation to do the same." he looked down at his hands as she stared at him. Hard hands, that have been soaked with blood completely. Beloved and foe. The sins of his darkness, for his weakness...

"You are not a cruel man, Falgon." she told him softly, and his hands clenched into fists.

"You've not seen what these hands have done, your grace. I've killed thousands, most with no reason other than simply continuing my existence..." then he looked up and saw her standing in front of him, and her hands came to his as she knelt in front of him, her blue eyes shining up at him as she smiled.

"These hands have protected my family. They've saved the lives of my husband and my son. They've saved my life, so many times. They've carried and comforted me. What they've done before that, is of no matter." and he could find it to smile back. _Thank you..._

"And they will continue to do so, my queen. Now that I've found my purpose." he promised, and she glanced away from him for half a heartbeat, at the light of the hearth as if searching for a memory.

"It is something strange. But, it feels as if you've always been a part of my life. A part of my family." she said, and suddenly just for an instant her eyes became hazed, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.

"A man of my house..." the words oddly didn't sound like hers, as if someone else was speaking through her lips. But his hands uncoiled, and wrapped around hers, burning in his palms.

"Perhaps, I was always meant to be." he breathed, and for half a heartbeat he thought of taking her in his arms, and just holding her for a moment. But her eyes cleared, and instead he sat back taking the chalice off the table next to him and draining the contents as she stood. Then he replaced the empty cup, and came to his feet as well.

"Thank you for the press, your grace. I should not keep you, this has been a long day." he suggested, and she nodded.

"Good night, ser Falgon." she greeted, and he bowed to her.

"Sleep well, my queen." then he left in silence, making his way back to the guard's hall reflecting on the day. And as he walked, the moment came back where he knelt in front of her, renewing his vows to her, and the words that resounded in his head. A long dormant memory, something his father told him long, long ago when Summit became his. " _The mountains will shift and shudder like sand over the dunes. Forests will splinter and sunder and turn to ash. Rivers will ripple and wane and dry. But we... Eternal_ _W_ _e Stand._ " then he smiled.

"Eternal I Shall Stand..." 


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26 – THE DREAM

As the months passed, one after the other as the full moon bowed to the lord's moon and back again, life slowly receded to how it was, but for the overbearing longing and a surprise raid once in a while. Since the honour, her Battle Master left the burning mountain again five times under her orders to meet a threat on their domain, and returned unscathed each time with minimum loss. Once with lord Foch, twice with lord Rames, once with lord Seigre, and a final time to lord De Veaux. With his understanding he knew when, where and how to apply her strategic instructions, and the support of her leal banner-men they were able to push back or destroy whatever invasion lay a hand on their lands. Then followed the king's wedding to twice widowed lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden, to reseal the alliance between the Crown and the Reach, not entirely as extravagant as his brother's before him, but something grand all the same. Once again she received a summons, or this time rather an invitation to attend the royal wedding, and naturally swear fealty to the new king while she was there. To which she again replied with an unfeigned congratulations, but with the current state of their country, her regal responsibilities and the lack of a court master, would not be permitted to leave Mount Ardor, and hoped he would accept it as such. Not too long after, rumours had surfaced from several sources about increasing unrest in the capital, mostly circulating around a religious group branded "Sparrows". And others telling that the Boltons took up Winterfell, and reconstruction of the broken stronghold had started, and that the Night's Watch was now under command of Jon Snow as Lord Commander, with lord Stannis Baratheon now at Castle Black as his honoured guest. And through it all, the _Silence_ persisted... Yet, she did not fear for them. With the world growing colder, the mist will grow thicker, and her home and her family will remain protected. More stories from across the Narrow Sea told that slave trade in Slaver's Bay had near to completely ceased, much to the pleasure and disdain of multiple groups; and the city of Meereen was now ruled by a queen with silver hair and three fierce dragons; something she had no pleasure or disdain in. If anything, she had remained indifferent to the affairs of any country outside of her own borders, which might not be the best course, but again could not be helped. As the sun slowly made its way to the blue horizon, attended by her sentinels, and little companions folding letters to be sealed and sorting important messages from simple notices; master Austinus and maester Adlyn with her, she sat at the head of the great table in the Hollow dressed in a gown of shimmering black satin with gold lining; this was the better place to be lately while she listened to their counsel on several matters and wrote her reply to the pressing messages they'd received. Requests and petitions from the reaches of her dominion and beyond, all seeking her answer or approval.

"How fares our guard count, ser Austinus?" Claira asked, not bringing her eyes away from the letter in front of her.

"Two hundred and thirty three men, my lady. No new recruits have been taken on in a couple of weeks." he reported, watching as she wrote.

"I see. Are you in need of more men?" he glanced at Falgon, standing behind her while Wymon had taken a seat next to her.

"Not in dire need, my lady." she lay the quill down, and folded the letter before sealing it.

"We can have a message sent to Hillfield, to send us any youngsters fit for service." she decided as she lay the letter down with others, and took a fresh parchment to reply on another message.

"As you bid, my lady." Austinus agreed as she retook the quill.

"Any news on the annual Revelry?" she continued, and maester Adlyn looked up.

"It is to be held at Hornsney this year, my lady. But lord Violet has asked for a couple of weeks postponement, in light of the recent request for honey from White Harbour and Seagard." he reported, and she nodded.

"Very well. Three weeks should suffice." Claira agreed. Then she paused a long moment on a letter received from Lord Commander Snow at Castle Black, asking for new recruits. She breathed in and let it go slowly. Centuries ago, it was one of the realm's great honours to serve in the Night's Watch, but now... Now it was a punishment. Then she looked up at master Austinus.

"Please have this delivered to Eidolon, master. Have all appropriate prisoners sent to The Wall for service. And have an assembly point issued for all willing men to join them. The party leaves north in a month." she instructed, and he took the letter.

"Eidolon?" he seemed momentarily confused as he looked at her.

"Our jailer, ser." she clarified, and then he smiled.

"Oh. Yes, my lady. Forgive me, I've never heard his name before." he agreed, and she took the next message; another relay from the north. From he who would name himself the true king. A demand for their support which would be invaluable now that hers was the proud home of the first Battle Master in more than two hundred years, and an offer to keep her lands and positions if she swore him fealty; and it left her angered as she threw the letter down with no intent to answer, and for a moment the girls stared at her before issuing the other a nervous glance.

"Your grace?" his voice was gentle beside her, but the fire raced through her fingers.

"I will not pledge my people to some imprudent claimer for the Iron Throne!" she sat back, suddenly annoyed and exhausted at the same time for all the letters.

"My lady, lord Stannis is a fair man-" maester Adlyn started gently, but her eyes silenced him.

"My people have suffered enough! We defend ourselves as best we can, we will fight no one's wars for them." she refused, and he nodded. She claimed another moment for herself, noting the copper sunlight of late noon against the wall to her right as the heat slowly faded. She had yet to meet with Jeody on tonight's supper, but it would have to wait until she was done here. Or maybe she'd just leave him to his plays of fancy, which right now seemed severely tempting. To just wait and find a delightful surprise brought to their tables... Then the long call of a warhorn drew her attention, followed by the sentry tower bells in answer, and the excited howling and barking of their hounds, and secretly she sank away. She wasn't expecting someone today, perhaps it was an envoy from Earndale or Hurlton, and then she looked back at the letters.

"Wymon, maester Adlyn, would you please be so kind as to meet our visitors? I'll be down as soon as I've finished our replies." she asked, forcing herself forward.

"My little ones, you may go with them if you wish." she offered, and the girls stood to follow as Claira took up the quill while her sentinel and maester stood, issuing a small graceful bow before leaving the chamber.

"My lady?" she looked up at master Austinus, who was still present.

"May I beg your leave, as well?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Of course, ser. And thank you. I will inform you of any necessary alterations." she allowed, and he stood as well, departing after a small bow and a polite greeting while she tried to focus on the parchments. Five more letters she answered, requests from Cainhorn Keep, Blazenbury and The Fountain, and sanctions from Hurlton and Bellburn. The towns were already starting to store away crops and other necessities like produce, grains, pelts and firewood for the coming winter, which maesters predicted to be a long one, and it was relieving that her countrymen took up their preparations early.

"So, what do you think, ser?" she asked, perhaps only to break the silence.

"Of what, your grace?" his voice came back to her calmly, and she smiled.

"Of the current reign of our lovely region." she directed, and heard him shifting. It was a nice sound, really. The brush of leather and iron, and the cross guard of his great sword gently ringing against the clasps of the chest belt. Even that sound, made her feel safe.

"I think you are well suited to it, your grace." he praised, and she laughed.

"There are those who say, that it is not I that govern these lands. That it is you. They say that you 'whisper in my ear, telling me what to do'." she hinted, and for a moment looked up at him. He was smiling, an amused grin.

"I would love to whisper to you, your grace. But our difference in height will make that unwise. So, if you are in need of my advice, I will simply tell you." he assured, and she nodded.

"Well, good to know that, then." she continued with the letters, and then heard footsteps coming up the hallway, hard and intent. Perhaps the visitor had no patience to wait, as asked.

"Ser Falgon, would you please be so kind as to meet my guest. I will attend them shortly." she breathed, thinking that she really hadn't the burning desire to meet with anyone today, but before he could move away from her side the footfalls entered the Hollow, suddenly stopping at the other end of the table.

"Since when does the lady of the hold ask her sentinels to greet a guest in her stead?" a strong voice demanded, but there was a playfulness to it, and she looked up to see a familiar face. One she did not expect to see, but one she was exaltedly happy to see, and she smiled.

"Welcome home, lord Berin." she said, and he returned her smile.

"It is good to be back." he replied merrily as he stared at her. He'd regained the weight he'd lost during the war, and a cropped beard covered his cheeks and jaw, evidence of a week's travel.

"You must be tired. Please, take the time to settle in, your chambers in the east wing are exactly as you've left them. I will meet you again tonight, after I've finished my assignments." she proposed, and he nodded before looking at Falgon.

"Won't you join me, ser?" he requested politely, and the tall warrior glanced at his queen.

"You'll be al right, your grace?" he asked, and she nodded as she returned her attention to the letters.

"Certainly, I'm sure everyone is eager to see you as well." she told, and he bowed his head before joining Berin down to the Hall of Fire.

"She's different." Berin breathed softly.

"She is." Falgon agreed, and his friend glanced up at him.

"She's... harder." he identified, having not seen the joy in her eyes that he might have expected.

"She's had some hard years. But, we learn how to move forward, and she is stronger. She has refused more suitors than you have teeth, and repelled more attacks than most men have fingers." Falgon revealed, and Berin paused in the hallway.

"I... I never realized..." he muttered, giving in to the fact that they had left her when she was vulnerable.

"She's missed you, all of you. But, circumstance forces us to change. The result of that change, is not always for the worse." Falgon replied, and it was true. She had found a strength that was rarely compared to, especially for women. Then he looked up.

"And still nothing has been heard of Raeghun?" he asked, watching the broad shoulders rise and fall in a breath.

"Nothing, unfortunately. Some of our hunters have returned from Dorne just a few weeks ago, and prince Doran Martell was very accommodating. But he too, cannot offer any help, either word or hand. But so far as there's nothing bad, hope remains." Falgon said, and Berin moved forward again as they continued on their way.

"How do you know they were all the way to Dorne?" he asked, and Falgon laughed.

"Because they came back with a brass viper, given by the prince as condolence." he told. Of all the many things that changed, this man didn't seem to. He was most the same as always in many ways, irrespective of the three years that they hadn't seen him. But with all accounts of him having to be older, he attributed this to good heredity, and the tall warrior simply bore his years remarkably well.

"Congratulations on your position as Battle Master, that is a fine accomplishment." Berin told with a smile, and the dark eyes came down to his.

"Thank you. An honour, but I cannot admit to desiring it." he confessed in the silence of the hall.

"If she titled you, there was no one better. Your position exceeds my own now." Berin lightly teased him, but it made him smile.

"She wanted to ask you. But I'm afraid that our situations forced her otherwise." he told, but Berin laughed.

"With what I've heard, you are well suited to it, ser." he said, hearing Falgon laugh.

"My father once said, that a man's greatness is what he makes it. Even those outside of the nobility, may rise high in the world." he mentioned, and Berin nodded.

"Very true, considering the Night's Watch's own current Lord Commander." he reflected, and they emerged into the Hall of Fire where maester Adlyn and young ladies Beatrice and Samantha was speaking mirthfully with lady Milla as the castle hands proceeded to carry their effects into the castle towards the east wing to be returned to their chambers. Milla looked up at them with a bright smile.

"Good day, ser Falgon. How good to see you." she greeted, and he returned her kind gesture.

"Greetings, lady Milla. And welcome home." he replied, before noticing a fair couple making their way up the grand staircase. A tall young man, only just beyond a boy, with ash blonde hair and green eyes, dressed in fine riding boots, dark breeches, an ivory tunic and a green samite doublet with a black leather sword belt about his waist; and a beautiful maiden on his arm with black locks hanging to her waist and deep green eyes, dressed in lilac and pearl. And with a place on the left side of her fine leather girdle inlaid with small azurite spheres, hung a delicate but deadly silver dagger, the grip strong black leather and a shining pearl set in the pommel. She looked up at him, her eyes clear and happy as she smiled.

"Good day, ser Falgon. Maester Adlyn." she greeted, along with her brother, and Falgon smiled. She was a woman now, but she will always be his Little Bluebell...

"And to you, lady Bella and lord Vaellion. Welcome home." she pitched forward, jumping and throwing her arms around his neck to hold him with a happy laugh.

"I've missed you, so much." his arms circled her, and held her for a moment.

"And we've missed you." he replied before letting her down, and then his attention went to Vaellion, who extended a hand while young Beatrice and Samantha immediately introduced themselves as well, happy for another friend.

"Compliments on your stature, Battle Master Falgon. Seems the world is quite taken with you, many can't stop talking about it." he praised, the light in his eyes joyful and Falgon took his hand.

"Thank you. Hard work goes a long way." he teased, and Vaellion laughed.

"That it does, ser. That it certainly does." he agreed, then the tall warrior looked up towards the doors, noting that one of their members were missing.

"Where's your brother?" he asked.

"He chose to stay behind at Citrine Arch for now. But he should return home as well, before too long." Berin explained, and Falgon wondered for a moment. Was he the true reason, that the youngster had no desire to return home with his family?

"I see." he finally breathed,

"Where is our lady?" Milla asked excitedly.

"She has some assignments to finish, but promised to meet us later. In the interim, she has advised that we take the opportunity to settle in." Berin told, and her spirit seemed to wane slightly.

"Very well then..." during their journey back home, her most prominent thoughts were of how happy she would be to see Claira again, revelling in each day that brought them closer. But with the rule of a country now hers, the lady of Mount Ardor's responsibilities came first, of course. Bella then turned to someone waiting at the base of the steps, and smiled.

"Stephanie, come here sweetling." she called softly, and the girl looked up, regarding all of them. She was lean as a blade of grass, tall and delicate, and at age with Bella. Her brown eyes were clear and bright, and her honey gold hair caught the light from the fires like strands of silk. Then she moved slowly up the staircase, and it was a clear thing that she was extremely shy, and timid.

"Good... Good day." she greeted them in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Welcome, my lady." Wymon greeted, and she blushed. Bella's hands rested gently on her shoulders.

"Forgive my sweet Stephanie. She's terribly bashful." Bella pardoned, and Vaellion laughed.

"She's as daring as a duckling, our Stephanie Ashwood." he teased, and her hand came up to her mouth as she looked away from him and Bella cast him a scornful glare. But before she could reprimand him, the Battle Master gave his own.

"All the more reason to protect such a gentle lady, lord Vaellion." he told in his soft manner, but his eyes alone gave more than the words and Vaellion nodded quickly.

"With my life, ser." he agreed, and finally the fearful girl's eyes met those of the great man. She wasn't simply introverted, she was afraid. Of everything. Then Milla turned to her daughter.

"Bella, why don't you show Stephanie your chambers? I'm sure she'd love it." she suggested, and Bella gently took her hand.

"Come." she beckoned, and both the other youngsters fell in with them, Beatrice even going so far as to affectionately taking her free arm, for which she received an anxious glance but the girl did not attempt to pull free.

"You're going to love this place, Stephanie. Our own chambers are down here as well." she told as they moved down the passage, and Falgon stared after them. For some reason, the girl's behaviour was not natural.

"Has she always been like this?" he asked, and Berin shrugged.

"As far as we know. She arrived at Citrine Arch about a year ago attended by but a single old guard, and Bella took her under her wing. They've been quite inseparable since." Berin explained, his attention also on the passage where the girls vanished.

"Sad to say, some think that she's unintelligent because she's quiet, but I assure you that is not the case. She doesn't ride, or sing, or dance but she has a brilliant mind. I'd hoped that some of Bella's confidence might rub off on her, in time." he further added, and then Falgon's attention came back to him.

"The girl's not shy. She's afraid." he concluded, and Milla glanced between them.

"How could you tell?" Vaellion asked, and he sighed.

"I can see it." A shy maid would at least smile, even when she is blushing, but Stephanie Ashwood is scared to death of everything, and of everyone. Especially men, it would seem.

"Well, now that we're back home, I'm sure things will improve." Milla eased. That evening they waited in the southern hall, welcomed by all as the wonderful smell of the sweet gardens and Jeody's kitchen filled the air around them along with the pleasant, happy voices. Moments later, silence fell across the hall as a vision in black and gold entered the feast hall, still and all as wondrous as before with her luscious waves of midnight and starlight coiled at the nape of her neck before falling down to her low back. The children ran to her first, happily embracing her with a joyful greeting; and then Milla approached her as well placing her arms around her. She returned the gesture, but there was no strain in her arms, which struck the court maiden as odd for an instant before brushing it off, dismissing it for fatigue. They took their seats at the high table while others assembled around the long tables down the hall with Claira assuming her place in the lord's high chair where her lord would have been, and her Battle Master in honour to her right as the head of the Sentinels and his wife faced them, their children and the young companions next to them. With light discussion they supped on honey glazed roast suckling pig, green salad with cherry tomatoes, crumbed cheese and crushed nuts, pumpkin fritters and creamy spiced potatoes along with sweet rose wine and berry press, followed by treacly berry pie. They spoke of many things within this domain and that, and Berin made mention that the area between Long Lake and the Wolfswood had apparently been searched by multiple groups to find Pale Haven, to his relief none so far with success that they've heard. Claira laughed, sounding amused by that as she replaced her chalice.

"Like The Wall, The Eyrie and Hightower, Pale Haven is one of the great wonders of this world. Brandon the Builder himself helped in its construction." then she sat back against the rest of the chair.

"It was strategically placed in an area where there is always mist throughout the year, and built with alabaster stone. So long as the mist holds, Pale Haven will remain protected." she took the chalice for a small swallow of wine.

"So it's not as magical a creation as some would believe?" Vaellion asked, and she smiled.

"No, my sweet. Not in that sense. It's still there, it always will be. It's just very well hidden. And with the mists thickening, riders can pass by within several feet of the walls and never see it." _The Silence of the Mist_ , indeed. Then she turned her attention to the youngsters, just a few seats down.

"Beatrice, Samantha." they looked up at her, and she smiled.

"You will both henceforth attend lady Bella in all she needs as her companions, along with Stephanie." she instructed, and they glowed for just that moment.

"As you bid, my lady." Samantha agreed happily.

"We would retake our responsibilities tomorrow, if it please you?" Berin offered, glancing at Milla.

"You've only just arrived, Berin. There's no rush." Claira eased them, these two were like to work themselves to death if she'd let them. But tonight they shared with fascinating stories until late into the night, and even Stephanie dared to speak full sentences as time passed well after most retreated to the sanctuaries of their beds, until Claira stood.

"You will please forgive me if I leave you, there are some other matters that require my attention still." she pardoned, and they nodded before she turned to Falgon.

"You will attend me later, ser. Please ask our maester for the maps on our eastern shore along The Bite." she instructed, and he too accepted his order before she left, allowing them some time alone, but a short time later concluding their exchange, the Battle Master stood as well.

"If you'd please pardon me, my lords and ladies. I should not keep her grace waiting." he said, and Berin smiled.

"Of course, ser. Good night." he greeted, and the great warrior vanished from the hall like a shadow. Milla stared at the plate in front of her, the scraps of berry pie turned bitter as she thought.

"Off to bed with you lot as well, we've had a long day." she heard Berin beside her, and after a fond greeting Vaellion, Bella and all her companions left for their chambers as well.

"Do you think she's still mad at us?" Milla breathed, pushing around the crumbs with a fork. Claira seemed happy enough to see them, but her demeanour was uncharacteristically isolated. She seemed almost... cold.

"No, you've said it yourself. Claira's not the like to stay mad. I'm sure today was a great surprise to her, we did not inform her that we were coming home." he tried to comfort, and she set the fork down discarding the activity she grew quickly annoyed with.

"We left her. We left her when she needed us the most." she suppressed the emotions, but then looked up at his smile.

"And we're back now." he told her, bringing a smile to her features.

"We resume our responsibilities tomorrow. Claira has been left alone for far too long." she decided, and he took her hand, bringing her fingers to his mouth.

"As you bid, my lady." he teased, and they stood issuing the hall be cleared before making their way to the east wing for a good night's rest before they would retake their former obligations of the hold, as they should.

Falgon carried the maps from Maester Adlyn's library to the lords wing as he'd done several times before, and softly knocked on the door. A moment later, lady Claira opened the door to him and he bowed formally.

"Your grace. The maps you asked for." he presented.

"Good. Come inside." she stepped aside and he entered, setting the parchments down on the wide rounded table next to the door.

"I can't believe that every strategy was planned in this room for the past years, and every time we won. Every time we were able to push back." he muttered watching as she unrolled the maps that showed the geographical region of the east side of the Corridor, securing the edges with small wood figures, then she came to stand next to him as she examined them.

"We've been able to maintain the flow on and through our land. I am not as my husband was, but our people need us to support and protect them, and we must do our best to preserve them and their lives until he comes home." she spared another moment scanning the maps, and then indicated a small settlement fifty leagues south-west from White Harbour. A small farming village, called Smallember.

"Send thirty men-" she started, but he placed a hand softly on hers.

"Your grace, there haven't been any attacks in a month. I dare to say that the onslaughts are pulling away from us. Perhaps, until it is needed, you may take leave from your battle preparations? Besides, you might enjoy the return of your family first, as well." She breathed in deeply, and sighed.

"Make me say you're right. I've been at this since... I can't even remember. It certainly is wonderful that they're back, and the girls have been a blessing although I think they might have grown sullen in my presence. Bella would be the better choice for them." she decided, recalling their joy for new faces and new company. But Stephanie, seemed the most fragile of the four despite her attempts.

"Come, this can wait another day or two." he said, releasing her hand.

She turned and as she released her hair from the elegant coil to fall naturally down to her thighs she made her way to the divan in front of the hearth where the chalice of peach press waited for her as always, from where she could watch the fire. Quill lay patiently on its shelf awaiting the return of the lord. Falgon watched her intending to leave her to a peaceful night, but before he could excuse himself from the hall, he paused and stared at her, examining every feature that now seemed suddenly bare.

"Your grace, when was the last time you've had a decent night's rest?" He noted the still dark shades under her frost blue eyes, the light of the fire almost made them darker. Her skin discharged a shade of pale that was not natural where she sat on the soft furs between the cushions stacked on the divan facing the great hearth, her hands rested on her lap.

"I'll be fine. I find it difficult to sleep peacefully in an empty bed. Whatever sleep finds me, is rejected by loneliness and bad dreams. Sometimes, I prefer to be awake." She seemed comfortable, but there remained a restlessness about her and her mind was elsewhere. Severely distracted by the circumstances she was thrown into. She took up the duties of a lord without hesitation, weighing that addition to her own obligations as a mother and the lady of Mount Ardor, it was an immense burden to bear. It was so small relief, or none at all that young lord Rychon was warded elsewhere. The decision was to keep him safe. Loneliness, times two – husband and son; she truly had no one in her inner security.

"You will wear yourself out, going on like this. Allow me, your grace, to present you with some tea. Perhaps a few drops of Nightshade essence to ease your mind." He offered, and she sighed.

"Maester Adlyn always leaves a chalice of infused press for me." she mentioned as he moved to the nearby table.

"The warmth may prove better for the essence than cold press." he suggested, and filled one of the delicate porcelain cups with deep amber liquid from a small iron pot, brought up well after the torches were lit. He added a few drops of honey, and pulled a small glass vial from a pouch on his waistbelt with a purple liquid, and added two drops to the cup before stirring its contents with one of the wooden picks and then brought it over to her. He lowered to his knee in front of her, and presented the tiny cup to her, which she took gratefully.

"Thank you." She whispered, and he nodded. She brought it to her mouth, and swallowed a good bit of it, then lowered the cup to her knees.

"Sit with me for a while." She invited, indicating to the open space next to her; and he obeyed, taking Summit from his back and letting it rest against the wall next to the hearth before sitting down next to her.

"I've heard Maester Adlyn tell today, that the word from Oldtown, is that they are doing very well. He is learning quickly, and hopes to return soon." He reported, and she smiled.

"That is fine news. And how I wish to see my Rychon, to have everyone back where they belong. I just hope that no strain is placed on him, Falgon. He is a child; the time for his leadership will come and stay. His days as a child will not last." She said, sounding almost pleading with him.

"I'm sure he's doing just fine. But, he is worried about you, your grace. He knows that you bear all these burdens that were meant for more than a single person, and the notion of it all may be a frightening thing for him. You must take care of yourself first, before you direct your attention to anything else. There are those around you whom may offer their aid, after all." He said, and she looked up at him. With half of her family returned, her world will improve slowly.

"You are right, of course. I've been so busy lately, that I did not think of much except him and keeping our people safe. Could I only tear myself in two…" he turned slightly towards her, and watched her drink more of the tea.

"He understands. But I want to recommend that when he does return, you take some time for the two of you, only." He said, and she nodded.

"I will. Whenever he returns, I will." She promised, and he smiled. She finished the tea, and sat back against the rest.

"Tell me one of your stories." She asked before he seized the chance to stand and bid her a good evening, so he eased back again as he thought for a moment, searching for something he hasn't shared with her yet.

"Many years ago, I was with a group of mercenaries when we were hired temporarily as guards. We made our way over the Basilisk Isles, to Gogossos on the Isle of Tears. It was a prison you see, harsh and isolated." He started, and went on to tell that he spent a season there before being sent onto the mainland of Sothoryos to track down and retrieve escaped prisoners. The easiest way, was up one of the many rivers. There he survived the overturning of their boat and watched as a great scaled beast devoured two of his nine companions before being able to make it to the shore. They trekked through dense jungle and discovered what remained of three of the escaped captives, while losing four more members to something named the Red Death, a terrible disease that he would rather not reveal the agonizing details of. A tattooed lizard claimed the life of another before they discovered more remains. He and the last two of his companions came upon a ruined city, a place where nothing grew and even the jungle refused to reclaim. Then he felt a subtle pressure on his shoulder, and looked down to see her head resting on him, her breathing even and calm. He decided, with all that has happened that he would finish his story another time; and rather than wake her, he would deliver her to her bed before leaving. Gently he laid her head against the backrest before standing to remove the chest belt, the bracers, his doublet and armour to avoid injuring her; and set it down on a chair next to the divan; this left him clad in his boots, leather breeches and a sleeveless flannel shirt. Then he went back to her, and carefully slid his arms under her to pick her up.

"Forgive me, your grace. I trust your bed will be a more suitable resting place this night." He whispered softly as he raised her up, she whimpered slightly and opened her eyes for a moment, making him draw a breath when he saw them. Her eyes were clouded. He suddenly realized that he had never used the essence, and that extended heat and motion altered the liquid, affecting how it was meant to work, and it didn't result in the way than that, which would be available in the maester's stores. It numbed her as expected, but her mind waged a fuming war for awareness due to the long stretches of sleeplessness. Hoping that she would not wake again, he proceeded to carefully carry her to the main bed chamber where he lay her down gently on the silks and pillows, the black and white strands of hair draped over her face. After tenderly wiping them aside he started to move away, but she suddenly grabbed onto his wrist, still somewhere in the battleground between sleep and sentience.

"Raeghun... Stay with me, please…" her head dropped back down on the pillows.

"Please stay with me…" she pleaded. He cursed as he looked about the room when her hand released him; and he rued giving her the serum from his own supply and not that which Maester Adlyn had left for her.

"I'll just watch the stars for a while." he whispered, hoping she would fall asleep again quickly. Then he moved to the window, and looked out into the blackness outside. There were stars, brightly shining above the oceans, but far in the distance there were the flashes of light that indicated a storm, brightening the horizon with silver shards while he thought. She hadn't slept well for years it would appear, and because of that her senses now tried to resist it, and rather fervently at that. His serum might have become stronger over the years, he'd hoped strong enough that she would not wake easily; but apparently not strong enough to render her completely benumbed either. He'd never seen this before, and their maester would certainly find it intriguing. This fragile little woman, who created a power like no other... The chamber had started to grow darker, now a shade of amber shadows in the silence. Then he looked back at the still form on the bed, wondering if he might dare to leave, and then for a long moment, he stared at one of the candles where a moth circled the flame in an almost mad, drunken delight for the light and warmth it gave. _Don't you know, you'll get burnt if you get too close..._ So, he smothered the candles on the dresser between his fingers, leaving the insect to find his own way in the dark before hearing the stir of a moving body, silk on silk and her voice, soft and lethargic.

"Raeghun... Come to bed... please..." again he sighed off a curse. More and more, he was astounded by her willpower.

"Lie down with me..." he searched for the thick quilt, normally at the foot of the wide bed, but suddenly realized that it was not there as he grew cold, and rigid. The chambermaid must have taken it to be washed. The sheets were far too thin, and the furs were much too small.

"Please..." he condemned himself, but vowed to submit to her no matter the cost of it; and so he obeyed, and lay himself carefully down beside her after he pulled a fleecy sheet over her, and gingerly caressed strands of her hair between his fingers while she slept and slowly the fire from the room's hearth faded and the world was left drenched in darkness. With the gradually fading elusive blue shine from the moon that weaved in and out from behind dark clouds that came ever closer, came the smell of rain. He breathed, focusing on the sounds from outside and wondering if this night may seem shorter or longer than most as he identified the chirping of crickets, scuttling about somewhere over the outside walls, the owls on the rooftops and the flutter of wings as they passed open windows, and the distant sound of thunder as the storm approached. His eyes left her then, and he dared to breathe in deeply. Had his liege been here, he would surrender him to the Boltons to keep alive their feared tradition; but he felt himself ease and a smile could find he corners of his lips then. This wasn't his place, it never would be and he knew that. But, if it made her feel safe and at ease enough to sleep, he would act the pillow for her. She seemed to be calm though, and perhaps it was time to leave her to her dreams for the night. As he thought of that, he unexpectedly felt fingers on his cheek, warm and gentle and he looked down to see her eyes, closed as if asleep but somehow still battling for conciousness. His fingers closed over hers comfortingly, and he could make out a smile.

"Kiss me…" she whispered sending a stab into his chest, and his fingers tightened on hers.

"My queen…" the words were scarcely more than a breath on his lips. _I can't..._

"Please… Please kiss me…" she begged, and his mouth went dry and acrid. But he leaned forward cautiously, and just gently allowed his lips to touch hers in a sweet and tender instant. He pulled slightly back, breaking the contact that held him so warmly, but then she moved forward, pressing her mouth to his again securely while her hand slid around his neck, and his caressed her cheek before sliding into her hair. For a moment, he expected the tightness again, the dizziness and stinging, waited for the breathlessness... But there was nothing, only her sweet scent that enveloped him; she even tasted of the sugary flowers that identified her, and it left him yearning. She kissed him deeply as she brought him closer, the touch of her magical caress taking him, entangling him, drowning him entirely in senseless surrender; and he found himself yielding to her, giving in completely without question or resistance while she pulled the shirt from his shoulders, exposing his scarred skin to the air; and he in turn freed her from the sheet, and the black and gold dress that constrained her, then her fingers slid down his side leaving warm trails before slipping the leather breeches from his waist. She continued to kiss him passionately, her lips moving down to his neck; displaying a desire he was willing to return as he gently pushed her down on the bed and his mouth started to wander over her body, slowly down over the mounds of each breast bringing a soft gasp of pleasance, and further to her stomach where his touch rose her skin in reflex. He felt her hands on him, the burning tips of her fingers grazing at his shoulders, as he moved farther down over the skin of her low abdomen when he noticed her strain, and her whisper that called a name; but he soothed her with gentle hands and soft kisses until she eased before moving again, slowly to the sensitive curve where his tongue met her eagerly. She breathed in sharply, and released it in a tense moan as the hunger of this new creature devoured her, her hands straining into the skin of his shoulders to bring him closer still as her back arched to the sensation. Her legs tensed against his arms, begging release against the contrast of her fingernails digging into his flesh as she distorted and whimpered beneath the invigorating awareness; but his hands held her, permitting no escape while he consumed her wholly, her smell, her taste, her touch and even her consciousness. He pleased her intently until her fingers ploughed over his shoulders and arms as her body arched to him, her voice drowned in the moment a thunderous crash hammered into the heavens and rippled to the edges of the horizon as he listened to deep intense gasps, and with his garments discarded his lips returned up the length of a shivering body, once more slowly until it met hers again passionately. Her arms wound around his neck, and his breathing deepened as his right hand moved under her shoulder while his left drew her knee past his ribs, allowing him greater reach; and in an inebriated mad moment he forced inside of her withdrawn body as her fingers mangled into his thick hair, summoning a single agonized cry from her parted lips as he tensed and groaned; taken and narcotised by a sweet pain more addictive than even the darkest honey, one he'd forgotten long ago... He made her gasp again painlessly as he moved, bringing himself ever closer, reaching into her core. His right hand softly glided over her chest and shoulder, then into her hair as he kissed her, and he moved again. Deeply, deliberately and her soft sighs of enjoyment transformed into new utterances of delight each time he pressed himself strongly to her. She clawed at his shoulders, and down his back leaving dark streaks, and his left hand crushed the delicate fabric that covered the pillows as they absorbed each other, frost and stone under flashes of silver light; and the boundless drunk pleasure. He felt the burn of her hands moving down his arms, feeding at the skin and then the tips of her right fingers slipped under the leather band around his left arm, wanting of a hold and he brought himself closer to her, overcome and intoxicated by their state. Their lips met between heated gasps, desperate for air, then as he moved forward again she gasped sharply, and he felt the leather band break away from his muscles; but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Only her... Her arms wound around his neck and shoulders again, the fingers of her right hand resting on a prominent scar on his back, and she breathed him in on his rhythm, harder with each movement until he lifted her from the mattress onto his legs, his left arm wound around her back and the fingers wove into her hair while his right supported her, holding the small of her back; and eyes brightened in the night, alive once more. There he kept her, and in several final powerful motions she smothered yet another quenched cry into the skin of his shoulder as he passed his seed into her with a heavy satisfied sigh, and they melted back into the softness of the bed, breathing deeply and heavily, but slaked; and the rain drenched the castle from the skies. He lay her softly down on the silks, still gasping desperately to bring air into her chest; but as he started to move away her arms tightened around his shoulders to hold him against her shuddering body, and the sudden realization struck him like the kick of a mule to his gut as his eyes took her in; breathless, weak and shivering beneath him. _What have I done? What have I done..._

"I love you... I miss you, so much..." his left arm tightened around her, the fingers of his right hand woven into her hair as he tenderly pressed her cheek against his. It was heart wrenching, that he hear these words that did not belong to him. But he didn't care, he wanted to comfort her however he could in the deep cold of this bitter loneliness...

"I know. I will be with you, always..." he softly whispered against her, before placing his lips against her neck in a true loving kiss.

"Try to sleep now." he pulled the sheet over her again, and stayed with her, caressing the skin of her arm and shoulder as she lay nestled against his scarred chest. _You'll get burnt if you get too close..._

"You smell different." he heard her say softly, and he moved slightly to look at her.

"You smell like wet earth." she wasn't awake, not yet. The essence took hold firmly, and had a far stranger outcome than he'd thought, but how she was still neither asleep nor awake was astounding.

"I'm sorry." he whispered.

"I like this smell." There he stayed until the sky started to take on a hue of purple and orange; then he lifted himself to redress and return to the hall where he dissolved onto one of the chairs before the hearth, and the previous night played over and over in his mind. He gave her himself without her knowledge that it was him – she had believed him to be her husband; that was the same as forcing himself onto her, and he would suffer for it. Had it not been for his overly tough skin, he would have bled for her... Birds chirped in the garden, and light spilled across the rooftops while he emptied a goblet of aged red. He grimaced at the thoughts. _I do not love her!_ But then the resentment slowly faded into something more resembling of sorrow. _I cannot... I can not love her..._ then he saw a white apparition float down the stairs and he knelt.

"Falgon... have you been here all night?" she asked, a simple gown of white silk draped over her and it flowed down every curve like milk off slick rhinestones before it trailed behind her, and her hair fell unrestricted about her shoulders and down her back.

"Yes, your grace. I hope you slept... better." he paused for a word,

"I did. I had a dream..." she said, suddenly looking to her left like she recalled something.

"A bad dream?" he asked as he looked up at her, but saw her smile.

"No. A wonderful dream. It felt so... real. Raeghun was home, he was with me." she said softly, and Falgon looked down once more, his eyes meeting the cold hard stones beneath him. She did remember, although not all of it; yet, if she needed him to be a dream, that is what he would be. Then he stood.

"With your permission, your grace. I should leave you to your morning." he proposed, and she nodded.

"Of course, you must be exhausted." she allowed, then he bowed to her again and left in silence down the halls to the barracks where he might... do what? Cleansing himself might be a suitable option, but no amount of scrubbing would ever wash away this sin. But considering that there were always people moving through the guard's hall, that might not be the best place to go right now. Someone will notice... So instead, he found himself in a secluded chamber of the west wing of the castle, cursing himself in the separation. He would never undo it, or make it right. But he would continue to be her strength and shield, until the end of everything.

"I've been looking for you." he heard a voice behind him, and turned to see Berin standing in the doorway. He did not remain unnoticed after all.

"Falgon, where were you?" he asked as he came closer, and the tall warrior turned away.

"With Claira." he replied, and Berin stared at him, utterly struck cold. Falgon had never used her name that directly before. She had always been ' _her grace_ ' to him. Something was wrong.

"With 'lady Claira'…" he corrected, simply because of a sudden daze.

"Yes." came the curt reply once again, and he felt his body grow tense and dull.

"Were you standing guard all night?" he asked, but the tall sentinel did not turn.

"If that is what you wish to call it…" he breathed, and the dullness became a series of stings down his spine. Something was wrong.

"Are you al right?" Berin asked as he came closer still, taking a place beside his friend, who turned his face away from him.

"I'm fine." he replied, again making Berin feel unnaturally alarmed for the short answers that were severely out of place for this man.

"Are you sure? You're not acting like yourself." he tried, and saw the shoulders move in a deep breath.

"I said I'm fine. Now please, just leave me be." he asked softly, while the stinging suddenly transformed into flames over his back. Something was wrong.

"This isn't like you, Falgon." _What happened? Let me help you..._ As his hand touched the shoulder, the dark eyes met his. They too, were different. Stained, rueful, hateful...? bitter.

"Berin…" he started, but the words evaporated. Like they could not be spoken, and the flames worked their way along his arms and legs with a raging urgency.

"What's wrong?" he asked, but then Falgon turned away from him again.

"Nothing." he sighed and started to walk away seizing an escape, but Berin followed as the fire devoured him. Something was wrong. Falgon would never flee from anything...

"Falgon, what happened?" he tried again, almost pleading for an answer.

"My sin, is my weight to bear." he said, and the fire flooded each vein from Berin's neck down to his ankles as he suddenly grabbed onto the tall warrior's shoulder to turn him. Something was wrong.

"What happened? What happened?!" he demanded, throwing the tall sentinel against the wall with more strength than he ever knew he was capable of, or alternatively the great warrior made no attempt to resist him. He stared at him, but the eyes would not meet his. They would not... and finally he understood as the fire smothered, and the heat left him feeling numb.

"No… No, this can't be! I won't believe it! Not of you!" he refused it. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. It couldn't...

"What you believe, won't change it, I'm afraid." came the deep voice softly, and he shattered. It was true... gods be good, it was true. He turned as he released him, fighting the urge to scream as he ran shaking hands through his hair, and he heard the tall mass slide down onto a chair.

"No! Why?" he demanded again as he turned, still not wanting to believe it. They'd only just come back, how could this happen? Perhaps if they'd come sooner... But Falgon looked up at him with a strange smile, that was part amused and part baffled.

"You're asking me that?" he put forth, and for a moment Berin could see the humour in that, albeit small.

"Fuck, yes. You had to be completely fucking stupid not to." he conceded in a breath as he glanced around, noting that the room had stopped spinning. And yet, it did not lessen the shock.

"You would have had me refuse her?" Falgon asked him softly, and he looked back at him, utterly confused.

"Did she... You're saying she wanted you to?" Berin asked, desperately attempting to make sense of this dismal fortune as he watched his friend rest his head on a great palm. But that too, seemed nothing less than unbelievable. She would never... Her truest love was her husband. She would never...

"No… I don't understand, how-" he started, but then Falgon looked up at him again.

"It's difficult to explain... She didn't know it was me." he tried, but even now he struggled with the words. Struggled with what happened as Berin stared at him. That was impossible. She must have known. She must have...

"What?" there was no sense in any of it, despite his best attempts to find it. Then Falgon sat back.

"I offered her a cup of tea with Nightshade essence, and she fell asleep next to me. What happened... She recalls it as a dream, and in that dream, she saw me as her husband." he continued, and Berin fell silent. _No... No... Fuck, no..._ But he could deny it as much as he liked, it would not be changed. Such things were considered a great atrocity among the high-born, and if this was discovered, he would be sentenced to death, regardless of his position. He could only imagine what his holiness, the High Sparrow would think; and thanked every entity that their reach did not extend here.

"You have to go." he suddenly decided, but the dark eyes stared at him in utter daze.

"And what would that seem like, Berin? A sentinel, suddenly vanishing? Everything I care about is here, I won't go." he threw back defiant, but he couldn't see any other way.

"You have to get away from here." Berin urged him, but his eyes turned hard and relentless.

"I won't leave her!" he refused again, his loyalty to her would not be questioned under any circumstances. Not even this. But Berin glared at him, frustrated for his insolence.

"How much do you want to risk?" his place? His freedom? His life?

"Everything! I'll risk everything." he replied immediately, without any hesitation.

"You're completely mad! If this is discovered, you'll be hanged or beheaded as a traitor. This will be branded as treason!" Berin tried to reason with him. Perhaps if he understood the consequences of this... He couldn't watch his friend be killed. He was fearless in the face of danger, and nothing but victorious whether it be single combat or war, all would agree. But this... this was something different entirely. Without noble blood, he would not be allowed to defend himself in any kind of trial, if there ever was one. But then he registered the face anew, knowing nothing would change him.

"I know." he said, and Berin approached him.

"Falgon, you'll be killed." he tried a softer way, but he looked up, a calmness in his striking eyes.

"I deserve it. I deserve to be killed... I... I have wounded her..." he said, and took a deep breath.

"Falgon..." Berin started, but suddenly lacked for words. There was nothing more that he could say, nothing that would convince him.

"I don't fear death. I'm not afraid of anything that could happen to me. But what it could do to her... Berin, if she remembers that she accepted a man into her bed that was not her husband, it will tear her apart." he looked down again, and there was nothing but sorrow.

"I don't... want her to remember..." he whispered, and Berin glanced towards the doors.

"Fuck... Who else knows?" he asked.

"No one. But even no one has ways of spreading words." Falgon said, and then looked up again.

"I love her, Berin. I love her... All of these years, I have denied it. But, I love her." he confessed, and of every truth there was between the sun and sea, that was the clearest. Berin lay a hand on his shoulder.

"I know." he always had, since the week they first met.

"We should go." he suggested, and Falgon glanced away from him.

"Just give me some time, I'll be al right." and Berin sighed.

"Very well. I'll try to keep the others off your back for a while, but try not to stay aloof for too long." Berin suggested, and Falgon nodded.

"I won't." he promised, and Berin spared one moment longer with him, wishing he could offer some kind of comfort while he remained oblivious of the soft footsteps rushing down the hall and away from them. She'd come looking for Berin to ask him something. Something now completely forgotten as she ran, desperately trying to smother the sobs behind a hand clenched tightly over her mouth. _No... No, this can't be... It can't... It's not true..._

Claira stood alone, staring out of their chamber window over the seas. Laurene helped her dress in her black and blue silk gown with the golden leaves, and brushed, braided and pinned her hair back before leaving. She had taken her bath this morning since it seemed she had completely forgotten the night before. But something, was strange. Very strange. She woke to a deep ache to her low abdomen feeling exhausted and sore, raising herself from the soft mattress she wondered for a moment why her entire body was stiff and prone to hurt from her neck down to her knees before dismissing it for an oncoming illness for which she would ask their maester's advice and an aid. She found the black and gold dress she'd been wearing the day before discarded and crumpled on the floor next to the bed, but couldn't recall undressing... and during a warm bath to ease the ache, she found herself in need of a girdle. It wasn't much, but enough to leave her uncomfortable. She hadn't bloomed in years, not since the illness had taken her. It was so strange... Why now? After all these many years... A soft knock drew her attention and she looked back.

"Enter." the door slowly edged open, and Milla's face appeared.

"Good morning, my lady." she greeted, and her friend smiled.

"Good morning, Milla." she returned as she faced her.

"I trust you slept better?" Milla asked as she closed the door behind her and approached.

"Yes, thank you." Claira replied rather happily, and Milla's heart slightly lightened. _It's not true... gods be good, it's not true..._ then she looked down, noting something held in Claira's hand.

"What's this?" she asked curiously, and she brought up the woven leather band lying in the palm of her scarred hand.

"It's Falgon's armband. I found it in my bed this morning…" she told, evidently subtly puzzled on how it seemed to get there herself. But for half a heartbeat, Milla's seemed to stop. _No... No, it can't be... It can't..._

"You were exhausted, Claira. He lay you down and left, he probably lost it then." she quickly said, unaware if that explanation was even remotely true but hoping that it was close at least, but watched the lady stare at the leather in her hand, the previous thought seeming to have passed.

"It broke… I should fix it, and return it to him…" she marked, for a moment focused on the threads where they were torn before feeling gentle fingers on her elbow.

"Is something wrong?" she looked up, into her friend's light green eyes.

"No... Nothing is wrong..." she assured, and Milla gave her a gentle smile, veiling the unease that boiled through her veins.

"Claira, do you remember anything from last night?" she asked softly, and she thought for a moment longer, trying to recall. There was little that she did, really.

"The last thing I do, is that Falgon picked me up. And then..." again her eyes met the light green looking back, only just hiding the concern. But she smiled brightly. She was happy.

"I had a dream Milla. I dreamed that Raeghun was home, he was with me. He... He made love to me again. He made me feel like never before... It felt so real, like he was truly here..." she laughed, so wishing that the dream could last.

"That..." Milla started, then returned the happy smile before moving forward, wrapping her arms around Claira and holding her tightly.

"That sounds like a wonderful dream, Claira. But that's all it was... A dream. It will fade, in time." she said softly, and Claira's arms wound around her waist, returning the pressure she lacked the day before and holding her friend dearly.

"I... I don't want to forget..." she whispered, the laughter replaced with soft sobs. But Milla held her, soothing her tattered soul as best she could until she seemed to calm before drawing back, and examining her anew. There was something more.

"That's not all, is it?" she asked softly as the lady wiped away an escaped tear, and forcing another whimper of laughter.

"It's so odd... I don't know why, but... after all these years..." she looked up, still puzzled for it.

"I'm blooming..." she revealed, and Milla drew her closer again, praying for something but she wasn't exactly sure for what.

"Don't worry, it will be al right." she comforted, and after another long moment they made their way down to join the hold, and resume their day after paying the maester a quick visit. They settled into the southern hall, which Bella and her companions had wonderfully prepared with bright flowers on each table and the feast ware in sets of silver and ivory, showing that she was clearly as refined as her mother. They broke their fast on berry loaves, boiled eggs, flamed pork sausage, sweet grain and thick cream with honey, and fresh fruit pieces with tea; after which Berin and Vaellion departed to attend to inspections of the castle barracks, its resources and rounds while the ladies returned to the weirwood fountain to pray. Claira thanked the old ones for their mercy and protection, and again beseeched them to return her husband and son safely to her, and then continued to attend her court matters with Milla ever watchful at her side while the girls resumed their studies; and only with noon her Battle Master rejoined them, seeming no different than he'd been in the days before. Yet, the lady of the hold found it something relieving that he took the time to rest from his constant vigils, now that lord Berin had returned to help; and despite his insistence to return to her side where he belonged, she ordered him to take the rest of the day to himself as well, and to join the Trentins in their ventures when they familiarized themselves with their members and routines yet again, while after three years quite a bit had changed. Late that afternoon, after all pending matters were heard, while the youngsters visited the village to meet the new faces and appreciate the new additions, the ladies spent their time in the common room in the sun tower with Wymon keeping his watch at the doorway while Milla shared more stories from across the borders where they'd been for near to three years, whom they met and what they did, what happened to them, and the birth of Carissa's last child, a girl they chose to name Theldry. But Claira, was mostly silent, focusing on the leather band in her hand as she mended the broken strands with black thread. It would be obvious, and far from perfect, but it would hold at least.

"Claira?" she looked up at Milla, staring at her. _I haven't done that in years..._

"I'm sorry. What was it?" she asked, and Milla sat back.

"Are you sure you're al right? You're very quiet." she said, her clear green eyes drinking in every feature.

"I'm fine, Milla. A bit tender because of the bloom I'm sure, but nothing else." she assured, but her friend did not seem convinced. Then she sat back, allowing her court maiden some more attention.

"I'm sorry for being so reserved, it's just that..." she glanced away, at the blue of the sky outside.

"I've had to learn how to deal with many things, and silence seemed like the best way to do it, at some point. That's how I moved forward, until now." she said softly, not really knowing how else to explain it. So much had happened, but in all honesty, she just didn't have much to say. Then she smiled lightly, looking back at her friend.

"But at the very least, your return yesterday was a great surprise to me." she added.

"I hope a good one, though." Milla returned the gesture, and Claira sighed.

"Very good, my friend." she agreed, and then Milla's eyes went back to the work in her hands.

"The... The dream you had... The one from last night..." she started softly, trailing off like she didn't know how to continue as Claira stared at her. She seemed quite taken with the dream, despite having told her that, that was all it was. A dream.

"It was a wonderful dream, Milla. It made me happier than I've been in months, because my husband was with me. He was home again..." she breathed, and saw her friend sigh but with a softer, easier smile.

"I am happy for you, of course. And we all miss him, Claira. Every day we hope and pray that he comes home." she said, trying to hide her thoughts as best she could. She truly remembered nothing. Nothing of what happened...

"He will come home. Even if it takes him a hundred years. He promised me he would." She insisted, and Milla smiled.

"Of course he will." she agreed, and then looked at the figures entering the common room. Bella held an item in her hands, and the others discussed their visit to the village as they took their places to join the ladies. Bella smiled as she looked up from paging through a small leather bound book, worn and faded with age.

"Look at what I found!" she said happily as she came over, displaying the tome. The pages were wrought in scribbles and strange drawings.

"I bought it at the herbalist's shop." she said as she sat down, indicating a page with a spherical rune.

"That's interesting." Milla stared at the picture, wondering if she'd seen it before. Perhaps on the maester's pieces of history and lore. But the script was near to undecipherable. There were more runes, strange triangles, circles, arrows, swirls and some she couldn't quite make out.

"What would the herbalist do with a book like this?" came the thought as she paged through, and then saw the movement of a shadow.

"May I?" she looked up at Claira, holding her hand out for the book.

"Certainly." she handed it to her, and watched her looking through the book as well.

"He said that some old man left it there a while ago, he hasn't come back for it." Bella mentioned as Claira scanned the contents of the book. The notes weren't just cryptic, it was foreign. Then she paused a long moment, staring at a page that displayed a key. A key she had seen before, but where? A ring, with a long shaft and five bit lines...

"I thought, maybe maester Adlyn could help me." Bella said, and Claira looked up.

"You should take it to him, sweetling. I'm sure he'd find it fascinating." she urged, handing the book back to her.

"Anything else interesting happen in the village?" Milla asked, and Bella laughed.

"We met Berry and Joldewin, they're very friendly. They begged us to perform in our hall again, but I had to turn them down." she told and looked at Claira.

"Our lady has to give permission, first." she hinted while Claira laughed.

"They haven't been here in a fortnight, but I suppose we could welcome them again." she said, returning her attention to the band in front of her.

"If you do see them, you may invite them for an evening of your choice." she allowed and Bella laughed happily.

"Thank you, aunt Claira." they continued their activities until twilight when Laurene came with a lively Ricket on her hip to announce that their evening banquet will be served shortly, and made their way down to the southern hall where all of their members gathered, and their family settled at the high table, as the day before. They supped on thick mushroom soup and a hearty veal stew with rolls of bread, followed by a baked plum dessert and custard alongside goblets of good brown ale and sweet wine and press. Their conversations remained light and blithe, exchanging their activities of the day and gossip from beyond the walls while in his secrecy, Berin continued to examine the Lady and her Battle Master. She appeared to be happy and at ease, not troubled by much but a confessed discomfort and the known loneliness. He, as always in his place, was calm and more responsive than he'd been this morning. If the event still tormented him, he managed to hide it rather well. But for her sake, he would have to... _I love her, Berin... I love her..._ those words were the only visible remnants that remained, little more than a flicker behind the dark eyes each time they settled on her. Like the sparks of a forge when the hammer met the heated steel of a new sword. And yet, he'd heard no whispers so the tall sentinel's increasing presence in the lord's hall was something largely overlooked by most, since he'd held his vigil there more than once and gave his counsel on a number of nights regarding strategical matters. No doubt, no one else would believe something like this either, for which he found himself grateful. Everyone knew him, who he was and what his purpose was. It was well known that he'd never been interested in anyone, so why would he be now?

"Any news from Rychon? When is he coming back?" Bella suddenly asked enthusiastically, and Claira looked up at her.

"Oh, I haven't heard anything from him in a little while. But I'm sure he's just fine, and should come home soon." she assured, seeing the girl smile. Everyone missed him, and the day he returned to Mount Ardor will be the brightest there's been in a hundred years. But at the very least she knew where he was, and that he was kept safe. The evening continued on until the order was given for the hall to be cleared, and those who remained started making their way to their chambers. On the third level, where they would under normal circumstances part ways, Milla's hands quickly slipped around Claira's arm as she looked up at Falgon, ever at her side.

"I will see our lady up, ser. You should go get some rest." she told, hoping she was able to hide the emotion in her voice well enough as he stared at her. But then held back a sigh of relief when he smiled and nodded.

"As you bid, my lady." then he looked at Claira, and bowed.

"Sleep well, your grace." he greeted, and she returned the smile.

"Good night, Falgon." he turned, bid the others a fair evening as well and then left down the stairs to the barracks as Milla watched him. _Why does this feel so wrong..?_ Then she looked at Berin.

"Go ahead, I won't be long." she promised, and he continued down the passage along with Vaellion and the girls to their rooms while Milla escorted Claira up to the lord's wing, and the thoughts came and went in a whirl.

"You can let me go now..." the voice brought her back, and she released her friend's arm. Perhaps she'd been holding on too tightly.

"I'm sorry." she softly muttered, returning her eyes to the stones in front of them.

"Are you al right? You've been acting a bit queer, today." Claira asked, and she forced a smile.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's been a queer day, after all." she indicated her friend's stomach, and she laughed.

"I'm sure it's just something small. The herbs maester Adlyn gave me should help." she brushed it off, and Milla nodded.

"Yes. That, and a warm bath and a good night's sleep." she added, to the lady's agreement. They paused in front of the great doors where Milla took Claira's hand a final time.

"Good night. If you need anything, just ask." she told, and Claira nodded.

"And you Milla. Thank you for your help today." she said, and then opened the door.

"A pleasure, as always." she watched as the lady of the hold entered the lord's wing alone before closing the door, and after a long stare at the door trying to listen to the soft footsteps moving away, she returned the way back down the way she came, still mulling over everything. She'd changed, a lot. She was cold and hard and distant, and it was terrifying. But maybe they could set things right now that they were back. Somehow she found herself standing against the closed door of their chamber in the east wing, watching her husband where he sat on the bed loosening the threads of his tunic, and grappling for something to say to him, something that would bring her some direction in this place she now felt utterly lost in.

"How was your day?" she finally decided, and he looked up at her.

"Same as always. Yours?" he asked, and she glanced down, searching for a word. It wasn't a good day, it wasn't a bad day, it wasn't entirely strange... it was just, not right?

"It was... out of place." she breathed, and he sat back as his hands lowered and he watched her.

"Is something troubling you?" he asked as she slowly came forward.

"I hope not…" she sat down next to him, slowly and carefully as if she were afraid. But he waited as she searched for her words.

"I heard you and Falgon talking this morning…" she told softly, but as luck would have it the words seemed too loud here, like they clung to the walls. A long silence followed, and then she looked up to see him staring at her, his deep green eyes focused in the pale face.

"How much did you hear?" he asked warily, and she breathed in.

"Enough… Is it true?" she didn't know why she asked, there was really no point. Falgon would never lie, but he nodded through a heavy sigh.

"If you heard, how many others would have as well?" he suddenly asked,

"There was no one else in the passage." she quickly replied, and he pressed a hand over his mouth.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, watching him, like she could see the thoughts flashing through his mind.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do. He'll be killed." he breathed, and she sat slightly back. It was a dismal thought, and ten years ago she would never have imagined placing the life of a mercenary above the honour of this house. But if she couldn't remember...

"Perhaps if the lady sent him-" she started, but he suddenly laughed. A hollow, bitter laugh.

"He would sooner face the deepest of the hells before he abandoned her." he silenced her, if there had been a hundred hells, he would face all of them before leaving her side.

"We are the only ones that know." she said, looking at the space in front of her. There was still hope, but was this something they could bear only in the deepest part of their awareness until their final days?

"How long before more do? It won't remain hidden forever." he cautioned, knowing that as sure as the sun rising in the east and the moon in the night sky for all to see, the truth could not stay dark for long. Then he looked at her.

"Has she said anything to you? Does she remember anything at all?" he asked, and she shook her head. Nothing she had said gave the slightest indication that she recalled anything beyond the moment he took her from the seat. Then, it was only the vivid dream.

"No, she believed it to be a dream." she told, and then took his hand as she decided on a course.

"Then it stays a dream." she concluded, softly squeezing his fingers.

"Milla…" he started.

"We never speak of it. Dreams fade, with time." she told him, but again he smiled. An emotionless visage.

"If it truly was a dream yes. She will remember, eventually. And fate has a fondness for her cruel japes against humanity." he cautioned, and her cheeks slightly paled as she stared at him.

"Do you mean?" he sighed again, running a hand through his dark hair.

"How believable would it be, to conceive from a dream?" he'd heard about that once or twice, these miracle children sent by the gods. And wondered if those women experienced a similar event, at some point.

"Berin, Claira cannot conceive again." she reminded him, and he sighed. Lost and hopeless, the uncertainty of their future something daunting.

"We've seen miracles before, within these very walls." he cautioned in return. Raeghun had regained the full use of his leg when they thought he might not. Claira conceived when they accepted she would not. She woke up when they thought she would not. Then he noticed her, the face behind the hand over her mouth near to completely drained of blood.

"The gods be good, Berin…" she whispered, too shocked for the words to have any sound. After fourteen years, she bloomed again.

"I don't know what to do… And it won't matter in the end…" he muttered,

"How could we let this happen?" she mumbled, and again he bit back a laugh.

"It wasn't our fault. It wasn't their fault. It was just... a really shit thing that happened." but then turned towards her, again taking her hands in his.

"No one can know. We have to protect them, Milla. Both of them." he implored. This had to remain a secret, dark and dire as it was. And now, it was theirs to bear to their graves.

"Keep an eye on her, and I'll do the same for him." he advised, and she nodded.

"I will. As best I can." she agreed.

Another morning came to the burning mountain when Claira emerged from the lord's wing to find her sentinel awaiting her at the door, like countless before that. And she smiled at him.

"Falgon." he looked down, and returned her kind gesture.

"Good morning, your grace." he greeted, and her hand came up.

"I believe this belongs to you." she revealed the mended leather band lying in her hand, and he stared at it a long moment. Perhaps he had forgotten about it again.

"Thank you, your grace." he rose his hand to take it from her, but she stepped around him and drew the heavy brown cloak back from his shoulder, bringing the band around his arm and tying it securely at the back.

"Such a precious thing, don't lose it again." she advised as she looked up to see him watching her.

"I won't." he promised as she brought her hands away from him.

"I'm sorry." he suddenly said, and she paused for a moment, looking at him.

"For what?" she asked, and he turned towards her.

"That I can't do more for you. That I can't be more." he said softly, but she smiled.

"My dear Falgon. You are my sword and shield and stone. My strength and my solace. Right now, that is all I need." she said smiling, and he bowed his head, then footsteps drew their attention to see Milla making her way swiftly up the incline.

"Good morning. I'm so sorry I'm late." she said quickly, and Claira turned towards her.

"No need to worry, Milla. We were just on our way down." she calmed, and saw the face light up slightly.

"Oh, good. Bella has a suggestion for this evening's serving, if you'd care to hear it?" Milla told as they started their way down together.

"I'd love to." Claira agreed, and so their day continued into weeks, and months while the Trentins pursued their careful watch of the lady of Mount Ardor and her Battle Master. Claira's bloom stayed for three days before vanishing as it did before, in time something she cast off as a simple oddity, and life proceeded as it otherwise would. Vigils were amended, and counsels restricted to the Hollow, allowing for all members to be present to offer their advice, leaving their evenings for calmness. Bella, Stephanie, Beatrice and Samantha had become entirely indivisible, always together in whatever they did. They saw to the ladies routines together, and to the halls. They studied together, went for walks, improved their music, embroidery, singing, dancing and read together. Fearful Stephanie, even started to smile. She had fine writing, and finished her work well ahead of the others on most occasions. But she always retained her soft temperament, and continued to be wary of the men, avoiding them whenever it was possible. And while Bella occasionally shortened her companions names to 'Bea' and 'Sam', the gentlest and most timid remained 'Sweet Stephanie'. One cool, overcast morning a young man arrived, requesting an audience with the castle's master at arms, fervently requesting to join the castle guard. He told that his name was Devan Locke, whom had heard the wondrous tales of the great keep, its people and their success. With an amount of persuasion, ser Austinus was obliged to accept him into their ranks and set him in with other youngsters. The annual Revelry followed, eagerly attended by Bella and her company, Vaellion, Wymon and numerous other members of the hold while Claira, Falgon, Berin and Milla stayed behind. A fortnight later they returned, sharing all the legends that were told under the stars. Stories of long past kings and heroes, beautiful maidens and treacherous hags, great battles and feasts, long summers and short winters. Tales of love and honour and trust, fables of trials and struggles and misfortune. And their greatest prediction, the rise of the great phoenix and all seemed right with the world. Sometime later, an apparent attraction surfaced between Bella and the young new recruit, and she started spending more time with him. Some days they were seen walking together through the gardens where he would present to her a bright flower or a sweet song, and those who heard it would agree he had a good voice for a guard. Other days they would be seen leaving the grounds on horseback for a ride or simply a short visit to the village together, and once in a while she would exchange her seat at the high table to sit at his side for supper. He was kind enough, but would display aggression during training, and a fair degree of brazenness whenever reprimanded, which deserved a good deal of concern from both master Austinus and Berin, however his temperament vaporized when addressed by the Battle Master. On the odd occasion he would be found sneaking through the east wing, and once made it as far as Bella's chamber before being caught, necessitating a sentry posted at the noble chambers, after which the intrusions ceased for a time. On a cool day, while the ladies were in Claira's common room, continuing their embroidery with soft discussions and her Battle Master's gentle lute, she regarded young Stephanie who had still remained little more than silent. But it was unsettling that she could not grow to trust anyone completely, save for Bella. And she hoped she may comfort her, and show her that here she had nothing to fear.

"Lady Milla, you may meet with Jeody and ensure that our hall is sufficiently prepared for this evening." she told, and Milla stood.

"Yes, my lady." she agreed, looking at the youngsters.

"You are welcome to come along." she hinted, and Bella nodded.

"Of course, mother." everyone stood, but as Stephanie lay her hoop down Claira smiled at her.

"Stephanie, would you care to stay with me?" she asked, and the clear brown eyes met hers with a nervous stare.

"As... as you wish... my lady..." she retook her seat, and Falgon looked up from his space next to the wall.

"Shall I leave you, your grace?" he asked politely, and her eyes met his.

"No, ser. You may stay." she allowed, and he glanced at the youngster. Although she tried very hard to remain composed, his presence alone terrified her.

"Stephanie." her attention went to the lady, pulling a yellow thread through the fabric.

"Y... Yes, my lady?" then Claira looked up at her again.

"Are you happy here?" she asked calmly, and Stephanie nodded.

"Very... Very much, my lady." she assured, her voice just a slight quiver.

"You are a northerner, like me?" Claira asked, and that seemed to bring a smile to her.

"Yes, my lady. From... once from White Harbour." she confirmed, hers was a small lesser vassal of the north, rarely heard of. Then the girl glanced at Falgon again, still against the wall where he'd been.

"Are you an only daughter?" Claira asked.

"No... my lady. I... I have two older brothers... and an older sister..." she told.

"You've been with lord and lady Trentin for a while, as Bella's companion." Claira continued, bringing the girl's attention back to her.

"Y... yes, my lady. Almost... sixteen months..." she told.

"She's very fond of you." Claira said, recalling Bella's closeness to the gentlest of her friends.

"She... she's been... very kind to me..." Stephanie breathed, sounding almost like a sob, and again she glanced at the sentinel against the wall. Their conversation continued for a little while longer, and her answers were polite if yet restrained, and her attention would endlessly dart between the Lady and her Battle Master, like he was a hungry cat watching her, and she expected him to capture her if given a chance. And she hoped, she may ease her heart.

"Sweet Stephanie, I won't ask what your circumstances were before you joined our family. But, if you would believe me, I want you to know you have nothing to fear from my people." she softly told, and then looked at Falgon as Stephanie stared at her.

"Ser Falgon." he looked up.

"Your grace?" his deep voice seemed to startle the girl, and her attention went to him.

"What is the penalty for a threat on any lady of the burning mountain?" Claira asked him, and he smiled.

"Death, your grace." he replied easily, and Claira's hand softly closed over the girl's.

"I cannot tell you how many times that man has sacrificed himself to save me, and my kin." then she looked back at the girl.

"That is what you are here, Stephanie. You are one of my ladies, and you will always be protected in my home, by our sentinels." she assured, and finally she truly smiled.

"Thank you, lady Claira." then she looked down at the cold hand, laying gently on hers.

"It... It was my brother. And his friends..." she suddenly said, and then took a deep breath.

"It started with simple things. Teasing and the like..." she continued, and Claira listened.

"It became worse, as I became older... They... they would scare me... They would humiliate me... They would beat me... They did things that were not expected from noble men..." she took a moment to regain control of her emotions.

"Sometimes... he would make them stop if I started to cry..." she told, and claimed another breath.

"And... one night... he didn't..." she whimpered, and Claira's hand tightened on hers.

"I'm sorry, child. I'm so sorry. It will be al right." she tried to soothe the stricken girl, recalling how enraged she'd been for Laurene.

"No one believed me... But for old Sandwyck. He... he promised he'd get me out." she further told, as she sat back.

"He dressed me in old rags, and we left in the dead of night heading north. Some days later, I... I started..." she glanced at Falgon again, but Claira gently rubbed her hand.

"It's al right." she told, and Stephanie looked back at her.

"An old lady found us on the road, and... she helped me. She was a herbalist. We stayed with her for a couple of days until I... until I felt better." she told, and then sighed.

"We continued up north, and finally reached Citrine Arch more than a fortnight later. They took us in." she explained, and Claira felt for her.

"Have you ever told anyone else?" she asked, and the girl shook her head.

"No. I... I'd rather no one knew. They'd think me... foul." she said, and Claira nodded.

"It wasn't your fault. Never think it is." Claira eased, and she smiled regardless of a tear on her cheek.

"Thank you..." she breathed, and then Claira stood holding her hand.

"Come. Let's join the others." she suggested, and Stephanie took her hand as she stood.

"Yes, my lady." she agreed, and they proceeded down to the southern hall with the Battle Master following. Night settled over the world, and the hold supped on seared trout with greens and pumpkin cakes. They shared stories, and hopes and dreams; and everyone seemed happy including Sweet Stephanie, for whom Claira was relieved she could give some comfort. The evening was pleasant with the warm company of family and companions, but the silence would only last so long; until word came from Bristlemane Stronghold before noon the next day.

"Are you sure about this?" Berin asked the old man who braved a storm and dangerous roads to come to call upon him, one of his father's men who remained at the keep.

"Mostly sure, milord. The usurper to your father's seat is sickly, and his sons are gone." he assured, and Berin could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. He meant to take back that hold, he promised he would, and now was his best opportunity. He needed to get back before the old puss died and others came grappling for land. He had to leave in the morning.

"Thank you for taking this risk, Gedro." the old man smiled.

"My life would be well spent, if I could see a Trentin hold that stronghold again, milord." he smiled broadly, praised by a powerful hand to his shoulder before Berin turned and headed back to the castle to discuss this probability with their counsel, and with noon all were assembled in the Hollow where again the lady of the hold was seated at the head of the table with her Battle Master at her side, master Austinus and maester Adlyn, Wymon, Milla and their children.

"How trustworthy is your source?" Claira asked, and Berin smiled.

"Very. He was castellan to my father, watching over the keep in my mother's service before Vega took over the hold." he explained.

"This is very sudden, Berin." Milla interjected softly, and he looked at her.

"He's near sixty years old, it's improbable that he would have taken the journey on a whim." he put forth.

"But he served Geerd in their stead for years." master Austinus argued.

"People do things to get by, and it could not have been easy for him. But he remained loyal to my own family, in spite of his circumstances." Berin again told.

"Bristlemane is yours by blood right. I say, if you have the chance to reclaim it, then do so." Wymon agreed.

"Reclaiming Bristlemane would grant us the benefit of better eyes close to our southern border." Falgon suggested.

"But it might also be the first to fall should we suffer an invasion." maester Adlyn added.

"Not if its defences are strengthened, and the soldiers are given the same training as is done here." Berin told, and the debate continued on.

"Bristlemane is your ancestral seat, Berin." Claira's voice suddenly silenced them, and for a moment they waited for her response. She seemed indifferent, and he couldn't predict if her conclusion would be good or bad for him.

"You will have the men you need. Take it back, as you promised you would. You owe it to your fathers, and to your sons." she ordered, and for an instant he felt he was drifting. To be fair, he didn't think she would just let him leave.

"Thank you, my lady." he smiled, and she sat back.

"Make your arrangements, I should imagine you have limited days." she allowed and he stood.

"Yes, my lady." all left the Hollow, and he floated down the incline on his way to the barracks to start preparations and assemble men for the venture. Then he heard someone call his name, and he turned back to see Falgon behind him.

"Am I to accompany you, to retake Bristlemane, my lord?" he asked, but Berin smiled.

"No, I..." he stared at their tallest for a moment. He could be honest with him, they were friends. They were brothers.

"I want the chance to do it on my own. That was my family's home, after all. You should stay here to guard the lady, as always." he told, and Falgon gave him a strange look.

"Should?" then he laughed.

"You are lady Taugere's Battle Master. You don't follow my orders any more." he hinted, but the look remained a moment longer.

"I am a Sentinel of Flame, Berin. I will always be a Sentinel." he reminded him, and Berin stepped closer to put a hand to his shoulder.

"You are. But, you've never really needed me to tell you what to do, anyway." he said, reflecting that over the years he had always been their most solid. He knew his place, knew what his purpose was and what was expected from him. He always had. And even that night, didn't matter now. Then Falgon smiled.

"As you wish." then he turned and continued on his way, entering the Hall of Fire he suddenly felt a hand wrap around his elbow.

"Berin." he looked back at Milla, standing behind him.

"Is this really the right thing to do?" she asked and he turned back.

"If I don't do this now, I don't know if there will be another chance." he told as she stared at him, bringing back a memory.

"You once told me, that you didn't care about Bristlemane any more." she reminded him, and he sighed. He remembered that, he said it more than once.

"Things are different now." he said, watching as she glanced away, searching for her words.

"Berin..." he took her hands in his.

"I grew up here, this is my home and that will never change. But, if my children could hold a keep of their own, don't you think I would want that for them? A better life, than what I had?" he asked, and she gave him a stern look.

"There's nothing wrong with our lives." she scoffed, but then saw him smile at her.

"No, there isn't. But I still want it better." he concluded, and she sighed. The whims of men were a strange thing. One day they would insist on something, and the next things were completely different. It seemed a difficult thing for them, to adhere to a course.

"I don't want to leave here again." she said softly, and he squeezed her fingers.

"As you wish. But I take the children with me." he decided, and then continued on his way to see to the necessary preparations. Vaellion was excited for another adventure while Bella seemed hesitant at first; but with permission for her dear companions to stay with her, a count of one hundred and forty men assembled to retake the castle, and young Devan among them, she was pleased to join them. It would be good practice for the young ones, after all. They were competent enough to hold a castle, but as far as taking one, they had yet to be tested. After another night that was restless and filled with more deliberations, the chosen party mounted their steeds after gathering to break their fast, and Berin stood with Milla at the base of the steps while Vaellion mounted.

"How long will you be gone?" Milla asked, and he shrugged.

"I don't know, it depends. But it won't be as long as when we went up North, I promise." he replied, and she slowly nodded.

"We will return to you." he promised happily, and she forced a smile.

"You always do." she breathed, then he kissed her and turned, making his way to his charger. Then she turned to Bella, coming down the steps dressed in comfortable riding leathers while her companions made their way to a waiting wagon after bidding their farewells to all in the castle.

"Good bye, mother. We'll see you again soon." she greeted, and they embraced.

"Be careful, and you girls stay together. Always keep your dagger close." Milla told her daughter.

"I will." she promised, and then moved off to join the others as her mother watched. _I love you all..._ and then the long column passed through the gates south-east towards Bristlemane Stronghold, and it was the hardest thing to watch them go. Bella and Vaellion stayed at their father's side on horseback, while Devan continued his watch of the young maiden. It was certainly no easy thing when he was sent under orders of lord Bolton's son Ramsay to spy on Mount Ardor, whom had somehow convinced his father that it would be to their benefit to have eyes in the burning mountain. But he said nothing to him about the girl... More days turned into weeks that Milla tried to stay close to Claira, and in the evenings she would join her for a while in the lord's hall, and sometimes Falgon would sit with them as well for a time before returning to the guard's hall, and shortly after she would leave to an empty bed, in an empty wing that was far too quiet. For years she had never been alone, and there had always been someone with her, and now more than ever before she understood how Claira must have felt, so many times. One evening, after Falgon bid them a peaceful evening and departed the hall, and Claira had taken her bath, she and Milla shared the seats in front of the hearth while she enjoyed the infused apple press. She'd tried it another time or two with the tea, but it never seemed to work quite as well as it did that night. Milla looked up from her hands folded in her lap.

"Claira..." she started, wondering how to proceed as her friend's eyes met hers.

"I'd like to ask you something, if that's al right?" she breathed softly.

"Then ask." she allowed.

"I was hoping... Maybe, if... Perhaps I could..." she couldn't find the right words. Her friend had changed, perhaps she wouldn't.

"Take up in the lord's wing with me?" she asked, and Milla nodded, unsure of how she would respond.

"If you don't want to, I will understand." she added, but then looked up to see her smile.

"I haven't been the best company lately, but I don't mind. You can have the castle hands move your effects to the third chamber tomorrow." she agreed, and Milla breathed out relieved.

"Thank you, my lady." she said, watching as she drained the goblet and set it aside.

"Well then, good night, Milla. I will see you in the morning." she greeted and then stood, and made her way up to her chamber, while she sat a little bit longer watching the flames. She hadn't spoken of the dream again, and Falgon had said nothing beyond that morning with Berin; and she hoped it would fade, which it appeared to. But if she did not speak of it, it did not mean she didn't remember it. She would never forget it completely, she didn't want to forget. Would the gods forgive them for permitting her a happy memory, if it could mean staining her honour were it ever discovered? It was a hard thing, and not a light burden to bear. But so long as no word was breathed, it may remain submissive. And when Raeghun returned to her where he belonged, every dream will disappear for his reality. Then she stood, intending to surrender to her bed, but moments later found herself standing behind the chair in the guard's hall where he sat.

"Falgon..." he looked up.

"My lady?" she stepped tentatively forward, listening to the silence of the hall.

"That night..." she breathed out, and he knew that she was aware of it.

"I have no delusions about that night." he said softly, and true he had not grown conceited in the slightest. He had thus far avoided it altogether well.

"It was an accident. You shouldn't hate yourself for it." she tried to comfort him, although she wasn't exactly sure why. But then he looked up at her.

"If it was an accident... If it was a mistake... Should I not regret it?" he asked her, and she couldn't tell what she saw in his clear eyes. Hate and regret were not among them.

"You don't?" he shook his head.

"No. That 'dream' made her happy. That's all I've ever wanted." he told, and then looked away from her again, at the flames dancing in the hearth.

"Everything you would to tell me, I already know." he breathed in, a soft smile on his features.

"I know what she is, and what I'm not. I know that while she may care for me, she will never love me. I accept that. And yet, everything that I know does not change the truth that I love her... so I will continue to protect and obey her, until the end of my days." he said, and Milla smiled.

"After all that's happened, I just want her to be happy. And if that one thing has made her so, I will not condemn it, no matter the circumstances." she said, and he looked back at her.

"There is only one man in existence, that will ever truly make her happy. It will never be me..." he breathed, before feeling her hand on his shoulder.

"That may be so. But, when she was bereft of everything, you remained at her side. I won't pretend to know what it was like, but you were there. You endured everything with her." she mentioned, and he nodded.

"And I always will. Sleep well, lady Milla." he greeted, and with that she left for her own chamber for the night to wait out the days.

Late into the night, Rhegard sat in the library going through the reports. Their people stayed well within sight of the castle, and there'd been little or no disturbances since Stannis Baratheon's force had been defeated outside the walls of Winterfell. But the Boltons remained in control of the North. Once in a great while a ranging party would dwell into the mist, and pass by without so much as a notion. Those who did dare to come too close, never left the silence. The youngsters mostly remained within the castle, and when they did not they kept well within reach of it and never remained out for long unless he went with them; from time to time spending a few nights in the Wolfswood. Their only escape from the shroud that defended their home, and only when he deemed it safe enough to do so. They seemed happy enough, but his sister by law grew increasingly frustrated with the isolation he believed necessary to keep his people safe. Not too long ago, they received word that the Umbers of Last Hearth sided with the Boltons as well, and this further added to her frustration with him, for his continued resistance to swear loyalty to a new liege. The allegiance of other houses changed every so often, perhaps because they did not have the fortune that was here. Those of the Dreadfort were well famed, if you did not bend to them, they would break you in any instance. Some, merely did whatever would benefit them, whether it was honourable or not. Then a figure entered the library, the steps quick and firm, and he looked up to recognise Dyana.

"Rhegard, I must return to Last Hearth." she suddenly announced, but it seems that she'd been considering this for a while. The air around that castle was clear and expansive beyond any doubt. But, it was less protected. He sat back, staring at her.

"You're not an Umber any more. You're a Tormont. You've been a Tormont for almost sixteen years." he reminded her, and the commitment in her eyes stayed.

"I am an Umber! I will always be an Umber!" she told him firmly, and as always he knew he would not sway her. Like old lord Greatjon, she was spirited, proud and more than a little wilful. But at times, there was an anger in her that did not match theirs. Then he sighed.

"If you wish to leave, I will not stop you. But I have a condition." he said and then stood.

"The children stay with me." he set his terms, trying to remain unaffected by the hard stare.

"If you think I would abandon them here-" she started.

"You would not be abandoning them. You would relinquish them to me." he silenced her, and then rounded the table towards her.

"They are Tormonts, my brother's blood. His heirs. This is the only home they've ever known. Williame will hold Pale Haven once I am gone." he told, but her stare remained hard and resentful.

"Gerald would never have expected this of me." she threw at him, but he only stared back.

"I am not my brother." he said calmly, but then her scowl changed to a sardonic smile.

"You would have me remain a widow in this bitter cloud to the end of my days?" she challenged him, and it was a true thing. She was still young, still beautiful. She would be able to gain a good match, but it would not be here, not before them.

"I would have you remain loyal to your family. Which is more than I could say of your nephews, who knelt to the Boltons without a thought." A sudden raging burn flooded his left cheek when she struck him, but he didn't care.

"Like I said, if you wish to go, you are free to do so. But the children stay with me." he maintained again, watching her once lovely face change into a hateful glower.

"You're a vile man." she spat at him.

"Make your preparations and leave." he told her, and then she swept away nearly knocking over a young man as she fled through the door. He spared her a fleeting glance, and then approached the current lord of Pale Haven.

"Uncle Rhegard." then he looked up and smiled.

"Will." he received him, and the youngster sighed.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why my mother is always so mad." he apologised as Rhegard took a chalice off the table, and brought it to his lips.

"Oh, it's al right. I'm sure she has her reasons." he breathed, and then took a good swallow, feeling the throb ebb away.

"She struck you." Williame observed, and his hand came up, gingerly touching the red glow.

"It will fade." Rhegard assured, and then set the goblet down again.

"Your mother means to return to Last Hearth." he informed, and the boy scoffed.

"We're not meant to go with her, are we?" he asked, and Rhegard laughed.

"No. You will stay with me." he told, and the youngster seemed to brighten for just an instant.

"Oh, good. The only reason I'll ride through those gates is to meet a threat." he declared, and Rhegard's arm went around his shoulders.

"You're a good boy, Williame. Your father would be proud of you." he praised, and then thought a moment.

"Where are your brothers?" he asked, looking at the doorway.

"Asleep, I think." he said, and then recalled something in his hand.

"Maester Kenard asked that I give you this, I found him in the passage on my way down." he presented the scroll to his uncle, which he took and unrolled the parchment, scanning the words. Riverrun had been retaken by ser Brynden Tully, and holding their ground.

"Thank you. You should go to bed as well." he said, and Williame nodded before heading off. Keeping the children here would be safer, that was his greatest reason, but not the only one. He hoped that she would stay, but should Dyana decide to leave them, she would not reveal their location if it could mean a threat on them... Then the youngster's voice sounded softly in the hall.

"Good night, aunt Lyenne." he greeted, and she responded.

"Good night, sweet Williame." then she appeared around the corner, and he smiled. She approached him, her auburn locks hanging down the length of her back and her storm grey eyes examining him.

"You work too hard, do you know that?" she teased him, and he laughed wrapping his arms around her.

"I have to make something of myself, don't I?" he said pulling back, and she took his face, the palm of her right hand soothing on his cheek as she kissed him.

"You're doing well, Rhegard." she breathed, and he sighed.

"This wasn't meant for me. My brothers were the leaders, not me." he told modestly and she stared at him.

"You are trying your best. That must be good enough." she said and then lay her head against his chest.

"They haven't heard anything, yet?" she asked and he sighed.

"No. I don't know if he's even still on this continent, why else would there be such a silence?" he wondered. He had a sister in Pentos, but what were the odds that he would just turn up there? And why then, wouldn't he have come back long ago?

"But Claira believes he's alive. She believes Raeghun will come home to her." he said, as much as he could when the doubt did not threaten to submerge him, he believed it too.

"Your sister is so strong. I can't imagine what she's going through." Lyenne whispered, her arms tightening around his shoulders, and he returned the embrace, running his hand over her back. _She is... and she's finally discovered it..._ he smiled.

"It takes a lot, to do what she's doing now. But she's not alone, she has help." he soothed, and then it didn't sound so hard. Then she looked up with her easy smile.

"And you don't. So, come to bed. You can't hold a castle if you're exhausted." she hinted, and he laughed.

"As you bid, my lady." he took the chalice from the table, drained the contents and set it down before following her to their chambers.


	27. Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27 – THE UNKNOWN

Berterin sat on his bed, running a fine whetstone down the length of his blade. It was a good feeling, keeping his sword sharp as much as he tried to keep himself strong. Almost another year at Citrine Arch blew by like so many leaves in the autumn breeze, and his fourteenth name day passed with it several moons ago. In essence he was a man grown, although it might not be ceremoniously acknowledged until his sixteenth year and he had yet to fill out his frame. But it didn't matter, as long as he could do what he was meant to, how others saw him was not important; it was motivating to feel a weight on his shoulders. He continued to uphold the training of the Citrine Arch guards as his father would, it made them all stronger. But every few weeks, they saw more inquisitors coming to demand the location of the White Hold, without any sure answer. Wildlings had passed the Wall, and set up on the grounds of The Gift with permission of the Lord Commander of the Nights's Watch, but as long as they kept to themselves it didn't bother him a great deal. They hadn't presented themselves as a direct threat to their people, yet. And some weeks ago they received the raven from Winterfell that lord Roose Bolton was dead. Poisoned by their enemies, and now his son held the North. It was not welcome news, but they accepted lest their people be tormented. There just was no other way, unless a Stark could retake that keep. He wondered how his family was doing back home, and then heard the deep clattering of the outer gates opening, then stood and sheathed his sword before heading to the window and looking down, where he spied three people dismounting from their horses, and then making their way to the stairs. Two men, and one woman. The two men were clad in leather armour it seemed, with furred cloaks draped over their shoulders. The woman in a thick winter dress under the same kind of furred cloak. These people he did not recognise, but they weren't the same as those who had come to call before them. And so he decided to make his way down to hear why they came. In the long hall, his uncle met the visitors before escorting them to his audience chamber so they may speak alone, and he held back, waiting in the hall and wondering whom they were. After a long while, his uncle and the visitors returned from the audience chamber, looking morose.

"I am sorry, I truly am. But I can't." he again apologised for some reason, and then headed off as they lingered behind. They exchanged looks, and then on a whim he decided to approach.

"Good day, my lords and lady." he greeted, and their eyes met his. The young woman was beautiful, with long, rich auburn hair and striking blue eyes. One of the men had thick black curls and black eyes, and the stubble of beard across the cheeks of a kind face, and the other had cropped grey hair, a full peppered beard and brown eyes. The younger lord extended a friendly hand.

"Good day." he greeted, but his voice was not at all as cheerful.

"I am Berterin Trentin." he introduced himself.

"My name is Jon Snow." the stranger returned his name, and then indicated his companions.

"This is my sister, Sansa Stark. And this is ser Davos Seaworth." he added, and Berterin smiled.

"A pleasure." he looked over them.

"May I ask your reason for visiting us?" he asked, to another subtle exchange of looks.

"We came asking for help, unfortunately we would not find it here." ser Davos explained with a light shrug, and he looked between them.

"What do you need help with?" he asked, and Sansa glanced at Jon whom looked around the hall, but there were no others near them.

"Retaking Winterfell from the Boltons won't be easy, and we need the men." he breathed softly, and Berterin understood. Then he glanced at the form disappearing down one of the long halls.

"Oh. Forgive my uncle, he is a good man. But tends to weigh his risks carefully." he apologised, and then looked back at them.

"Whom do you have?" he asked, and Davos seemed to think on that.

"Well, we have the support of house Mormont. House Hornwood. House Mazin..." he started, and for an instant Berterin felt hopeful that his list would continue.

"And the Free folk." he ended, and Berterin stared at him.

"The Wildlings, eh?" he glanced at Jon, who nodded tentatively as he looked back at the boy. Clearly, the youngster had no love for those north of the Wall, but to his relief there was no outright hatred either. Perhaps, it was more caution than anything else.

"This was the last place we could have come to." Sansa told, with the response in his bright green eyes there was hope that perhaps he may persuade his uncle otherwise. For the Freefolk he had discretion, but for this Ramsay he had absolute disgust. Sometime over a recent past, he had been wronged in some way as well.

"Lord Scharer isn't the like to easily alter his decisions, so if he has already turned you down, I won't be able to do much for you." he confessed, and then carefully spared a glance around the hall once again.

"But I know where you might find someone else who could." he said softly, and they stared at him. A little bit of hope came back to them for more people, and Sansa couldn't withhold a grateful smile.

"Any help we could gather will give us better odds." Jon said, and he took a small step closer to them.

"Take the Laketrail towards the Wolfswood, and wade into the mists. Prove yourselves no threat and the cats will find you." he told obscurely, and they stood mystified for an instant before remembering.

"They haven't been heard from in years." Sansa reminded but the boy smiled.

"They're there." he smiled, and then suddenly a voice cracked through the hall.

"Berterin! Come on, we're late." someone called from the doorway, and he sighed as he waved at the tall youngster awaiting him before looking back at them.

"I wish you good fortune, my lords and lady." he greeted, and headed off.

"Who is he talking about? Cats and mists..." Davos asked curiously as they watched him head away.

"A small house, but fiercely loyal to our family. And respected, besides." Sansa told, and then looked at her half-brother, and Jon sighed.

"I thought they'd all been killed..." He hadn't thought of them after receiving word of what happened to Robb. Manderly refused them, Umber refused them, Glover refused them, Karstark would certainly refuse them so there was no point in trying. And so many, many others. But they wouldn't.

"The Tormonts of Pale Haven. Small but skilled. One of the Starks's closest vassal houses." he brought it back, recalling the silver hair and silver-blue eyes. Lord Willmon Tormont and his eldest son were slaughtered days after his own brother, but they were still there. A Tormont still held the White Hold. They would never refuse them. The only thing was, that they've never been there and had not the slightest notion where the castle was, but they could try. _The cats will find you..._

"Where are 'the mists', exactly?" ser Davos asked.

"Somewhere between Long Lake and the Wolfswood, I think." Jon said, recalling the directions. _Take the Laketrail to the Wolfswood..._ and Davos sighed.

"Well then, best we be off. We might take a while to find it." he suggested, and they started their way out to continue their search for more aid in their cause, leaving Citrine Arch on their coursers with no fortune gained but no hope lost. For near to two days they travelled north, north-west and west, avoiding the eyes of enemies, following a narrow trail that passed Long Lake down towards the Wolfswood just as the youngster had told, and slowly the white mist started to envelop them, so thick they could barely see a couple of feet in front of them as Jon led the way.

"You're sure we're going the right way?" Davos called from behind, and Jon looked around before breathing out and wondering why he was looking around for anything. There was nothing to see, the mist was too thick.

"He said ' _The Laketrail to the Wolfswood_ '." he called back, unfortunate as it was they had no further directions.

"We've been here for goodness knows how long. How are we going to find them?" Sansa asked, feeling miserably defeated, and quite a bit lost in this. Then Jon looked back.

"We're not supposed to find them. They're supposed to find us." he reminded, and turned his horse around to face them.

"He said, ' _Prove yourself no threat, and the cats will find you_ '. They're around here, somewhere." he insisted, again looking around at nothing to see.

"And how do we do that?" Davos asked, seeming equally frustrated.

"I don't know. I've never been here before." then he looked down, the only thing visible was the trail still heading duly south-west into the thick cloud, and he breathed out a heavy sigh, wondering if they really needed this. But then he tried to encourage himself,

"But I do know that if they can help us, they will." he insisted, repeating in his mind that they needed every man they could find. And this was their last option.

"We'll go as far as we can. When we reach the Wolfswood, we'll come back this way. If nothing happens..." they would never find them, he knew the stories. _The Silence of the Mist_ was more than just a fanciful fable made up about Pale Haven, and was proven quite a few times.

"Then what?" Sansa asked, staring at him.

"If nothing happens, we go back to camp." Jon decided, and then turned his courser again to continue following the trail, the only sounds around them the steady thumping of their horses' hooves over the dirt path, but the mist remained ever constant with only slight differences in consistency every few feet. They trudged on for a good while, when realizing that it was suddenly severely dark, the trail little more than a dark smear on the ground. Jon cursed, the mist indeed made things very difficult for those who did not know this area thoroughly.

"Give me a torch, please." he asked, and ser Davos rummaged through the bag behind him, pulling a small staff.

"Only one left. We didn't expect to be stuck here." he reported and moved forward, handing the torch to Jon.

"What do we do now?" Sansa asked, not relishing the thought of spending another night outside, much less in this.

"We go forward. The Wolfswood shouldn't be that much farther." Jon decided dismounting his courser before taking the torch from Davos. He set it down on the path, which was mildly damp, and took two flint stones from the pouch at his belt, and struck them together. The sparks fell dimly to the ground while Davos dismounted as well. Seven more times Jon tried to bring light to the torch when finally a tiny ember fell on the soaked cotton binding, finally breathing life into the dark. With the torch softly flickering he brought it up to see, but still not much was visible. The light simply cascaded off the cloud around them, and no more could be made out of their surroundings than hours ago, and he cursed again.

"Perhaps we'd go further on foot? Might be easier to find the pathway." Davos suggested, and Jon nodded before looking up at his sister.

"Stay on your horse, we'll lead. If anything happens, just ride." he told, and she looked around at the thick white around them.

"What do you think could happen?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I have no idea. Anything is possible here, I suppose." he said, and then took the reins of his horse to guide them forward with Davos closely behind him, his own courser in tow and Sansa following. On they walked until there was nothing but their footsteps resounding around them in muffled echoes, and the endless, thick white silence.

"We've been walking like this for hours. Jon, we're lost." Sansa finally complained, weary and worn. He didn't bother to look around again, there was nothing that could be seen.

"Just a little bit farther, then we'll rest." he urged to a disappointed look.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come. Maybe this was a mistake." she sighed, not being able to resist the urge to try and see through the veil that covered them.

"Just a little bit farther." Jon goaded once again, and she had to agree with a sigh and they walked. On and on they went, the path only visible for yet another five or six feet in front of them; when Davos suddenly stopped pointing.

"There, what is that?" he asked, indicating a shadow in the mist, and they moved forward eagerly, to find a tree.

"Is this the Wolfswood?" Davos asked, and Jon touched the wood of the pine. This tree was real.

"I don't know. It might be." he supposed, peering into the whiteness.

"The Wolfswood is a lush forest, not just a single tree." Sansa muttered, and then finally heard Jon sigh.

"Al right. We've found something, at least. We'll rest here for now, and take the trail back when we can see better." he decided, but he did not feel promising. They'd walked through this shroud for another day and a half, and all they found was a tree... They proceeded to unsaddle the horses and hobble them for the time being, gathering their equipment around the solitary tree. They might continue their search a short time by morning, but it seemed a better option to take the trail back. They used the torch to fuel a small fire which they shared for warmth and light, going at the contents of one of the saddle bags as it seemed the sudden night deepened and the mist ever kept its thick line. But despite the change of seasons, it was surprisingly warm here and they were not left shivering. They continued to share soft discussions, idly planning on what to do once they returned to the encampment where those who had agreed to join them had started to gather, and awaited their return; and again they wondered what success they could hope for in this isolation. But oddly, the thick mist didn't leave them as uncomfortable as they had expected. There were no sounds beyond their own voices, and it was like the thick mist created a tiny little chamber which kept their presence and the warmth close. Davos looked up, at an equally white sky that captured the orange glow of the small fire.

"Even as a smuggler, I've never seen mist this thick before. It ain't natural." he quipped, and heard Jon snigger.

"Lord Willmon Tormont used to say, that his home was protected by the old gods." he told, and Davos sighed.

"Well, of that I can't say much. I've never been a big believer." he breathed.

"The power of the old ones are still strong in the North. My mother didn't believe in them though, but my father used to spend days sitting under the weirwood in the godswood of Winterfell, but I never heard him praying. I think, that their presence was worth more to him than spoken words..." Sansa recalled, time and time again as a child she would see him under the white tree with the great sword of the Stark family, called "Ice" in his hands.

"My wife prayed. My sons prayed. But I just felt foolish sitting there in a corner speaking with nothin' but the stones to hear me." Davos said, using a stick to shove some of the embers of the small fire around.

"Well, it's never too late to start." Jon said, watching the flames and then looked at them.

"Try to get some sleep. I'll take first watch." he proposed, and the little group settled down on the ground around the fire. Jon looked around a last time, at the wall of white around them. But, he didn't feel endangered here. Perhaps the gods of their fathers were here after all, watching over them. He eased, preparing to wait out the night. Heedless of the shadows moving around in the unseen... Sansa was the first to wake to a white world, stirred from sleep by odd sounds in the distance. She blinked, and then registered that they were still in the thick of the mist. Ser Davos off to one side snoring softly, and Jon on the ground a foot or two away from her. Apparently it seemed, their watch was discarded sometime during the night. The sound came again, and she strained to hear through the mist that muffled the direction. _A wolf?_ She continued to listen, the sounds coming slowly closer. But no, it was not a wolf. It sounded bigger, heavier... _What is that?_ She sat up, searching the area around them which remained as it was the day before, anything beyond a few feet indiscernible, and realized the horses were gone hoping desperately that they had just wandered off slightly and were still close, simply concealed by the haze. It was starting to lighten, but the sun was still not away from the horizon, wherever that was right now... The sound continued to echo through the mist, and she reached for her brother, gently shaking him.

"Jon... Jon!" she called to him softly, and his eyes opened.

"We're not alone..." she breathed, and he suddenly sat up with a start realizing that he too had fallen asleep during the night. The world was so quiet, he couldn't tell when he drifted away, and now he registered the sound as well. It was moving towards them. More than one... Then he stood, taking his Valyrian Steel sword and unsheathing it, holding the grip in both hands.

"Davos... Ser Davos..." the older man shot up, still dazed from sleep.

"What?" he asked awkwardly, drunk on slumber. But then it vanished as he too heard it, and he quickly stood.

"Wolves?" he asked, taking up his own sword looking around. The sound seemed to be coming from all around them.

"Too big for wolves." Jon muttered, scanning the mist. _Where is it? Where is that coming from? What is it?_ It might have been better to have Ghost along after all, he would have been able to smell what or who it was in the mist if he could not see them, but he hadn't seen his dire wolf in days having thought he was simply off hunting. They huddled closer, trying to identify the direction of the sounds, but they were everywhere and suddenly the fact was very real that they were alone here, that they were severely vulnerable and if the worst should happen, no one would ever know... And then the sounds vanished, drowned out like the mist simply swallowed it up and there was nothing. They stood close together, scanning the white around them and wondering if they were dreaming, and then Sansa pointed at something.

"There..." she whispered, and Jon looked her way to see a large black shadow in the mist. It was immense, near to ten feet tall. And his heart leapt up into his throat as he gripped Long Claw's hilt tighter in his hand. _What monsters dwell in these mists..._

"Who are you?" Davos suddenly demanded into the shroud, and the creature seemed to stretch out its arm, and there were suddenly more sounds. Sounds he then realized were not the snarling of monstrous wolves, but the snorting of horses and the brush of steel and leather.

"Friend or foe?" a voice came back. The voice of a man. And they stood bewildered for half a heartbeat before more shadows materialized out of the whiteness and the voice came at them again.

"Friend or foe?" he wasn't simply asking out of curiosity... _Prove yourselves no threat, and the cats will find you..._

"Friend!" Jon suddenly shouted, laying down his sword and raising his hands.

"Friends!" he repeated as he glanced at Davos who spared him a cautious glance, but then lay his sword down as well. There was a fleeting silence, and then the tall shadow moved again, coming forward. Emerging out of the mist, they saw a soldier mounted on a courser as pale as the fog, and he made his way to them with a spear held in his hand. He was a gaunt man, a stern face with rough features, a scar running down from his left eye to the side of his square jaw.

"I had hoped so. Getting rid of threats is tiresome work." he grinned, and more soldiers took form, all mounted on the same grey horses.

"But then, the Bolton ranging parties were quite a bit larger than yours." he pointed out, and then stared at Jon.

"Who are you, ser?" Sansa asked, and his steel grey eyes met hers solidly.

"Philkin Deepwater they name me. Captain of the guard to Pale Haven, in service of Lord Tormont." he introduced and then looked back at Jon, smiling in a moment of elation. They had found them.

"You wear the wolf of a Stark." he indicated the sigil on the leather over Jon's chest with the butt of his spear.

"Lord Eddard Stark was our father." he revealed, motioning to his sister.

"Well then, my lords and lady. I assume you did not come here looking for mushrooms?" he smiled, and Jon sighed. He was blunt, but not altogether rude.

"We had hoped to meet with Lord Tormont." Davos quickly said, and the grey eyes went to him.

"You won't find him here, I'm afraid." he told, and Sansa stepped forward.

"Then you might take us to Pale Haven to see him." she said back, and he looked back at her, a stern draw to his mouth.

"Lord Tormont was grievously injured, not too long ago." and their hope suddenly started to vanish,

"Please, we've come all this way. Surely we can have a look at the White Hold, at the very least." Davos urged foxily, and the soldier sighed with a soft smirk.

"We will escort you to Pale Haven. As for an audience with the lord himself, I can make no promises." he agreed,

"But, our horses..." Jon mentioned, looking around and then saw a different soldier approach with their horses, already saddled. _So, they didn't just wander off..._ Sansa thought. These men used the mist well, they'd come close enough to their camp site to relinquish them of their steeds should they have been a danger. They mounted and followed Philkin on the trail, back the way they came for a while with the other soldiers circling them, all in silence. There was nothing from them, not so much as a breath. Then she looked down, abruptly realizing that the path had vanished.

"How do you know where we're going?" she asked the captain in front of her, and he pointed down at something. As they passed, she noticed a white stone protruding from the ground. And then another... and another. They were following a trail of white stones, and she looked back at Jon just behind her, who shrugged. They would never have found the castle by following the road. They trailed the stones heading north and east, then slowly turned back west where a solid road met them again when the sun was little more than a shining ball through the thick clouds. Philkin stopped his horse on the road, and silence fell on them again as they looked around. A sudden high pitched whistle broke the mist, and half a heartbeat later the whistle echoed back. He whistled again, two high tolls, and it echoed again. No, not an echo. One pitch died somewhere in the fog, and he moved forward again down the road, and their hope brightened when the distant sound of straining chains and cogs sounded through the mist. Moments later another shadow loomed in front of them, and a great gate came into view, solitary in the world. _Just a gate..?_ Davos wondered, and then finally noticed the stones it stood in. They were white, streaked with shade grey, that made the hold vanish in the shroud. _Pale Haven..._ they entered into the bailey, the green banners with the leaping black cat displayed against the walls, and numerous felines crossing the yard while the gate was lowered again and the soldiers dismounted. The little group spared a glance at the world around them, notably clearer than what it had been outside the walls. Several carpenters were busy rebuilding a part of the forge, which seems to have collapsed.

"This way please, my lords and lady." Philkin called to them, and they dismounted, leaving their horses to the care of the grooms. They entered the white hold into the vast hall where light spilled through the grand round window above the wide stairway, and servants moved about, another furred face watching them from the railing of the stairs. A great maned dark blue-grey feline with a lighter smoke-grey belly, big tufted ears, long silk-white whiskers, and glowing orange eyes. Others also stopped to stare at them for a moment, at the new faces, of course... but it was not their eyes that held their attention, but the bright, leering sunburst eyes of the grand tom that watched them intently, like he was demanding a reason for their disturbance in his home.

"If you'd be so kind as to wait here, I will announce your calling." the captain advised, and then moved off as they remained in the space, taking in the wonder. The stronghold was grand, and yet completely out of sight.

"I never would have thought that a place like this existed." Davos breathed, taking in the stern contrast of the thick mist outside the walls, and the clear air around them now.

"A wonderful creation, yes." Jon agreed, and then looked up to the second level where a woman came down the steps. For her age, she was beautiful, dressed in pine green velvet with fine silver detailing. She had lush brown hair, warm brown eyes in a soft face and full, smiling lips. She opened their arms to them as she approached them.

"Welcome to Pale Haven." she received them graciously, and then looked at his sister.

"Lady Sansa, how beautiful you've become. The last time I saw you, you were just a girl." she complimented, and she softly blushed for such a warm welcome from someone she barely knew.

"And to you, Jon Snow. Your father would be a proud man, had he lived to see what you've achieved." she continued, and for a moment he too felt slightly baffled. Then she looked at Davos.

"Welcome, ser." she said, and he bowed his head.

"Our deepest gratitude for receiving us, milady." he replied, bringing their thoughts back to themselves. She was lady Alyssa Tormont of Pale Haven, the Grey Tom's wife... now his widow.

"May I have chambers prepared for you? A warm bath and a proper meal, perhaps? I'm sure you've been on the road for days." she offered and Jon almost laughed happily.

"Thank you very much, lady Alyssa. But I'm afraid we can't stay long." she smiled back, bringing her hands together.

"For as long as you need it, of course." she agreed, and then turned around as two girls came rushing over.

"Prepare three chambers in the noble quarter, and be quick. Our guests are pressed for time." she ordered them, and they hurried away as Sansa stared. Did she know why they came? The servants obeyed her without so much as an awkward glance. Then she turned back to them, and guided them to a different hall where charwomen and serving girls were cleaning the tables.

"Three servings, quickly!" she ordered, and two more serfs ran off through the little door. It was amazing, almost as much as it was frightening. Then she looked back at them, her eyes ever bright and warm.

"Tell me, has anything been heard of Lord Taugere?" she asked, and they glanced between one another.

"Not that we know of, milady." Davos replied, and she slowly nodded as she looked down.

"And his lady wife?" she asked, and Jon felt relieved that they could give her some good news.

"Safe at Mount Ardor, my lady. And standing strong, if the stories be true. I've heard tell that hers is the home of Westeros's first Battle Master in centuries." he told, and she smiled looking up at him.

"Oh, yes. That would be ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, no doubt. You were quite smitten with the great sentinel when you were a child." she mentioned, and he laughed. The memories were vague, and far off. But there. He recalled a powerful man, long dark hair, and fierce eyes. Strength as great as the mountains, and manners as gentle as a spring breeze; and he had the hope of meeting him again some day. But if lady Claira turned down lord Stannis when he called upon them, she might turn them down as well. He knew too well besides, that their time was limited.

"Thank you. Please settle down for a while. My son will meet with you as soon as he is able to." then she turned and left as they took seats around one of the nearby tables. Alyssa Tormont was certainly a formidable woman, and there was no longer any questioning why her lord husband would leave the order of a keep under her hand when he was needed elsewhere. They were brought helpings of boiled beef, spinach, maize, pumpkin and beetroot with ale, and passed their meal with conversation. How and when they would return to their encampment, which may in all likelihood be early the following day, and their good fortune for making it this far. Secretly they prayed, that this luck would keep with them for a while longer. And at some point the captain of the guard once again joined their company.

"My pardon for disturbing you." he drew their attention, his armour now removed he was not as homely a man as they'd at first thought. The rough features made him seem harsh and crude, but when he smiled there was a gentleness to him.

"Lord Tormont has agreed to meet with you as soon as is reasonable, given his condition. You are welcome to await him in the lord's library." he told, and Davos nodded.

"Oh. Well, thank you. He is very kind to take the trouble." he said sounding abashed, and Philkin grinned.

"If you didn't come looking for mushrooms, then a simple glance at the White Hold was not on your order of business, either." he teased, and then moved off.

"One of the girls will show you to the library, when you so choose." he assured and then vanished again, passing a fuzzy brown and black tabby sitting in the doorway, watching them with bright green eyes. When they were done, they followed one of the serfs to a grand room on the second level of the castle, stocked with great shelves to the height of the chambercap and countless books. A bright fireplace burnt in the centre of the wall where a comfortable chair faced the flames, a long divan next to it and a wide table stood behind it strewn with books, letters, maps and numerous other scrolls. They gathered around the hearth where Sansa took a seat on the divan, finding it serenely comfortable, and they waited while their voices sounded soft in the air with the warm chattering of the logs in the fire, with little care for the time in this restful place that made them think of home. Moments later, a hard thud drew their attention to the wide table behind them, where the same great cat that met them when they entered again sat with his thick gossamer tail hanging down over the edge in a curl, staring at them with his bright eyes. His purr was deep and thick and loud, like the rumble of distant thunder.

"Quite the lord, this one..." Davos murmured, watching the grand tom. He quite resembled the spot-cats they've seen in the wild on the odd occasion, when they weren't too shy to appear.

"I've never seen a cat that big." Jon added, while Sansa only smiled, admiring the big lustrous eyes. Then the sound of feet and wood on stone drew their attention to the door where a young man helped the lord inside.

"My apologies, for keeping you waiting." he breathed as he gave them a tired, but friendly smile, his blue eyes bright and warm, and Sansa stood to acknowledge him.

"It's quite al right, my lord." Jon said, watching them move slowly inside. He used a brace under his left arm to support himself, while the youngster supported him from his right shoulder. Dark bruises covered the right side of his face and neck, and white linen was visible around his wrist above an equally bruised hand. Rhegard spared the large feline a quick glance, and chuckled.

"Forgive Tempest, he's been watching over our home for near to thirty five years; and is oft curious of strangers." he told, and then was helped to the chair facing the hearth where the youngster carefully had him take a seat; and from the way he walked it was a clear thing that he was in a substantial amount of pain. He allowed himself a deep breath, and then eased back as the young man took the brace from him, and then his attention went to the visitors, and he motioned to the divan for them to join him, and they settled down.

"I welcome you to Pale Haven, blood of Lord Stark, and your companion." he again graced them heartily. It was a considerably more hospitable acceptance than what they'd received in several other places.

"Thank you, lord Tormont. We realize that this is rather untimely." Jon said, but saw the gentleman smile easily.

"It's al right. Not all things fall under our control." he breathed, and then rested his hands on the armrests.

"What business do you bring to the White Hold?" he asked, and Sansa sat forward.

"We've come to ask for your support." she stated, and he nodded.

"You mean to reclaim Winterfell?" he realized as a shadow leapt onto his knees making the lord grimace for half a heartbeat, then the great cat turned curling up and facing the guests with eyes luminous, and his profound purr continued to vibrate through the air while Rhegard's hand came softly to him, stroking down the dark grey fur on his back.

"It won't be a fair fight. We've managed to rally three other houses to our cause, but still including the Freefolk the Bolton forces outnumber ours by a good three-to-one." Davos continued to explain.

"I see. And how did you know to come here?" he asked, and Jon glanced at the others.

"Citrine Arch was the last stronghold we called upon. We met a young man there, named Berterin Trentin. He told us where and how we might find you." he told, and saw the lord breathe a sigh.

"He took a great risk, sending you here." he said, his eyes on the flames for a long silent moment, but then looked back at them again with a smile.

"The cats have always run beside the wolves. I don't mean to change it." he finally said, and again Sansa almost leapt up and hugged the man, but kept her composure.

"My nephews will ride with you. But as for me, I won't be of much use to you now. Not while I'm like this." he decided, and then looked up at the young man waiting at his side.

"Will, go fetch your brothers." he told, and the youngster hurried off.

"How many men can we hope for?" Davos asked, and Rhegard looked back at him.

"One hundred and nineteen, including my nephews." he calculated, and Jon smiled. They continued their discussion for a while, where the camp was based and how they hoped to win. Shortly after, three young men returned, and Sansa regarded them. They all looked the same, black haired and blue eyed. But one, seemed to stand out from the others; he was taller and had more mass. And his blue eyes shimmered, like flakes of frost in the sun. Rhegard looked up as they approached.

"This is Williame, Gaerand and Rye." he introduced them, young men of sixteen, fifteen and fourteen years. Jon stared at them, wondering.

"They're little more than boys." he breathed, examining them.

"Oh, they may be young. But they'll surprise you." Rhegard laughed, and one of the youngsters scoffed.

"Is it our skill or our age that you want?" he asked, followed by a stern glare from the lord.

"Be respectful, Gaerand." his words were soft, but powerful; and Gaerand looked down.

"My apologies, my lord." he said.

"Go make your preparations, I assume you will leave with the dawn." he instructed, and they left the chamber, rather excitedly.

"They're certainly spirited, I'll give them that." Davos mentioned, for just an instant remembering his own sons.

"They are all fine fighters. Williame's skill in strategy has been compared to my own father's, while Gaerand is an adept commander already. And Rye, well... He has very intricate capabilities." Rhegard explained, and their conversation continued for a good long while with Tempest coiled in his lap until he finally shooed him off and forced himself to his feet.

"I wish you a peaceful night, my lords and lady. It might be the last one you'll have for a while." he greeted, taking the brace and starting to move off. As if summoned, one of the guards appeared to offer the lord his strength. He was a short, stocky man with thick chestnut coloured hair and dark eyes, but well defined.

"Well then, as his lordship commands, we'd best make the most of a soft bed." Davos proposed, in his secrecy relishing the thought of something besides the hard ground beneath him.

"That sounds like a fine idea." Jon agreed, and they departed the library, finding a page boy whom politely escorted them to the chambers that had been prepared for them; and after a duly savoured warm bath, Sansa stood staring out of the little window at the sky, but there were no stars to be seen. Then her eyes lowered, thanking the entities for answering their cries before spotting the crimson leaves of what could only be a weirwood. _I haven't been in a godswood for a long time..._ and she wondered if she might go there to pray, which at the time seemed like a good idea. She left her chamber and made her way down through the still castle, venturing outside and for a moment felt lost. Then she approached one of the sentries, on his way back from the castle gatehouse.

"I'd like to visit your godswood." she said, and he looked to his right towards a wide arch and pointed.

"The gods grove is through there, my lady." he advised, and she thanked him before moving off, stepping through into the small woodland. She followed the trail between shrubs and bushes and flowers, lit with a delicate torch every few feet, all with the sound of dry leaves cracking beneath her feet, and then heard voices. She looked up, a single torch was burning next to the ancient tree, and on a fallen log just a few feet away in its light she could see the lord of the hold sitting next to a lady with her hand in his. The face looking back from the tree was calm, majestic, understanding... ancient, under the blood red leaves, the white of the bark almost glowed in the firelight.

"Lady Stark." she heard her name, and suddenly realized that lord Rhegard was looking at her.

"Can we do something for you, my lady?" the woman asked, and then she moved tentatively forward.

"I just wanted to visit the godswood..." she said, and Rhegard smiled.

"All are welcome in the gods grove, my lady." he invited, and she took a seat on a stump opposite from them.

"My love, this is lady Sansa. Daughter of lord Eddard Stark." he told the woman next to him, and then looked back at Sansa.

"May I present my wife, lady Lyenne." he introduced, and Sansa smiled at the woman.

"A pleasure." she said, finding the woman likeable. Her mother might have looked like her in her younger years.

"The honour is mine, my lady." she replied, and the world drowned in silence for a while, but soon enough Sansa's attention went back to the lord, and the bruises that covered him.

"What happened?" she suddenly asked, instantly regretful for her boldness. But graciously he only smiled.

"An accident." then he looked up.

"Our forge caught fire, one evening. I tried to help those inside, but three of my people lost their lives." he told, but Lyenne gently squeezed his hand.

"You saved more people than we lost." then her other hand came over to cover his bruised hand.

"And if the boys didn't pull you out of there, we would have lost you too." she comforted him. He smiled at her, and then he looked up at the tree.

"The side of the forge collapsed onto me, cracking my ribs and breaking both my leg and my wrist. I come here, because it soothes me. The maester's aids help, but I find more relief under these leaves than in any bottle." he continued to explain, and she could share that. It brought a kind of calmness that no medicine could ever give you. The silence they shared as she prayed freely, in a place that was safe and secure and serene before standing.

"Good night, my lord and lady." she greeted and then returned to her chamber, falling down on the gentle bed and drifting off to sleep and meeting yet another grey dawn. The company dressed, and broke their fast before gathering in the bailey where the men assembled to claim their steeds; only a handful in darker shades than the pale grey mass. Rhegard and Lyenne stood on the first step watching as Philkin took position at the front of the mass, Williame, Gaerand and Rye to his left side, and the guests on his right. Then he lifted his head towards the gatehouse, and sounded off a loud high whistle, and the heavy iron lifted from the earth to allow the horde of soldiers to pass into the mist beyond. Lyenne looked up at her husband.

"They'll be al right." she soothed, feeling the tremble to his fingers, and he glanced down.

"I know." he assured, acknowledging that the shiver was not fear. Were it not for his current conditions, he would have led the force himself.

Milla stood watching the endless fields that stretched out to the blue horizon with its many woodlands and streams and stones, her arms resting on the stones of the high rim of the sun tower's crown, wondering how long still her family will linger. They'd been gone for near half a year, and Claira's name day passed just little more than a month ago when a raven came to inform them that Bristlemane Stronghold was reclaimed by her lord husband, and again securely under Trentin rule. But, they've been there for so long, and should have been back by now if all was in order. She glanced down at Garde's Post, and the shadows moving between the buildings. From here, the village looked like a distorted sunflower, the shops and houses growing outward from the wide town centre with its well; but didn't think that three hundred people lived here. Ironic was the fact that the greatest castle in this country had the smallest town, while Ramshorn and Hornsney were their great trade cities for the sheep herds and honey. But their size was little more than grossly enlarged towns.

"Milla?" she looked back to see Claira standing behind her, dressed in lush royal blue velvet with gold detailing.

"Are you al right?" she smiled, and then looked back at the rim of the world.

"Yes, just a bit anxious. Berin's company should have been back by now." she said, and heard her friend coming to share the view of the world with her.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it won't be much longer." she breathed leaning on the stones as Milla regarded her, the breeze gently brushing strands of hair over her face. How calm she was... time had taught her patience.

"Of course, you're right." she agreed with a soft smile, and then Claira looked at her with a happiness to her features.

"We've had word from Oldtown today." she informed, and Milla shared her glee.

"And how is he?" she asked eagerly, and Claira's eyes went back to the horizon.

"He's fine. He's just fine. And he's doing exceptionally well. Perhaps he too, can come home soon." she said, and it was a cheerful thought, to have everyone back where they were meant to be. But, there was something else, as well.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, and Claira sighed.

"Maester Adlyn is feeling morose. Stannis's force was destroyed while trying to take Winterfell." she told, and Milla hesitated for a moment. Why would he be sad about that?

"That's not all, is it?" she said softly, and saw her friend shake her head.

"Lady Shireen is dead, as well." she added, and her heart dropped. She was around Rychon's age, maybe just a little bit younger. And as a babe she was infected with Greyscale. Maester Adlyn, renowned for his healing skills, was summoned to Dragonstone by lord Stannis to try and stop its advance. He travelled there with sentinels Derric and Saerus, and returned seven weeks later, happily announcing that he and two other maesters were able to stop the disease, and save the child's life. Now, she was dead...

"Oh, that's so tragic..." she whispered.

"It is." Claira agreed, and then glanced down at the village.

"There's been more activity around Garde's Post for a while now..." she mentioned, and Milla looked down. There were definitely more people.

"I suppose they're preparing for the Horn Festival." she said, and Claira sighed softly.

"Possibly, but it's not for another two months." she calculated. Provisions usually wouldn't start for another turn of the moon.

"Well, come along. We have engagements of our own to tend to." the lady of the hold beckoned,

"Yes, my lady." Milla agreed, sparing a final glance into the blue sky where somewhere far away in a solid stronghold, her daughter was busy packing her effects with her bold Bea helping her while Sam and Sweet Stephanie finished with their own belongings for the journey back. Her father had given the command to return to Mount Ardor two days ago, and all was well under way. Geerd Vega was dead and buried, as respectfully as his position would decree. Those loyal to him were dismissed from the Bristlemane grounds, but not without scowls; yet, there were more that remembered the Trentin rights and they stayed on with vows to uphold their honours. Order of the hold will be left to Gedro, with Vaellion remaining behind to secure their position and to learn if he would one day be castellan. Then she closed the chest she was busy with, to be delivered to the wagon with their other items.

"I'm heading down for just a moment." she told, and Bea looked back with a smile.

"Al right, I'm almost finished, then I'll join you." she told as she folded a dress, and Bella left her room for the stables to ask the stable master to ensure that her palfrey was tended to and ready for their travel home. In a few days she would see her mother again, her aunt and her protector and soon enough her friend. All of her precious people. Suddenly a hand grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her into a different passage, and in a moment she reached for her dagger before an eager mouth closed over hers, and she recognised his smell. The smell of pine. They'd shared kisses before, but they grew increasingly avid. And so did his persuasions since she turned sixteen.

"Happy to leave this heap?" he asked as he drew back, his arms going around her waist.

"More than I should be, I'll confess." she breathed softly, her arms going around his neck as his tightened.

"Meet me in the stables tonight, we'll have a tumble in the hay before we leave tomorrow." he suggested impishly, and she sighed. This wasn't the first time he'd made that proposal either. The south tower, the cellars, the rookery, the granary, the armoury... the stables. She enjoyed Devan, but...

"Devan, please." he smiled.

"We can't abandon the castle without making our mark." he continued to urge, and her hands came down to his chest.

"But not like that." she resisted as he smiled down at her, a greedy leer in his light eyes.

"You're a woman grown, Bella. You can make your own decisions." he reminded her intentionally, and she smiled back.

"I know. And I want to be married to the man that takes me." she told him, solidly. It wasn't just an obligation for the honourable preservation of their house, she longed for it. The solidity and happiness of a blessed union, like that of her family.

"I could marry you." he suggested with a small shrug, and she almost laughed at him.

"No. No, you couldn't." she denied again, and he pulled her closer.

"And why not?" he leaned down to kiss her again, but she drew slightly back.

"Because my father would rip out your spine and flog you with it." her father had not considered suitors for her yet, but it was not a well-kept secret that he had no great love for the young guardsman. But for her sake, he tolerated him to the best of his endurance.

"He'll have to catch me first." he playfully teased, and then drew her closer into a fervent kiss which she returned for a moment before gently pushing him away.

"You don't know how good he is." she warned him, but he laughed.

"He's an old man." he mocked, and she scoffed irritably. True, her father was not at age with Devan, but he was certainly nowhere near maester Adlyn. Aside from Falgon, he was the lord's very best.

"Oh, if he doesn't get you today, it will be tomorrow." she assured him, well aware of his persistence, and then she felt his hands tighten again on her low back.

"Come on, Bella. Come with me. We'll head up north, and start our lives and our own family on my uncle's land." he urged again, but the thought was a daunting one. And even if her father did not choose a suitor for her, she wanted to stay here. Close to home.

"No, Devan. I... I want to go home. I want to see my family and my friends again. Want to see Rychon..." she told, but the name that escaped her lips left a sourness in his eyes, and a scowl to his mouth.

"He's forgotten about you, Bella. He hasn't written to you in years." _He hasn't forgotten me. He would never forget about me... I'm sure he's just busy..._ They'd shared too many days next to the fountain in the garden, too many walks, too many rides, too many lessons, too many suppers, too many... even a kiss, once. He would never forget, even if he didn't write to her.

"I know that he hasn't written. But, I still want to see him." she insisted, and the sourness turned to something bitter.

"You're foolish. A foolish girl, dreaming about a boy lord." he ridiculed her, but the bitterness he showed was answered by a stinging sear through her as she pushed away from him.

"At least I dream of better things than some patch of land. Go find someone else to share it with you, then!" she wrenched away from him and started her way off through the halls, almost having forgotten why she'd come down in the first place, but suddenly his hand grabbed onto her shoulder and turned her.

"You think I don't dream of things? I have, so many times. Of us. Of you with me, because that's all I need. Isn't that better than hoping for something that might not happen?" he asked, and she softened.

"Then, you will wait for me until the time is right." she breathed, and he closed his arms around her again.

"Al right, I'll try." he said softly, and then smiled at her.

"I just love you so much. I want to start my life with you." he told her, and her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Your patience will be rewarded." he softly teased, and he brought his face closer to hers.

"Promise?" he asked, breathing down her neck.

"If you earn it..." she whispered back, her fingers gently straining into his shoulders as she felt the warmth flow down her skin into her stomach, and his arms tightened when he kissed her again. Deeply, heatedly and finally she managed to force him away.

"You should go..." but he pulled her closer again.

"Why?" he asked,

"So you can see that all of the arrangements are met before leaving tomorrow. It's a long road back." she told him, and he leaned down.

"I'll have time enough for that, after you." he teased, pressing her closer. But then the sound of footsteps coming down the hall drew his attention, and he released her before Berin's tall shadow fell across the stones, and he appeared in the hallway.

"Where the-fuck have you been?" he suddenly demanded, and Devan looked up at him sheepishly.

"Patrolling the halls, my lord." he replied courteously, the deep green eyes hard while he examined them both.

"Get your ass down to the bailey. There's a lot to be done." he ordered, and with a final glance the young guard left through the hallways down. Bella looked at her father, drawing a deep breath as he stared at the youth making his way from them before looking back at her.

"I've told you many times before, Bella." he breathed, and she sighed.

"I know, I know. 'Never meet with him alone' you said, Dadda." she quoted him, and his eyes softened.

"Where's Beatrice?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Seeing to the last of our effects. She'll be down soon." she told him, and then glanced down the hallway where Devan disappeared.

"And he won't try anything." she assured him, hinting at the dagger at her side.

"Not all things are forced. Some, are just... not controlled. And I know it becomes tempting-" he started to explain, but she threw her arms around him.

"Don't worry about me. I know what I want." she comforted him, and felt his arms coil around her waist to hold her.

"And I want the best for you. I can see that you like this boy, but... it won't be enough. Not for my only daughter." he told, and heard her laugh.

"Well, as to that. We will have to wait and see." she giggled, and he smiled.

"I hope you're planning to wait another twenty years, at least." he teased her as her arms slipped around his elbow.

"Maybe..." she agreed in a light tease of her own as they started down the hallway to tend to the last of their own matters.

Rhegard sat in the library with Tempest once again lounged in his lap, his deep rumbling purr seeming to resound off the very walls around him. The great grey tomcat was currently the oldest creature on their grounds, and despite his own set of afflictions he was a stubborn old thing. The men had been away for a number of days, and he wondered if he might make it to the camp site before the battle began. But doubtless, the maester would fervently advise him against that, as he had yet to fully heal. The pain wasn't as bad any more, he might be able to hold the sword. And as long as his destrier was not struck from beneath him, he may yet still have it in him to fight, as well. Then he looked up through the window, at the endless whiteness outside where not even a star broke through. _Keep them safe..._ then soft footsteps came into the library and he looked back at a girl carrying a tray inside with tea and a small plate of crispels.

"Your tea, my lord." she announced, setting the tray on the table, and proceeding to pour the rich liquid into a small cup as he smiled.

"Thank you, sweetling." he breathed. He was served tea twice a day, with either cloves or Valerian root for pain, and sometimes milk of the poppy which often would just make him feel drowsy. Then she came over, presenting the tea to him before sitting down on the divan close to him, her hands folded on the armrest as she looked at him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and he breathed in.

"Better, I can walk on my own now." he reported, and she smiled happily.

"That is good." he regarded her slowly, taken by how much she looked like her mother, except for her eyes. Her eyes were the bright blue of their family. A maiden of fifteen, named for the Lady of Pale Haven.

"Are you lonely?" he asked, bringing the cup to his mouth.

"A little bit. I miss their laughter, a lot. The way they would always tease each other. It's far too quiet without them." she confessed, and he smiled. She was fond to them, of course. Then she looked up at him.

"They'll be al right, won't they?" she asked softly, and he sat back resting his hand on the cat sleeping on his lap.

"Of course, sweet Malyssa. They'll be just fine. Your brothers are very capable." he reassured her with all the confidence he had, but watched as she looked down at her hands.

"I just can't bear the thought of something happening to any of them. We've all grown up here, even if..." she started, and he knew what she would say but that didn't matter.

"My sweet, gentle child. Never doubt them, for our thoughts strengthen them as much as their own. We must believe." he told her as her blue eyes came up at him, the glint of tears under the soft blue. Then she stood and came forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and he held her, his fingers running over the soft honey gold hair.

"Don't worry, they'll come back." he soothed her, his brother's beautiful daughter, now his along with Theresa and Elysia; and he felt her arms gently shivering around him. All together, they were three and three. Three boys and three girls, all Tormont blood. And he loved them all...

"Don't be scared, Malyssa. They've all been taught well, and we'll stay safe here." he promised, and then she pulled back.

"I know. I'm just cold." she told, but he smiled. She wasn't the best liar, then she stood and retook her seat, watching the flames and wondering where they were in this grey night, and if they were thinking of home. But of home, there was little time for thought as they waited in the darkness, cloaked and hooded in black they were as silent as the trees around them, with the shadow of Winterfell far in the distance just visible under the pale moonlight as Gaerand watched through the shadows. They'd offered to come scouting at night, and they'd best hurry to get back to camp before they were discovered.

"So, what do you think?" Williame asked from the back of his courser, and a figure moved standing up from where he was crouched down on the ground.

"More have come, a couple of hundred at least." he told, and quickly mounted his own steed.

"I'll never get how you do that." Gaerand softly laughed as Rye took up the reins, then he looked back and smiled.

"Practice." then he turned his horse around.

"Come, we'll have to report this to the commanders." Williame took their lead, making their way back to the camp site as quickly as was possible without being noticed. Little after daybreak they entered into the camp, and gave their mounts to those tending to the horses before moving in further, aiming for their tents to steal some sleep before in all likelihood receiving new orders when they happened upon Jon Snow and his sister, engaged in a subtle discussion on their conditions, although some others would sooner name it an argument.

"It's not enough, we need more men." Sansa told her brother, and he looked back at her, contemplating what their chances were, and indeed it was all but hopeless.

"There's no time." he breathed heavily, if there were they would have used it, doubtlessly.

"If we went down to castle Cerwyn, I know that Lord Cerwyn-" she started as he came towards her.

"We fight, with the army we have." he decided, and then Gaerand stepped forward to offer an opinion of his own.

"We could send a raven to my aunt at Mount Ardor. She'll help us, I know she will. She'd send the entire force of the Corridor to support us." they looked at him, the lady's blue eyes shining happily with optimism while the black eyes remained distant and unfortunate.

"Even _if_ the raven gets there, it will take them near to a month to reach us." Will had to enter his own thoughts, and Gaerand glared at him, and then Rye only made it that much worse. But instead of simply adding a statement, the blue eyes met his evenly.

"There are new arrivals at Winterfell regularly, as you've seen. If we take the time to gather more men, then Ramsay will as well. What do you suppose the odds will be in the end?" he challenged, and then they heard Jon sigh.

"Lady Claira has already refused to support the wars of other regions. I don't think we can count on them. If she did not answer king Stannis, why would she answer us?" he put forth, and Gaerand opened his mouth to give him the answer: _Because her nephews ride with you, that's why..._ but then Rye looked at Jon, and cut him off.

"That's not the issue. She'd help us if she could, I'm sure. But it will take too long to mobilize their forces, and you've said it yourself. We just don't have the time." Rye finished to a short silence where each mulled over their fortune, and then loud voices drew their attention to the back where ser Davos was attempting to appease some or another fight that broke out between some of the soldiers. Jon spared a final glance at his sister before moving off towards the encounter with Williame at his side to report on what they'd found, and then Rye's hand clamped down on Gaerand's shoulder.

"Good day to you, Lady Stark." he greeted her, and proceeded to guide him towards the tents where more soldiers waited.

"You're too cautious, you know." Gaerand breathed. Uncle Rhegard often told him how much he was like his father. He was enthusiastic of his challenges, up to the point that some people would call him impulsive or even reckless, especially his brothers. Will was patient, and Rye contemplated on situations carefully. But when they needed to improvise, they would turn to him, even if he was the youngest of them. A man grown, but only just.

"It's not about caution." he told back, and Gaerand turned towards him.

"Then what is it?" he demanded as Rye pushed him inside their tent.

"It's about how much your risks will cost us. Half Stannis's army died here when they were caught in the storm, and winter will be here sooner rather than later. What do you think will happen to our people? What will happen to us, if we lose even a handful of our men here, to the snow? We can not wait a month for more people to join us." he told deliberately, and Gaerand felt his face flush warm.

"But-" a hand pushed him backwards onto a bedroll.

"Try to get some sleep. We'll move again soon, and we need you to be ready." he urged, and then went to his own, settling down as the youngster stared at the figure. _It's not just that, is it..?_ But then he sighed, laying down and covering himself with the fur cloak and huddled up for warmth, perhaps he could claim a few hours of sleep after all, and so closed his eyes listening to the world around him. The falls of boots outside on the grounds, the grind of steel on stone as some of the soldiers sharpened their blades, the sound of wood creaking as crates and barrels were carried and rolled about, the trickle of the stream nearby where the horses could drink, and the howl of the wind over the mountains. Somewhere in the far off distance, the cry of a lonely wolf was the last thing he heard...

Claira lay comfortably on the wide divan in front of the hearth of the lord's wing, still dressed in the day's dress of gold with black flower embroidering over the neckline and elegant sleeves, black satin lining, and black silk ribbons laced down the front of the bodice, with a book in her hand. They'd had it for years, but she never truly considered the work until reading the severely long title. A tome decked in soft red leather – _The Rogue Prince, A King's Brother: A Consideration of the Early Life, Adventures, Misdeeds and Marriages of Prince Daemon Targaryen. As set down by Archmaester Gyldayn of the City of Oldtown,_ which she found rather enjoyable. It was already deep into the night, and Milla had retired to bed shortly after Falgon had left them, wondering if she should go for a bath. It was a cold evening, but the heat of the fire kept the chill away. Then she looked up at the phoenix on the wall. _Haven't you found him, yet?_ _S_ he sighed, easing back into the fleecy pillows wondering if tomorrow might be better. Berin had finally sent word that they were on their way home and should have arrived early this afternoon, but it seems they were delayed again. Then she thought of her Rychon, where he was and what he was doing and what he was learning... she hadn't seen him in four years, and wondered what he looked like now. How tall was he? Surely taller than she was, and he was so much like his father. Perhaps she could send a message, asking that he be returned to her now that things seem to have settled somewhat. But, there was no guarantee that the raven would reach them, even if... The sudden tolling of the sentry tower bells drew her attention, sounding over terrified screams and dismal cries, then followed the barking and howl of the hounds, and her breath froze in her chest, painful and frightening. _Oh, no... Not this... Not again..._ she stood and made her way down to the Hall of Fire with her heart pounding and her limbs cold as ice, and a moment later emerged into the outside air where screams filled the night from beyond a sealed gate. Guards were running for the walls with pikes and bows, and master Austinus was calling out commands.

"Hurry! I want every archer on the walls!" he ordered, watching as men rushed away to assume their places while others stayed on the grounds with the dogs pulling at their leads, barking furiously at the noise; and she approached him without a thought.

"What is happening?" she asked and he turned around, already with a hardness to his features.

"Garde's Post is under attack, my lady." he reported, and she looked up at the gatehouse.

"By whom?" she asked, already hearing the people on the other side calling for help.

"We don't know yet, but oddly it seems they're keeping well south of the village for now." he told, looking up towards the mass outside.

"Why would they do that?" she asked, and heard him sigh.

"We don't know that either." he breathed, and she thought for a moment. _My people... They'll be killed if we don't open the gates..._ but if this enemy remained on the southern side of the village, they could bring the people inside where they would be safe. She had to. Then she turned towards the portcullis, rising her voice as loud as she could over the chaos.

"Open the gates, let the villagers inside!" she ordered, but then heard ser Austinus step closer to her.

"But my lady, the gates-" he started desperately, but she looked back at him harshly.

"They have nowhere else to go..." she told him, and then returned her attention to those holding their grounds.

"I said open the gates!" she commanded, waiting for the sound of the cogs and chains before feeling a hand on her arm.

"What is it?" Milla had come down from the wing, having thrown on the same marmalade orange dress from this afternoon. Her fingers were trembling, and her voice high and afraid. But holding on to whatever courage she had, Claira lay her hand gently on hers.

"Don't worry, we'll be al right." then she looked around, the people from the village slowly streaming inside as the gates lifted from the ground.

"Where are the sentinels?" she asked as they watched shadows spill into the bailey. The baker, the brewer, the septon, the merchants, the innkeep; the women, the children, the old and the sickly, all in a terrified flood onto her grounds.

"Last as I saw them, they were with the guards trying to prepare the defence." master Austinus told, and she sighed. Of course that was where they would be, the safety of the keep was their first priority. She remained watching as people rushed inside, several guardsmen with two of the hounds struggling their way by them towards the bridge to ward off attackers if there were any. She could hear the distant sounds of steel against steel, curses and screams and taunts.

"Close the gates!" came a hard voice suddenly, and her heart momentarily stopped with a stab.

"There are still people!" she shouted back, but the voice answered, overpowering her own.

"Close the gate!" she recognised the voice, and struggled against the urge to contest the order, watching silently as the gates were lowered and her heart broke, begging for forgiveness... _I'm so sorry..._ Wistfully, her eyes came to the faces huddled together in front of the castle steps, many of them crying for grief or relief. _They can't stay here, it's not safe..._

"Everyone inside the Hall, quickly!" she called over them, and they started up the stairs into the hold. Then she noticed two figures coming up the steps towards her, her sentinels. Wymon's grey eyes were hard and anxious as he reached her side.

"We must all get inside, quickly." Falgon told, and they moved inside with the mass.

"We're outnumbered, my lady." Wymon reported, and she felt the frigid sting course through her.

"By whom?" Milla asked staring at him, but he shook his head as Falgon glanced back at the horde filling the space. Somehow, he seemed calmer; but he was in al likelihood thinking.

"They're not carrying any colours or sigils." Wymon told, and Claira took a step forward trying to see over the heads and beyond the gate, to where archers were starting to fire their shafts. Some were even returned...

"How many are there?" she asked,

"About three hundred men." Falgon calculated, and once again her heart stopped when she recalled they had only ninety seven guards to the castle with the greatest number away to Bristlemane. But, someone would have noticed them. They would have been informed of a mass moving through their country.

"How did a group that big, move without being seen?" she wondered. They must have passed several other villages, farms, holdfasts even a city to get here if they went by road.

"They didn't. Four or five men won't draw attention, so they split up before crossing the border with orders to meet at a designated location, just a few leagues from their target." Falgon suddenly explained, and Milla stared at him stunned.

"How long would it have taken them to do that?" watching him sigh.

"Weeks, months... maybe even years. They were thoroughly discreet." he told.

"Did they plan on our soldiers being deficient?" Wymon asked.

"No. It just happened to work to their advantage." Falgon said.

"How do you know that?" master Austinus asked, and the tall warrior looked back at him. The look in his eyes told, that this was not an assumption.

"Because we've done it before." he revealed, and Wymon stared at him in shock.

"You know them?" he asked, and Falgon nodded.

"The Black Bannermen..." he told, and then looked at him.

"Mercenaries. I travelled with them, years ago." he told, and again looked back to where the last of the villagers hurried inside.

"Close the doors and seal them!" he ordered to some of the guards that followed them inside, and they obeyed.

"What are you doing?" Claira suddenly demanded and he looked down.

"Garde's Post was not their target. I just hope that..." he started as the creak of the heavy doors sounded through the chamber.

"Hope that what?" she asked softly, feeling the blood drain from her face.

"Hope that what, Falgon?" she asked again, taking hold of his arms.

"No army has ever taken Mount Ardor, it's true. But you don't need an army to take the gatehouse. Just twenty skilled men, already inside." he told softly, and she suddenly felt light and cold and sick all at once. The gates were ordered closed for a reason, and she challenged that reason. If Mount Ardor fell, she would be to blame. But, there was still hope. If they could hold out until the morrow, then... she turned and ran for the grand staircase where their maester waited. And thankfully, as she looked up at him, he did not seem dazed.

"Maester Adlyn, send a raven to Earndale. Tell them that Mount Ardor is besieged." she instructed, and he nodded.

"At once, my lady." he turned and hurried the way back up to his tower as quickly as he could, the jingling of his chain fading away in the distance. She turned again, watching the people in the hall and every heartbeat felt an hour. Earndale Palace was the closest vassal stronghold to theirs, barely a day away. If they could hold out until either Berin or Darius arrived with the hosts, they would be fine.

"Claira, what are we going to do?" Milla asked softly beside her, and she looked at her. _I don't know... I don't know what to do... I don't know what will happen..._ But then she forced a smile.

"We're safe here, Mount Ardor is one of the strongest keeps ever built." she tried to comfort her, praying to the gods that she was right, and they only needed to last a day. So they waited, and waited, and waited while the lives of the castle joined the villagers in the hall, many reuniting with family members and offering words of comfort and encouragement. Wymon's mother came up the stairway, to be close to her son without the need for him to leave the side of their lady. Laurene was with her family, soothing a crying Ricket against her shoulder, and Lilly with another group of women with Hazel on her hip. Berry and Joldewin, attempted to appease the people to the lady's great gratitude, and just a few feet away more people gathered around septon Costane to pray. Everyone were together there, a third of them no older than ten years. _Please... Please hurry... anyone..._ voices were rising from outside, and the horrifying churning of the gates as the cold suddenly showered her. How long has it been? A hand to her shoulder startled her, and she turned back to see maester Adlyn behind her.

"Has the raven been sent?" she asked, simply to ensure she still had a voice.

"Off and gone, my lady." he reassured, and she could find a degree of promise. Her eyes went to the doors where the guards were preparing to barricade the door, and then a flood of voices, barks, snarls, snorts and yelps assaulted the great hall in the moment a soldier stumbled inside, bloody and tattered. With almost insentient motions she rushed down the stairs towards the wounded guardsman, to where he fell on the floor with others surrounding him to try and help as the doors were closed and further attempts made to seal it, pikes, spears and swords shoved through the large handle bars of both doors. She knelt next to him with the maester, who assessed his state.

"The wounds are deep, we must take him-" he started, but the blood soaked hand reached up to her.

"They... they've taken... the gate... They've swarmed the bailey... You... you can't stay here... You have to leave..." he gurgled, and then dropped silent, and her hands covered her mouth to stifle a scream. She had seen someone die before, the last when her sentinel defended her in the Right, but this was different. He was one of her own... A powerful hand pulled her gently up.

"He's right, we have to go." Falgon urged, and she looked around. The gate and the bridge was the only way in and out of the castle grounds, there was nowhere to go. There was no escape from here... Milla's hand touched her arm.

"Claira, what do we do? Where do we go?" she pleaded desperately, and she felt all but lost. _What do I do now? What do I do? All these people... This is all my fault..._ But suddenly, like being shoved she recalled the light of a fire against a wet wall surface. _The Lightway..._ she turned to Milla.

"There is a way." she said, taking her arm and guiding her away.

"Take our people, go to the deepest part of the tombs. Behind the tapestry with the rising phoenix, you will find a door. The Lighway leads outside, the fisher's village is nearby. You have to hurry." she told, leading her to the door that was the way down into the earth beneath the great keep.

"I'm not leaving without you." Milla suddenly stopped, and Claira faced her. _Oh, my dear friend..._

"Milla, listen to what I say!" for some reason she couldn't control her voice, and it seemed louder than she meant it to be.

"You have to lead our people. I have to ensure that everyone makes it through, and then I'll follow." she told, and Milla looked down.

"Do you promise?" she asked softly, and Claira took her hands in hers.

"You have to go, now. We don't have time." she urged, and then looked at those behind.

"Everyone, this way quickly." she called to them, and they came forward.

"Claira, promise me!" Milla cried, and Claira looked at her. _I can't..._ Then she looked at the maester.

"Maester Adlyn, go with them." she told him, and then looked back at Milla.

"Go now, hurry." she told, softly pushing her towards the door and she vanished between the stones with the people following, and she saw all of them. Maester Adlyn, his pages, the handmaidens, the chambermaids, the charwomen, the serfs, the hands, cook Jeody, the scullions, the pot boys, the villagers, all who stood under her protection; and then looked back at the handful that remained behind. Her sentinels, her masters and a meagre few guards, and even the smith.

"What are you doing?" master Austinus smiled softly.

"We might not be young soldiers, any more. But we can hold them off long enough, for you to get out." he told, and her heart broke as she looked at their forger.

"Philpot?" he nodded.

"I've never been a warrior like my son, but I can bash in a head or two." he said, and then looked at the others.

"You boys ready to pound some steel?" he asked, his hammer ready in his hand, and they agreed. Austinus looked at Falgon and Wymon.

"Get her safely out." he told, and then they turned and headed for the door. Then Wymon stepped forward.

"I'm coming with you. You'll need every sword there is." again she felt sickly, did she even have a heart any more, that could break?

"Wymon..." but what could she say?

"It has been my greatest honour, lady Claira. To stand at your side, these many years." he smiled at her, and then moved away. Suddenly he stopped for a moment that seemed like an eternity before turning again and coming back to her, but all she could do was watch as his hands came to her face, and he came forward still. He kissed her hard for a long moment, before drawing back and laughing.

"I've finally stolen that kiss I've always wanted..." he breathed, and then vanished from her while she stared through an almost painful warmth. She didn't even care that he kissed her. _He's going to die... He's going to die, and this is all my doing..._ _Maybe I deserve to die, as well..._ Once more, a hand wrapped around her arm.

"Come, we must go." Falgon told, but she held back.

"I'm not leaving." she refused, and he stared at her, his dark eyes defiant.

"We have to." he told, but she pulled away from him.

"I'm not going. As long as I am in this castle, it will never be taken." she said, and his eyes darkened.

"You cannot mean to stay here. They will enter-" he started.

"If they take Mount Ardor, they take the Corridor." she told him, but his hand grabbed her wrist again.

"If they take you, they take everything! From everyone! Think of your family before your pride!" he countered harshly, but the warmth flooded every inch of her body.

"My pride? My name has made me all that I am! If I abandon that I abandon myself as well. My husband would never have surrendered his home!" she defied.

"He would have, if he knew there was no chance." he told, and it flared in her.

"You think you know him?" she tried to pull away again, but he brought her closer.

"He told me, that you are more important than anything! Fuck the castle! When you are secure, I will come to reclaim it." he told, but she glared at him.

"I'm not leaving!" she refused again, met with an almost angry stare. Suddenly a loud crash against the door made her jump, it was answered by those who remained, but he released her arm.

"You're stubborn!" another hard blow to the door released the sword from his back, and he turned to face it. Then another hard clash made her heart race.

"Run! Run, now!" he ordered, and she took a breath.

"Come with me." he didn't look back, but gripped the sword in front of him.

"Run!" she obeyed, flying up the steps of the grand staircase heading for the lord's wing while he took a position at the base of the stairs, watching with a darkening air as the great doors broke and splintered and burst open, then came the flood of mercenaries with swords, spears, maces, clubs, and pikes, running through everyone that stood in their way. _Forward... Always forward..._ He moved forward into the mass that became dismal screams, removing heads, arms, legs and bowels until sixteen more bodies littered the floor, staining the stones with crimson. _I will stand..._ an arm dropped to the ground. _I will fight..._ another lost his leg. _I will slaughter..._ a tangle of red fell from a gaping wound. _I will die..._ A wailing head trailed through the air. He raised the sword as he turned, aiming for more bodies, but then the warmth of battle in his veins froze and died as a scream filled the hall, and he looked up in horror. At the top of the staircase next to the phoenix throne, stood a tall, heavy man with his queen, her arm twisted behind her back and a blade to her throat. His rugged features were drawn in a menacing grin, and the firelight reflected off his leathery skin. In the chaos that filled their hall, the shadow stalking up into the vast halls of the burning mountain was left unnoticed.

"Best put down your sword." he called out, and reluctantly Falgon obeyed while others circled him, aiming the tips of whatever they had in their hands at him. Unstable was often a word used to describe Igon, he was violent and cruel and brash. Kindness and sympathy towards others was never his way, for anyone. If he attempted to reach her, he would not hesitate to harm, or even to kill her, so he lowered his sword while more men swarmed inside. One of the men cautiously moved forward while the others watched him, and quickly seized his sword. He had little choice but to release it.

"Well now, seems our takeover was a success." he heard a voice coming from the doorway, and looked back to see their leader walking in with a hard smile as he scanned the hall.

"Oh, only two left?" he breathed, and then looked at some of the others behind him.

"Search the halls, see what you can find." he ordered, and they headed off through the arches to the barracks and the southern hall before looking up again, his eyes finally settling on Falgon for longer than a moment. He seemed almost happy to see him.

"So, you're still here? Should have known you would be the famous Battle Master." he teased, raising his hands.

"Why did you come?" Falgon asked, and he sighed. His once thick brown hair was thin and greying, he'd lost several teeth, and almost his nose judging from a scar that ran over the side of his face.

"Work." he replied, and then looked up at the figures at the top of the stairs.

"I am sorry about this, but you know the ways we do things. We were paid an impressive sum to take this castle." he explained as he watched them.

"Release her Baret, and I'll let you live." Falgon demanded, and then he looked back with a satisfied smirk.

"You'll let me live? I am well aware of your capabilities, Nomad; but here's the thing. There's three hundred of us, and…" he looked around, the only members left inside were the members of the Black Bannermen.

"Only one of you. The other guards didn't make it, unfortunately. They're nothing like you at all." he told, and then Falgon took a step forward.

"Release her!" he demanded again, but the pressure of a pike to his chest stopped him.

"Oh, oh. I would if I could; but fifty thousand gold dragons, now that's more than we've made in the past ten years." he continued, and Falgon moved again.

"Baret!" more sharp tips dug into his body, and the raging heat started in his muscles again before he heard Baret chuckle.

"Lock him in the cells; and-" he started, looking at the men surrounding the tall warrior.

"What about her?" Igon suddenly demanded from the top of the stairs where he still held Claira in a painful grip. A long silence followed as the two stared at each other, the black eyes waiting expectantly and finally Baret breathed out hard, his shoulders falling in defeat.

"Do what you want. You're going to anyway, whether I tell you this or that. Just... don't kill her." he muttered before moving away, and the grin on the face of the barbarous mercenary changed as he brought the blade away and replaced it at his side, his black eyes settling on the sentinel whose senses were all but alight. _No... NO!_

"I've wanted to spite you for a long time." he directed as he started to force her towards the wall lining the second level next to the stairway.

"Don't do this!" Falgon called up to him, but his voice was ignored as the mercenary simply laughed. He'd hated him. Hated him since the day Baret asked him to join them, even after he killed five of their men; and then he hated him more for leaving them. Hate, was all he knew...

"You once called her your queen, so kneel you fuck!" A hard kick to the back of his left knee sent him down, and rough hands clamped down on his arms and shoulders as the weight of several men held him there.

"Now watch as I ravage your witch." Igon slammed Claira's shoulder harshly against the wall, and she grimaced painfully for the force as air left her body.

"Release her!" Falgon yelled at him, struggling against the many holds on him, but Igon continued to ignore the sentinel as he turned and stepped closer to her, the fingers of her right hand wound around his wrist trying to push it away from her. Falgon glanced at Baret, standing off to one side against one of the wide pillars, his arms folded over his chest... simply ignoring everything.

"Baret!" He didn't move, he didn't so much as look at him. He wasn't in control any more...

"Let go of me!" Claira demanded as she struggled, pushing against his chest with her left hand, and Igon grinned maliciously.

"Stop it! Release her, Igon! Release her!" Falgon ordered, for the first time raising his voice so it echoed off the walls, and a hard fist struck his right cheek.

"You're a fighter. Good. I like it when they fight back. It makes me boil. I'll fuck the fight right out of you." Igon's right hand pulled violently at the laces holding the bodice of her dress tightly against her to release it, tearing the fabric and ripping the eyelets, but her hands failed miserably to stop him and then his fingers roughly released her shoulders from the neckline.

"Let her go!" it thundered through the hall before another hard blow darkened the skin of Falgon's jaw, but Igon paid it no mind as he continued to pull forcibly at the neckline, bringing the fabric down over her chest and leaving her bare despite a left hand attempting to conceal herself and her right still in vain tried to push the beastly mercenary away. Suddenly the hand that held her shoulder to the wall wrapped around her right wrist and slammed it painfully against the stone while his other wound around her throat, the thumb and index fingers digging into the curve of her jaw, and her fingers went around his wrist trying to sustain the flow of air to her lungs; and he brought his face closer, the stench of his breath spilling over her neck and shoulder.

"I will enjoy this. I want to hear you begging me for mercy..." he whispered, and then closed his mouth over her neck. She screamed in pain, and then cried again, but her chest seemed to refuse the air as her body shuddered in fear and shock, her neck throbbed and burned where his lips had closed, and a trickle of red escaped the corner of his mouth and snaked down her breast.

"RELEASE HER!" More and more strikes to his face and body followed as dozens of fists and boots assaulted him, and he grew warmer and duller with each heartbeat. _I can't do this... I can't... I can't do this... Not again..._ Screaming didn't help then, it wouldn't help him now, and to beg was never his way. The earth wouldn't move like it did then... There was only one thing left... Igon drew back from Claira, and through the painful sear down her neck and shoulder, her eyes took in the horror of her blood reddening his lips and teeth as he grinned. Despite her continued battling against him, he forced her to the floor savagely, a cruel hand tangled into her hair for control and another pushing down on her bruised shoulder. She glanced up through the warm throbbing of pain and tears, where she could see Falgon kneeling as several men held him in place, and others attacked him, an eerie darkness settling over them, so heavy she could barely discern one shape from another. It was the same as back then, in the woodlands; but this time there would be no escape. Their aid will not reach them in time. She closed her eyes as the hand left her shoulder for something else, hearing him fidget and pull at clothing. _I'_ _m so sorry, Falgon... this is all my fault... please... please forgive me..._ She felt the mercenary shove the skirt of her dress up to her thighs, and as best she could steeled herself for the devastation that would follow as she felt him against her. _Please forgive me..._ Suddenly her ears stung as an ear-splitting cry shattered the hall, so devastating that men screamed in agony. There was a flash of black over her, and the pressure against her vanished. In stunned amazement she sat up and turned, reality refusing what she saw. Men lay dead at the base of the grand staircase while others gaped wide-eyed in shock; and Falgon stood behind her, Summit held in his left hand while his right gripped around the throat of the mercenary... No... No, not around his throat. Claira's hand went over her mouth in horror. Her sentinel's strength, and the impact with the wall forced Igon's jaw through his neck, the bone projecting from either side of his spine. His hands wrapped around Falgon's armoured wrist as he gagged.

"I've never liked your smile. It irritated the shit out of me, and now no one will see it again. I believe I've made you a promise once." His hand closed, crushing muscle and veins and bone before a lifeless corpse slumped to the floor. Then he turned and passed her, removing the cloak from his shoulders and lay it over her, then he stood in front of her, both hands around the grip of his great sword raised in front of him. He seemed so different, suddenly. So dark, so terrible...

"Come! How many of you will remain standing against me? I will cut through you all like a stone through water. I don't care how many of you there are, not a single man will make it up these steps!" even his voice seemed darker... he stepped forward, and suddenly sank to one knee, his left hand pressed against his face as he groaned as if in pain, and it seemed he was struggling again. In a moment of insanity her hand reached for him. She wanted to hold him. Wanted to comfort him.

"Falgon..." then he stood again, rising the blade.

"Go… Get to the lord's wing… Lock yourself in…" he said, his words hauntingly soft.

"Falgon…" she felt cold and fragile, the shiver through her limbs near to uncontrollable.

"Go now…" he ordered again, but whether by her own strength or not she stood and ran up the east stairway, clutching the heavy brown cloak tightly around her as the terrifying wails followed her, up the incline where the screams still echoed, through the halls while the horrible cries trailed behind and finally vanished when she stepped through the door to the lord's wing and lowered the beam that would secure the door, and still she ran up the stairway to the highest room where she sealed herself inside, and finally fell down on the floor in front of the hearth shivering, still holding her sentinels cloak, desperately trying to calm her breathing as she prayed for him who stayed behind. He whom now stood in a red hall littered with bodies, the stones seeped through of blood and various macabre items, facing a terrified member holding a blade in his shaking hands.

"Monster! You're a monster!" he shrieked at the mass approaching him.

"True. And my mask..." the eyes cut into him, just the same as a fresh blade would.

"Is a colourful one." Summit's edge came down, slicing the mercenary in half as easily as it would a sack of grain. Fallen over a discarded limb, from his back on the slick floor, Baret watched breathless and quivering as the being in front of him looked back straight at him, but all he could see were the eyes. Bright, hard, stained and enraged. In all of his life he'd never seen anything like him, had never in his most outrageous dreams thought he ever would... the tall mass suddenly walked towards him and his only reaction was to raise his hands in defence.

"Nomad…" he started, hoped he may reason with this man he once thought he knew.

"My name is Falgon!" The tip of the sword came down towards his face and he closed his eyes, but then the strike of steel against stone deafened him, leaving him dazed for a few moments before slowly opening his eyes. The blade was driven into the stones next to his head, perhaps half a foot deep before his attention went back to the fierce eyes looking down on him. There was no emotion to the features, no anger, no pleasure, nothing. Just the frightening glare of the eyes.

"It is the name my queen gave me..." he breathed, chillingly calm.

"I... I never bore you any ill will... Never... This was work..." Baret tried again, and then watched as the warrior leaned down and a hard hand wrapped around his throat hauling him up off the floor, and the fingers tightened as he started to gasp.

"This is my home. My family. You knew that, and still you came here." the warrior told, the fingers starting to dig into the skin, and the mercenary struggled and gasped and gagged, life seeping away and leaving him. Claira looked up at the open doors facing the east, suddenly realizing that the horizon was starting to change, taking on the blush of morning. Regaining her strength she stood from the floor and listened, but there was nothing beside the ominous silence. _What happened?_ She made her way to the door, draping herself with the heavy brown cloak and trying as best she could to rectify the torn garments enough to cover her. She pulled the door open, and again listened, but the stillness continued. She made her way down to the lord's hall, still exactly as it was when she entered. _What happened?_ She lifted the beam and opened the great door, stepping into the hallway, and the quiet that hung there. Many of the torches have burnt out, and much of the hall was shrouded in darkness. _What happened?_ Then she hurried down the halls towards the Hall of Fire, the passages still and undisturbed. _What happened?_ Finally she emerged into the desolation that awaited there, and covered her mouth with her shaking hands. The great Hall of Fire of Mount Ardor was fouled with countless bodies, the smell of death and the red sheen of blood off the stones of the floor, and even the walls; she numbly made her way down the stairway. Again, she felt warm and sick and cold and fragile and petrified. Then she rounded the curve and found Falgon sitting against the wall, next to Igon's lifeless body and Summit against the stones beside him. She rushed towards him, and knelt in front of him.

"Falgon?" she watched him, he was covered in blood, not an inch unsoiled. But he did not look up, and she felt the sting of tears to her eyes, realizing she was completely alone. There was no one left.

"Falgon." she tried again, her voice a high pitched sob as she hated herself. Everyone died because of her, and she was bound for the deepest of the hells for her selfishness.

"Falgon..." she wanted to cry, and her hands rested on his cool arm, viscous with blood. _I'm so sorry..._

"Falgon!" she felt lost, and hopeless, and helpless. She was the only one left, everyone was killed because of her, and she survived because of him... _Falgon... my Falgon..._ then she gasped as she felt him move, and watched in paralysing relief as he slowly looked up.

"I'm al right, I'm uninjured. I'm just tired..." he breathed softly, and she broke throwing herself against him, her arms around his neck as she shuddered against him.

"How many times has it been, that you've saved me?" she whimpered against him, and his arms wound slowly around her allowing the burn of her skin against his to ease the stricken muscles.

"I don't know, your grace. The count doesn't matter to me." he said, and then she lowered herself to sit down with him, resting herself against his chest, where they spent what was morning in silence just holding onto each other, here against the wall of the second level of the burning mountain amidst the shadows, the burn of the great hearth and countless dead. The last thing he truly remembered, was her terrified eyes looking up at him as he passed her. Everything after that, was simply a blur of dark images... and then her voice brought him back. He looked up, where the early morning light hung over the bailey, wondering if any of the mercenaries had fled the castle but perhaps that was unlikely. With what one could see in the hall, it may look like there have been more than three hundred men... and he could not keep her from harm completely, but she was alive at least, and Milla and the others were safe, the hosts would arrive soon and they could start to move forward with their lives once more like they did before... and somewhere out there on the fields Berin was waiting as the youngsters were packing up what remained of the camp site.

"Hurry! We're late already, as it is!" he urged, eager to reach home. If their pace held, they'd reach the burning mountain by noon. Then he looked at his daughter beside him, softly rubbing her palfrey's nose as she spoke with her friends, but she was obviously just as impatient as he was. Soldiers were already busy loading chests onto the wagon so the young ladies could take their places. Berin sighed.

"We'll be back soon, I promise." he soothed them, and Bella looked up with a mitigated smile.

"I know." then he laughed, and put his arm around her shoulders with a quick kiss to her brow.

"And if our luck holds, we won't need to leave again until you're ready." he told, and then she shrugged.

"What if I never want to leave again?" she asked, and he sighed.

"Bella..." He'd told her that as she was the eldest, he wished for her to return to Bristlemane with her brother in a few years and assume its rights, however thus far she'd been resistive of the idea. But there was still time to persuade her, and with her dear companions with her it might become a tempting notion. Then his attention was taken suddenly as he felt the quake of hooves over the earth, and the distant rumble coming their way.

"What is that? What's happening?" he looked around, and then met the sight that sent a frightening stab into his chest. A force of one thousand armoured riders came racing over the hill, Foch banners streaming in the wind. _Oh, fuck! What now?_ He moved quickly to the edge of the camp, throwing his arms up at the approaching mass. Lord Foch was at their front, mounted a blood bay charger.

"Where are you bound?" Berin called out when he was close enough to hear.

"Mount Ardor!" he called back, and then Darius drove his horse closer down to a trot as he passed.

"A raven was received last night, the burning mountain is besieged!" he told, and Berin felt his heart stop with a painful, frigid stab as the rest of his body flamed. _How? When? By who?_ But he could ask questions later, then he turned rushing for his own courser.

"Every able man, mount up now!" he commanded, and mounted. Bella looked up at him, her friends anxious behind her.

"Dadda?" his fear had passed to them.

"I have to get home, now." he told, and then she mounted her own horse as well.

"Then let's go." she agreed, and he smiled grateful for his wilful daughter.

"No. I need you to stay here, and lead these mutton-heads home for me." he told softly, and she stared at him for a moment, not hiding the disappointment. But then agreed as she nodded, and he moved away with Darius, passing a soldier that served their house for more than a decade.

"Wyll, watch over the girls for me." he ordered, and the soldier bowed his head.

"Yes, my lord." he agreed instantly. They waited as the greatest part of their men mounted, and they joined the mass racing for the great keep, leaving a handful of others to finish packing up the camp; they would arrive later today. They fell in beside the Foch soldiers, racing home; but soon enough Berin was at the front of the force alongside Darius, every image flashing through his mind. How great was the host at Mount Ardor's walls? Who were they? Why were they there? What did they want? He could only hope... and hope was all he had until they crossed the hill that revealed the village and the sunstone keep in the distance, seeming silent and his hope faded. There was no force at the walls, and the gates were open. They passed the village where several victims lay on the outskirts or on the roads, but was otherwise bereft of life and he feared the worst. More people lay dead on the bridge, and under the gates. This wasn't a siege... it was a slaughter. They entered the outer bailey, taking in the bodies that were strewn over the grounds. Soldiers, nameless mercenaries, and dogs... The stables seemed the only structure that was left untouched. He didn't know what more he could expect, but he leapt from his horse and rushed inside to find the dismay that waited there, and for a moment he felt like he couldn't breathe. Even the aftermath of a battlefield didn't sicken him as much as the sight here did, this devastation within the walls of his home... but he pressed on stepping over limbs and corpses, men unknown and some he'd shared a lifetime with, but mercifully no women or children were seen. _Wh_ _at happened? Wh_ _ere are the others?_ Insensibly he made his way up the stairs to find their Battle Master motionless against the wall, his arms around their Lady as if he were still defending her. _Oh, fuck..._ then he knelt next to him and placed a hand to his shoulder, unable to tell their states.

"Falgon?" he called softly, feeling the hopelessness and helplessness settle on him. They were too late... They didn't make it... _Fuck!_ Again, he had failed... but then the mass moved slightly, and looked up as an elating dizziness washed over him.

"She's al right now, I think..." he breathed, and Berin almost laughed. They were alive.

"I believe she's asleep..." he added, looking down at her again, but rather than shatter the hall with laughter, Berin released a relieved breath, and would keep his many questions for later.

"Good. That's good. And you?" he asked, and Falgon gently nodded.

"I'm uninjured." he assured, and Berin's hand tightened on his shoulder. That was always his answer, but how he was unscathed despite the odds, was nothing less than startling.

"Good..." then he looked back at the hall, other soldiers had already started to enter, looking around and taking in the ruin that now lay there. He didn't recognise most of the faces inside, although it was of little matter now. _Is it possible... that he did this all on his own...?_ It could be, for all he knew.

"Where are the others?" he asked,

"Your Milla took the villagers through The Lightway. They might be making for the fisher's village, if they're not already there." Falgon told, and Berin looked back at him.

"We'll go find them. Thank you, my friend." then his eyes settled on the figure against the great mass.

"Shouldn't we wake her?" Berin asked softly, but the warrior remained as he was.

"No. Not right away, at least..." he told softly, and Berin nodded. Whatever they've been through, it might be better to allow her to sleep, but this might not be the best place.

"You shouldn't stay here, you've been through a lot. I'll help you up to the wings, and then see to the rest." he suggested, and after a long silence Falgon slowly nodded.

"As you wish." Berin glanced down.

"I'll be right back." he stood and glanced at Darius behind them.

"And you, lord Foch. For rising to our aid so quickly. But we might need your help for a little while longer." he told, and then guided him back to the doors, sending five riders off to find the members of their hold and their village before discussing the state they found the castle in, and what would be needed to restore it, starting with gathering the dead; which he hoped to have mostly cleared by the afternoon. The days that followed will be harsh ones.

Berterin sat his charger on the hill overlooking the northern field with Ormont next to him, watching groups set together far on the other side while his eyes took in the different colours of the banners, orange, white, chequy and green blowing in the breeze. The sigils themselves were too far to make out, but he recognised the colours for Hornwood, Stark, Mazin and Mormont. It was a difficult thing to be here, and the sword felt heavy at his belt. They arrived at Winterfell just a few days ago, by order of lord Ramsay Bolton, and so they came. But they had little choices, to all who gave their allegiance every fighting man was compelled to answer a threat against the liege; but he could not deny how he felt. _Liege the false lord all you like. He's a traitor, a larcenist and a murderer..._

"This is wrong. We shouldn't be doing this." he muttered, too loud. An older man looked up at him, armoured in studded leather and mail, a spear held in his hand.

"Aye. But what choice we have, lad? When the flay'd man orders ya to shit y'erself, ya tuck down and ya squeeze, or he'll squeeze yer eyeballs from yer arse for ya." he tried to agree, but it was just an annoyance in the situation they were forced into.

"Oh, shut up. Before I squeeze your nuts from your throat for you." he countered, and was then suddenly met by the hard stare of the captain in front of them.

"That's enough!" then he looked back, and sighed.

"We were a Tormont vassal, once. Now we're Bolton fodder. I don't like it any more than you, but we do as we're told." he finished, and Berterin's eyes followed his stare into the far side, but decided to try and keep his thoughts for himself. _We shouldn't be here..._ In the distance, he noticed something moving down the centre of the opposing force where Jon Snow made his way to the front of their mass. The archers spanned the front lines, followed by those mounted and the remaining infantry at the back. Moments later, three more figures came rushing down to the front, and Davos looked up at them.

"You're late." he scolded.

"Our apologies, ser." one of the youngsters pardoned, and he sighed.

"Well, get to it then." he urged them, and they proceeded to take their places; the youngest with the old knight, one to the left and one to the right of their force. But then a voice called.

"Rye." he turned his horse, and looked at Williame.

"Remember." he told, and Rye smiled.

"Yes, I know. A wall, not a spearhead." he acknowledged, then pulled at the reins and quickly assumed his place, some feet to the giant's right facing the horde on the other side beyond the burning crosses. He'd suggested a spearhead, but they hadn't the men to force it, so a wall was the best they could hold at this point. He and Will would have the front of the mounts, while Gaerand held back with ser Davos. Not because he was lacking of skill or courage despite his age, but if this ended the way they prayed it would not, he would remain, at least. The leather and mail armour felt heavy on him, but it would be easier to move in than the plate mail. They waited, and watched, trying to count their odds; not a fair sight, where the banners of Bolton, Umber and Karstark and several others drifted in the wind, but the fields were silent as the grave. And then a figure appeared amidst them all, leading a prisoner by rope to the front, calmly as if simply enjoying a crisp stroll on the northern pastures. He halted his horse on the edge, and then dismounted continuing on by foot another few steps and brought the prisoner up beside him. The air suddenly became colder as he realized, it was Ramsay, with Rickon Stark... They watched as Ramsay brought a blade from his back, holding it in the air to display it, and the intention was made clear. Rye glanced at Jon whom dismounted his charger and walked forward to the edge of the mass, trying to decide what to do. And then his attention went to the other side of the field again. He'd assumed that the blade would be used to cut the boy's throat, there in front of them all to incite rage and disorder... but instead, the blade went down to his hands and cut the bonds that held him, allowing the rope to slip from his wrists and fall onto the dirt and grass. _What the hell is he doing..?_ Lord Bolton replaced the knife where it came from, stood for a long moment and then lay his hands on Rickon's shoulders, seeming to just... talk with him? _This can't be right..._ He brought Rickon in front of him, and then suddenly pointed at them. At Jon. _What is he doing?_ His pale destrier moved restlessly beneath him as he tried to understand the behaviour. They just stood there for another while, still in discussion; but Ramsay seemed optimistic if not excited. And then he pushed Rickon forward... simply letting him go? _It's not right... This isn't right..._ his mind was screaming at him, and he felt the warmth in his fingers. Rickon looked back cautiously, confused and then the warmth became a burn as a soldier walked forward towards the commander of the opposing force, carrying a war bow. _He's going to kill him..._ and then Rickon started to run, sprinting across the field. Again he glanced at Jon, who came running back to claim his own horse and set off across the field towards the sprinting youth. _He's not going to make it..._ his horse trudged around, but he held him back. An arrow came flying down, missing the young Stark by a couple of feet and relief had him groping for hope. Perhaps he could make it... Perhaps some lack of skill, the wind or simply a gods-hand will ward off the arrows long enough... Another dug into the ground, closer as the youngster rushed by and the dark horse still charged desperately forward, its rider's arm stretched out to help the boy mount the moment he reached him. Another arrow struck the ground, the shaft broken as Rickon bound over it, and Rye's hand grew tighter on the reins. _You're almost there! Come on! You can make it! Just a little bit more..._ His hope was shattered in the instant the youth fell, an arrow pierced through his chest, the blaze now working its way up his arms, and he struggled to hold his ground. He watched in dismay as young Rickon Stark lay on the ground, gasping for air with a shaft through his lung, and Jon Snow staring down at him in shock and horror with naught else to do but watch his brother die in a final staggering breath. There was silence over the world, so deep you could feel it, but the hateful eyes that met across the distances told more than any word ever could.

"Don't..." came someone's hard whisper from the mass, but whatever sense was still had, left most in that moment.

"Man the charge! Man the charge!" Ser Davos ordered from the back, and the archers made way for the mounted units. It was time... _Hold the line... Hold the line... Hold the line..._ his mind repeated, over and over as his war horse started to move forward steady, then evenly to a powerful canter and he tried to focus on those around him. _Hold the line..._ Jon, spurred his horse forward in an enraged attack as arrows showered the ground where he stood a moment ago.

"Go! Go! Follow your commander!" was Davos's frantic commands, and the horses charged forward boundless, followed by the footmen. _Hold the line..._ Rye drew his sword, ready to engage the foe. Every heartbeat was an hour, every sense sharpened, and he took in all of it. The shouts and curses, the thunder of thousands of hooves over the soft earth, the smell of dirt and searing flesh, the sun in the sky, and the heat through his veins, the glint of blades, the ring of mail and the pulse of battle... A flurry of arrows came down, and their commander fell as his horse was struck down. But he stumbled to his feet, and took the sword from his side, ready for the oncoming swarm. Far to his left, Will's unit held a steady line, but his own had fallen back and the realization struck him hard as he cursed. In the discord, and with a young steed he'd named Storm for his colour whom was as green as he was at six years old, they'd charged into a spearhead. He tried to reign his horse in, but it was too late and they ploughed into the enemy at force, many run down as they went and others breaking off to engage on their own. Only two men stayed with him, flanking his sides. Men he'd known all of his life, men he'd trained with for years. A rider came his way, arm raised, but as he passed he gripped the pommel of the saddle and leaned back, the sword passed over him while his own came forward, cutting through the unprotected flesh under the arm, and the enemy fell. Another two followed, and he managed to ward them off. In the distance, he could hear lord Bolton's commands to the archers, and another shower of arrows met them, two missing him by mere inches. He looked at those with him.

"Don't worry about me, help the others where you can!" he ordered, and one gave him a shocked look.

"But, my lord-" he started to argue.

"Do as I say!" he told, and turned his horse before moving off again. It was utter turmoil, men cutting down one another every which way, perhaps simply aiming for the colours they wore. A man ran at him aiming a spear, and in an instant he reeled his courser to the left allowing the spear to pass him, and brought his sword down hard, slicing through the neck. With his heels digging, he moved forward again, towards their commander who cut down a foe. Gaerand watched the chaos, hearing the screams in the distance.

"Ser Davos, we have to do something..." he breathed, and the knight grimaced.

"We may as well be taking shits back here!" he muttered and then dismounted his horse, drawing his sword.

"Forward!" he cried out, and they ran, forward. Rye wheeled his courser to the right, bringing his sword back and through the neck of another man, a Karstark soldier judging from the soiled black and white over his shield. More arrows whistled through the air, and sudden pain filled him as the impact knocked him from his horse. He struck the ground hard driving the air from his lungs, gasping for breath the daze left him but the searing pain remained, and he noticed an arrow driven through the armour of his left shoulder. He cursed, releasing the sword and reached up taking hold of the shaft with both hands, hardening himself; but a scream escaped his chest as he broke it, and cast the wood away. He took a moment to claim another breath, and then a shadow fell over him where a soldier stood, blade raised. He brought it down, and suddenly his body responded and he rolled into the legs of his attacker, knocking him over. He took the dirk from his belt and drove it into the man's unprotected face, then stood and reclaimed his sword. More people came at him, and he responded. But the pain made him suddenly sluggish. He parried and cut one down, leaving a deep gash to his leg when the other raised his blade to strike at him. _I won't be fast enough..._ he suddenly realized, but then as he prepared for the blow, a sword stabbed through the attacker's gut and he fell. Someone stood behind him, blood and dirt across every feature, but he recognised the deep green eyes staring at him.

"I told you, you can hide yourself behind a mountain and I'll find you." the youngster said, and he smiled, relief dulling the pain.

"Good thing, too." he said, then looked left suddenly, bringing his blade up through someone.

"So let's do it together." he told, and Berterin turned.

"To the light!" he screamed, and nearby Scharer arms started aiming their attacks at Bolton men as the clash continued. More distant shouting drifted over them as more men joined them, and a man was struck down, horse and all as the last of their host joined in and Wun Wun the giant unleashed his tremendous strength. But the sounds of marching boots caught their attention, and a swarm of soldiers with full length shields circled them, forcing their group together against a wall of bodies, Hornwoods, Mazins, Mormonts, Scharers, Tormonts, Freefolk, all... and they watched in dismay. Spears protruded from the openings, and each time they struck forward men were driven through. Then the shields would move two steps forward, and the spears would strike again. There was no way to move forward any more... Men started to turn and run for the wall, pressing together and trampling those who fell, trying to climb their way out, but they were struck down as Umber soldiers came from the opposite side. Some even tried to break through the shield wall with little success, throwing their weight against the counter while the giant struck at them. But more swords came through, forcing their group to retreat. It seemed hopeless, and they were pushed back. Those facing the wall stabbed, and those climbing the wall cut down. Again, men ran for the wall of corpses, men falling under them and others crushed by the pressure of bodies, then Rye heard a voice gasping for air. A hand flailed by his leg, the fingers grasping desperately; but he reached down taking hold of the armour and he pulled with all the strength he had left, trying to lift the body from the ground.

"Get up!" he screamed, and pulled. The weight of the body sent agony flooding his left side, but he pulled.

"You have to get up!" he called again, and the hand clasped around his wrist.

"GET UP!" he screamed again, and felt the weight shift and a face appeared. It was Jon. He looked up at the sky breathing in deeply, free from the crushing weight, and the distant sound of a warhorn washed over them. Again, and again, and again... and when they looked to the south, the falcon of Arryn came gliding through the sky. The knights of the Vale had come. They came racing down the hill, swords drawn and screaming, then slammed into the enemy destroying the wall. Then he looked back, Jon was gone. He'd managed to make his way through the men and climbed the wall, looking at the height where Ramsay glared back. Then he turned, and fled back to the walls of Winterfell, and Jon followed with the Wildling headman named Tormund and the giant Wun Wun with him.

"We have to go after them." Rye breathed, and Berterin looked at him.

"You're injured." he cautioned.

"That will have to wait." he told, and then dragged the youngster along, and they followed, running after them, feeling the pain of each step and the burn of the cool air. They rejoined them as the giant was breaking through the gate, slamming a great fist through the wood. He cried out in pain, but then leaned back and threw his full weight against the barricade, breaking it open and soldiers poured through, overwhelming what remained there and Rye cut down an oncoming soldier. More were sent down with arrows, or thrown over the railings of the catwalks. Jon looked up at the giant, riddled with arrows and spears, exhausted and weak. But then, an arrow through his eye sent the great warrior down, and Jon looked at Ramsay, utter hate in his stare.

"You suggested one on one combat, didn't you?" Ramsay spoke, and then rose his hands, looking at the men standing throughout the bailey with bows raised.

"I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." he said and then raised the bow in his hands as Jon threw himself forward, seizing a fallen shield and brought it up the moment before an arrow struck through the hard oak. Then he lowered it and moved forward as Ramsay claimed another arrow, and fired. Again, the tip bore through the shield, and he moved forward. Another arrow shattered the wood, and he pressed on. Then, as Ramsay lifted the bow a fourth time, Jon struck forward with the shield, knocking the bow from his hands and sending him back on the ground. He threw the shield aside and planted himself on his adversary, bludgeoning the face with fists until naught remained but a blood soaked mess... Then he glanced up, and noticed Sansa standing a few feet away before drawing back, and standing. There was no need to prolong it, the battle was won. The soldiers replaced the Bolton banners with the wolf of Stark, and their fallen were gathered, and the wounded were tended to while others discussed their paths going forward. Rye sat down on one of the wood steps with his cousins and Berterin beside him, feeling cold and drained, except for his left shoulder which was still aflame.

"You al right?" Berterin asked softly, and Rye smiled up at him.

"I'll be fine." he assured, and then met Will's blue eyes.

"Did you forget?" he asked, and Rye laughed.

"No, I didn't forget. I just... wasn't paying attention." he confessed, and Will nodded.

"Oh. Well, you're al right, at least." he breathed, and then they looked up at two men came through the gate with a body, reclaimed from the field and Jon looked down.

"I'm going to bury my brother in the crypt, next to my father." Jon said, and the men moved forward as he turned.

"Jon..." he faced his sister, and she looked up.

"Where is he?" she asked, and he breathed out.

"Where he belongs." he said, and moved away again coming towards them and Rye forced himself to his feet. Jon stopped in front of them, examining them with his black eyes. Then he smiled and extended a hand to Berterin.

"Thank you." he breathed, and Berterin took it before the black eyes came to Rye, Will, and Gaerand.

"All of you." he said, and they too shook hands.

"You are very welcome." Rye returned, and a sudden rush of dizziness washed over him, making him sway before strong hands steadied him. The shaft was still lodged in his shoulder.

"You should see the maester." Jon suggested, and Rye nodded.

"There are worse wounds than mine, let him finish with them first." he said, and Berterin stared at him.

"You've lost quite a bit of blood." he cautioned, but Rye smiled.

"Don't worry." he breathed, but they had him sit back down on the wood step he stood from, bringing a deep breath into himself to calm his chest and soothe the burning ache. His fingers touched the broken wood of the arrow, but any contact or movement hurt more than just leaving it. He'd thought of pulling it out himself, but doing that could do more damage, or mean the loss of use in that arm.

"Why were you late, by the way?" Jon asked, abruptly curious that they were some of the last to arrive; then Rye smiled up timidly.

"We were praying."

Claira sat in her common room, staring at the flames of the hearth and reflecting on the events that struck them while Milla and the youngsters sat silently at her side. They tried hard to comfort her, for which she was grateful but it did not lessen the guilt she felt. Provisions were made to repair the damages to the village and the castle, and their fallen honoured and buried. Maester Adlyn tended to her injuries daily. The lesions to her neck, and the bruising to her hand and shoulder had started to heal. The blemish to her wrist changed to dark brown and green while her shoulder kept its blue-purple hue for the moment. But she kept the wounds to her neck open, to remind herself of her shame. Of the price she paid for her arrogance... the lives lost for her selfish pride... and her mind continued to go back to her fallen sentinel, masters, soldiers and smith. Wymon had suffered a spear, a sword and a club before he fell. Then she heard heavy footsteps enter the room, and a short silence followed.

"Might I beg for a moment alone, with her grace?" Falgon's voice asked softly, and she could hear the others stand.

"Come, we can meet with Jeody." Milla suggested, and a moment later they departed, leaving them alone.

"Are you al right?" he asked coming closer, and she scoffed.

"He wanted to be like you, you know." she told him softly, and then looked up at him. That was why he never took a wife, or returned home as much as the others. Her devoted Wymon...

"I made a terrible mistake, and everyone paid for it but me... If I hadn't, they may still be alive..." she muttered, and he looked down.

"You saved the lives of hundreds of people. They gave theirs, in honour of their duty to you." he reminded her, and she suddenly laughed looking away from him.

"Don't try to make me think I did the right thing. Can you justify sacrificing the lives of someone you cared about, for those you barely know beyond their name?" she asked him, and he knelt next to her.

"You did. They all knew that, and they accepted it so." then he sighed.

"I cannot justify it. No more than I can justify sparing the life of one person, for the sacrifice of hundreds." he said softly, and she looked down at the stones in front of the glow of the fire. It didn't matter how you chose, you would be condemned either way... Then she felt him take her hand in his, the fingers running gently over the discoloured skin.

"I'm sorry for this... I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you." he suddenly said, and she looked at him.

"You did protect me, Falgon." she said, and his eyes met the flames.

"If I protected you the way I promised to, the way I was meant to, this would never have happened." he said, and she sighed.

"Falgon, look at me." she told him, and his eyes met hers.

"What do you see?" he studied her a moment.

"My queen." he said softly, and she turned slightly towards him.

"And what am I doing?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Sitting? Talking?" he seemed unsure, but she smiled.

"If you did not protect me, would I have been doing either of those things right now?" she asked, and he breathed out. And smiled.

"No. I don't think so." he agreed, and she laughed placing her arms around his shoulders.

"For all you've done for me, I will never be able to thank you enough, never be able to repay you, even if I lived to be hundreds of years old. My fierce, gentle knight." he held her. _I need nothing, so long as I may love you..._ But it may be a cruel thing to tell that to her.

"Simply being at your side, is all I will ever need." he whispered, gently pressing her closer.

Rye sat in a small room within the walls of Winterfell, morning light spilling through the narrow window overlooking part of the godswood, the crimson leaves visible over the small woodland. A fortnight had passed since the battle, waiting for the northern houses to assemble, and maester Wolkan saw to his injury, which among the youngsters was determined to be the worst while his cousins and friends escaped with little more than several cuts and bruises. With a good dose of poppy milk, he was able to remove the arrow from his shoulder, and it was redressed regularly. Cleaning the wound was torture, but with screams and curses the maester did so no less than five times in the first week before being satisfied that the wound was thoroughly purged. The herbal paste used to treat the wound stung the broken skin and flesh, but now had been reduced to a burning itch, signalling that it was starting to mend. Then a soft knock drew his attention, and he looked up from the floor.

"Enter." a familiar face met him as a youngster stepped through the door, and he smiled.

"How's your arm?" Berterin asked as he stepped inside, and closed the door.

"It still stings when I move it, but I think I'll live." he smiled as he stood, and met his friend happily as they shared a laugh. He hadn't imagined reuniting with him the way he did, but was immensely grateful for it.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked as he drew back, and Berterin sighed.

"You remember that I told you, I see you better?" he asked, and Rye nodded. It was in the garden, and he watched Berterin, looking at the floor for a moment like he was thinking. Wondering how he would explain it.

"When I look at you, I can see flames swirling around you, like you're burning." he started to explain, and then looked up.

"It was the same with your father. And your mother. But with her, it was just a sparkle, like flakes of frost in the sunlight. I can see light around other people as well, but it's never quite the same as with you. Except..." he broke off for a moment.

"Ser Falgon didn't have a light around him, like most people do. There was a darkness behind him, like black wings." he told, remembering the day in the woodlands. It plagued him for a long time, though. Then he saw the blue eyes staring at him in wonder.

"Have you always been able to see this?" he asked astonished, and Berterin shrugged.

"Yes. Since I could remember." he confirmed, and Rye smiled.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, and Berterin glanced away.

"You wouldn't have believed me. Everyone just thought it was my imagination." he told, and then felt a hand to his shoulder.

"It sounds marvellous. I wish I could see it." his friend breathed, and they laughed. Another knock at the door made them look back as another figure entered. It was Will, and he smiled at them.

"Good to see you're up." he told as he closed the door, and then looked at Berterin.

"Well now, brother Bertie." he acknowledged him, and the youngster frowned.

"It's Berterin." he corrected him. He hated when people shortened his name, it made him seem some witless fool. Williame laughed as he approached.

"Sorry." he examined him, the dark hair, green eyes, and slender build. He was a couple of inches shorter than himself and Rye.

"You're gallant, for your age. Son of the Crimson Knight, clearly." he said, and Berterin smiled.

"You know my father?" he asked, and Will shrugged.

"Heard about him. A lot." he said, glancing at Rye. And then took a breath, as he remembered his reason for coming.

"All houses have assembled, the conclave will be held later this afternoon." he announced, and then started to turn.

"Uncle Rhegard is here as well, he is rather anxious to see you." he added, and Rye sighed.

"You told him I got hurt?" he asked, and Will started to the door.

"I didn't need to. There's lots of talk about 'the boy lord who took an arrow to the chest'." he told and Rye glanced away,

"It was just my shoulder." he muttered, and Will laughed.

"Close enough. Come down, when you're ready." he said and then left them.

"Well then, I should probably go and show him that I can still walk." Rye jested, and they left the chamber as well to meet with their family. The rest of the day was spent on the grounds while the lords assembled, greater and lesser, and finally Jon Snow sat at the high table with Sansa Stark at his side, looking over Glover, Manderly, Cerwyn, and all of them set at the tables down the length of the great hall with the Tormonts and Scharers amidst them. And lord Royce's harsh voice was heard above all of them.

"You cannot expect the knights of the Vale to side with Wildling invaders!" he declared, but then the fiery man answered him.

"We didn't invade. We were invited." Tormund countered, and lord Royce gave him a sour glance.

"Not by me!" he refused, and then Jon stood from his seat.

"The Freefolk, the Northerners and the knights of the Vale fought bravely, fought together and we won. My father used to say that we find our true friends on the battlefield." he tried to mediate the situation, but then lord Cerwyn stood from the bench he sat on.

"The Boltons are defeated. The war is over. Winter has come! If the maesters are right, it will be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home, and wait out the coming storms." he suggested, looking towards the others.

"The war is not over." Jon countered, and the lord looked back at him.

"And I promise you friend, the enemy won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm." he assured, hearing a rise of flouts and murmurs echoing through the extent of the hall. Then young lady Lyanna Mormont stood, she was no more than a girl of ten years, but she had every intention to make her own voice heard.

"Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, lord Manderly. But you refused the call." she directed at a tall, heavy man with hair white as the snows. Then she looked at another, just a few seats down from her own. A grizzly man, hard and stern and grey.

"You swore allegiance to house Stark, lord Glover. But in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call." she told, and her dark eyes met another's.

"And you, lord Cerwyn. Your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton, still you refused the call." she further stated, watching a younger gaunt man with chestnut hair and a thin beard.

"But house Mormont remembers! The north remembers! We know no king, but the king in the North, whose name is Stark! I don't care if he's a bastard, Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He is my king, from this day until his last day!" she declared loudly, and then took her seat as lord Scharer stood from his seat.

"Here before all, I confess my guilt that we did not ride with you. But with your blessing, we will swear all we have to you." he said, but then lord Mazin laughed.

"The Scharers fought with Ramsay, they are nothing but turn cloaks." he quipped, and feeling a sear through his blood Rye stood, irrespective of the hand clamping down on his arm as he slipped away.

"They did what they needed to, to protect their people. As do we all." he said taking a space in the centre of the hall, and then looked over the others.

"But in spite of it all, they did not favour the obvious side, wouldn't you say?" he further added, then looked at Rod still standing a few feet away.

"They did not start with us, it's true. But when our men were being slaughtered inside that snare, it was with us that they stood." he said, just noticing the lord smile weakly before he turned to face Jon at the high table.

"I believe you may find that they were loyal, in the end." he finished, meeting the black eyes solidly, subtly aware that lord Royce was staring at him from where he stood against the wall near the window.

"Who are you, boy?" the old knight asked, and he glanced at his uncle seated next to the space from where he stood. After a moment he nodded, and the youngster looked back at them.

"My name is Rychon Taugere. Son of lord Raeghun and lady Claira Taugere of Mount Ardor." he suddenly revealed, and more voices rose through the hall.

"Information we received told that you were at Hightower." lord Baelish put forth, but then Rychon smiled.

"My mother wanted that to be believed, of course. The boy sent to Oldtown did resemble me, but he is a maester's page, sent there to learn. I've spent the last four years in the north, hidden by the mists." he explained, hearing the muttering voices throughout the hall. But then he looked back at Jon who sighed with a smile and a small nod, and they died down as lord Manderly stood as well to share his own words, and Rychon retook his seat.

"Lady Mormont has spoken harshly. And truly." he agreed, and then took a deep breath.

"My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime, didn't commit my men to your cause because I didn't want more Manderly's dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding! He is the White Wolf! The King in the North!" the elderly lord announced, drawing his sword and kneeling in the hall. Lord Glover also stood, slowly to face Jon.

"I did not fight beside you on the field, and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong, and ask forgiveness." he told softly, and for a moment Jon only stared back.

"There's nothing to forgive, my lord." he finally said, softly. There was only kindness in his words.

"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind house Stark, as we have for a thousand years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow. The King in the North!" he too, removed his sword, and knelt beside lord Manderly. Rhegard stood, removing Talon from his side, and rose it into the air.

"The King in the North!" he declared, and more swords joined his along with his voice, sounding over and over and over off the stones. _The King in the North!_ Later when they left the hall, Rhegard walked at Rychon's side. Still with a limp, but fortunately without the aid of a brace.

"That was a fine thing you did, Rychon." he praised softly, and he looked up to meet the bright eyes.

"They're a part of our family, uncle. How could I do otherwise?" he asked, and Rhegard nodded placing a hand on his shoulder. Then a shadow approached them, and they looked up to see Rod joining them.

"Rychon..." he paused for a moment, and then smiled.

"Thank you, for standing for me." he said gratefully, and Rychon smiled.

"You are welcome, my lord." he returned, and then Rod looked at Rhegard.

"Lord Rhegard, I understand that you could not defend us, even if you tried. Our fathers were killed, your brother was killed, the greatest part of our fighting forces were killed. But I hope you're not offended that I offered my house directly to our king." he said, and Rhegard laughed.

"Of course not. I was your brother before I was your lord, and with both of us sworn directly to house Stark, you will be my equal rather than my vassal. Honestly, I might prefer that." he returned lightly, and they continued their way down to the bailey where Williame, Gaerand, Berterin and Ormont joined them as well. Rhegard's attention went to his nephews.

"I need you two to stay here, and assist his grace in any way he is in need of until I return." he told, and they glanced at each other curiously.

"Yes, uncle." Will agreed, and the lord of Pale Haven smiled as he regarded them.

"You have both grown into fine young lords. Your father would be so proud of you." he praised, and then Rychon felt a hand to his arm. He turned to meet the black eyes of the King in the North with a kind smile.

"Your grace?" he acknowledged him.

"I should have known, that you were the son of the Phoenix." he breathed softly, and Rychon regarded him curiously.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, and Jon laughed.

"Your eyes. I've seen them before." then they made their way down out towards the courtyard, while Rhegard continued his discussion with the youngsters.

"We have not met before you came to Pale Haven, though." Rychon thought, and saw Jon staring off into the distance.

"No, we haven't. But I've met your father, many years ago when I was still a boy." Then he looked towards him again.

"Eyes like his, like yours, are not easily forgotten." he mentioned, but Rychon wondered at that.

"I've always been told that I have my mother's light eyes." he said, and then they stopped for a moment.

"True. But, there is a blaze to them that no one else has." he told, and Rychon nodded.

"Once, a jester came to court here in Winterfell. He told us the tale of the Ardent Kings, and their lineage. The burn of their blue eyes is a clear mark of their line, and it shows in you so vividly." then he sighed, as he glanced at the sky.

"And now that we know what is coming for us from north of the Wall, we will need every kind of strength." he mentioned, and Rychon knew what he meant.

"I am not the liege of the Corridor yet, but I give you my word that I will speak with my mother as soon as I am able to. We will face whatever comes, by your side." he told, and Jon nodded with a grateful smile.

"Thank you." then a discreet shuffling drew his attention, and he turned towards Rhegard coming up next to him.

"With your permission, your grace. We should start our preparations for our journey." he pardoned, and Jon acknowledged him.

"Yes, of course." he allowed and then Rychon looked at his uncle.

"So, where are we going?" he asked, and his smile widened as he glanced at Berterin who came to join them.

"You are welcome to join our company, young lord Trentin." he hinted, and then brought his attention back to Rychon, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Well then, I suppose it is time that I took you home."


	28. Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28 – THE LORD AND THE BLOSSOM

Claira sat at the head of the wide table in the Hollow, going through the scrolls brought by the ravens, and the reports sent by her lords; thinking of the bird that arrived at the maester's tower shortly after sunrise. The white raven, that told them that winter was finally here, and in the outside world you could feel as much on the breeze. Milla, the castle members and the villagers made it back to Mount Ardor late in the day after the attack; and added their efforts to the scouring and restoration of their home. Darius and his men left several days ago, after helping her people complete repairs to the village and the castle. With their extra arms, it didn't take near as long as might have been expected, and she was thankful for the support which allowed them to continue on with their lives, day by day, however hard it may be. Their fallen was honoured and buried, and the mercenaries with no one to claim them, was piled and burnt in the field. Philpot's apprentice smith, Gaiden Threefingers, called so for the fingers he lost in a number of accidents, took over the castle forge. One of the elder experienced captains of their masses, also a distant family member of lord Rames on his cousin's side called Quin was named new master-at-arms. Master of Horse was now ser Tursten Holdworth and the Kennelmaster's position was filled by Osbern Hay. They needed replacements for those they'd lost, but it still left a crack in her heart. The North was again under new rule following what was now called the Battle of the Bastards, with The White Wolf, Jon Snow as the King in the North by unanimous decree of the northern lords. Then she took another raven scroll from the table, and slowly unrolled it. News from the South that the great Sept of Baelor was destroyed, and king Tommen was dead. It was a tragic thing, he seemed to have the aptitude to be a kind and fair ruler. _How long before I receive another summons?_ Then she lay the scroll down on the table and sat back, her hand going to her throat where her icy fingers traced the now dark scars on her neck. Again, she remained sleepless, simply enduring the long nights. But when she dreamed she could see them, staring back at her with their black eyes, grinning with jagged teeth glinting through their lips. She would scream at them as they approached, her heart throbbing through the extent of her body. And then came the dark shadow over the hall, and the heavy brown cloak settled gently on her before she woke back in her bed, clutching at the sheets as she thought of him. He protected her; against all of the odds that were against him, he saved her, and each day she wished they could find a way to thank him. Perhaps a new horse? Galeo was becoming older, after all. And there was a magnificent young destrier at the village stable she had noticed. But he had been riding her husband's Rage so often now, the fiery stallion may as well be his. Blackmantle Hall still stood deserted, and many would suggest that it was haunted or even cursed, but her sentinel was not superstitious. It would require a good deal of renewal; but perhaps he might claim it. _No, he would never leave me..._ she reminded herself. Then she looked out through the window at the noon sky, clear blue in the distance without a cloud in the sky. It was a calm, clear and cool day, and they would only occasionally be met with a thin layer of white on their grounds, which she expected to increase over the following months, replacing storms of icy rainfall. Then a horn blew in the distance. A couple of the hounds responded with their throaty howls, but the bells did not answer, the severed cords had not been reattached yet. Then she looked up at Falgon, standing just a few feet away from to her.

"Ser Falgon, may you be so kind as to meet our guests? I will be down in a moment." she breathed, and he bowed his head to her.

"Of course, your grace." then he left the chamber, and she was left in the silence for a while, wondering where her family was, what they were doing, and how thick the mists have grown. Rhegard would certainly have ridden with the blood of Stark, and she was happy that their age-old allegiance with them was renewed once again. But with royalty on both fronts of her borders, war may come across them once again before too long and their forces were slow to replenish. To the best of her efforts, she had attempted to remain neutral of ongoing battles, but it could not remain so indefinitely. Sooner or later she must decide whom to support, and the expectations were great. Her lands were of the most fertile known in Westeros, and her forces had never been portrayed as languid or craven. Her lords, all of them, were powerful and courageous men, and perhaps the only reason they had continued to uphold their vows to her, was because of her family name. _My Raeghun..._ Then the rush of soft footsteps drew her attention the moment before a frantic voice sounded in the passage.

"Lady Claira!" it was one of her handmaidens, sounding desperate. _What's wrong? What happened?_ But before she could find the strength to stand, Laurene rushed inside breathless but with a smile, and shining eyes.

"Lady Claira, our lord has returned!" she announced in a voice so high of elation that it sounded closer to whimpers than words, but all Claira could do was to stare at her in a numb daze. _My Raeghun..._

"Lord Taugere has returned." She said again, smiling excitedly. Claira's voice vanished as she stood, and in something close to a dream she rushed down the incline with Laurene following, down the steps, through the Hall of Fire where their members stood crowded at the door and into the light of the outer bailey where her family stood waiting at the base of the steps. Her heart stopped. Tall and proud, he was mounted on a great grey warhorse with his sentinels holding their banners in the breeze behind him. She came down the steps, and all seemed like a hazed fantasy. He dismounted and approached her, his arms going out to her and she could touch him, her fingers sliding around his arms. He was real. He was taller than she remembered, and his eyes were lighter. Her hands went to his face, the warm skin of his cheeks and to the scars the lion had left, and they were gone. Tears stung at her eyes as she stared up at him, and his hands closed over hers, warm and comforting and sure and then he smiled.

"I'm home." The sound of his voice was a song sweeter than honey, he was real... The trembling started in her fingers, and stretched its way through her arms to consume her body as she battled to keep back the sobs, and his hands softly pressed down on hers to confirm his existence; taking another step closer and still smiling as he looked down at her.

"Raeghun..." but the name was nothing more than a whisper, and his gentle smile remained.

"I'm home, mother." he repeated softly, and her arms closed around his neck to smother a series of joyous screams and sobs into his shoulder while he held her tightly in a wonderful, soothing warmth. His mother was older, marked by the tiny lines across her features. But still beautiful, with her hair of midnight and starlight shining like the evening sky. Milla stood with her arms around her own son who'd returned home with the others, and then drew back. His companion from her family home, the youngster called Ormont of Highpoint, had taken the journey with them to Mount Ardor as well.

"What a wonderful day, that our sons have come home." she said and placed a soft kiss to his brow.

"It is good to be home, mother." he returned, his arms tightening around her small waist. Then he looked at his father next to them.

"I've missed everyone." he added happily, having felt his heartbeat against his ribs the moment they passed under the gatehouse, and then his mother's fingers brushed softly through his hair.

"And we've missed you, my dear boy." she said, then looked up at the couple at the base of the stairs where Rychon still held his mother securely in his arms. She hadn't seen her friend this emotional in years, but she was happy with her. So happy for her, that her loneliness will not remain.

"All of you." she glanced around, suddenly noticing that someone was missing. Bella had not come down, perhaps she did not hear the call of the horn. Then Rychon came up the stairs with his right arm still around his mother to greet them, and they received him happily before proceeding up the stairs, where the Battle Master waited patiently. Rychon looked up at him, and smiled as he extended a hand.

"Good day, ser Falgon." he greeted, and the tall warrior smiled as he returned the gesture, a large powerful hand closing around his.

"Greetings, sire. And welcome home." he replied, and suddenly Rychon moved forward throwing his free arm around the wide shoulders in a fond embrace.

"Thank you, for taking care of my mother." he said softly, and the hands rested on him.

"You are most welcome, sire." then he drew back, his attention going back to the lady of the hold.

"We should go inside, we've had a long journey." he suggested, indeed feeling tired of the roads. His uncle was insistent on accompanying them back to Mount Ardor, but he pressed that he still had yet to fully heal from his own injuries, and accounting that they've survived a battle, they could certainly survive a week's travel home on their own with the sentinels and their families, and the King in the North may need him more. Then he started inside as Berterin came up to Falgon, also extending a hand.

"Good day, ser." he greeted confidently, and Falgon took his hand.

"And to you, my lord. Welcome." the youngster smiled at him, and he felt at peace. The black wings were still there, but he was no longer frightened of the warrior, and Milla watched them as they shook hands, feeling overjoyed that the boy who once fled the sentinel's presence was now a young man who faced him fully with certainty.

"Come, I'll show you around after we've greeted everyone." Berterin said glancing at his friend beside him, who was staring at the tall warrior.

"I've seen you before." he suddenly muttered, but Falgon smiled back.

"Forgive me, but I cannot say that I recall you." he pardoned as he examined the boy, searching for the face through his memories, but then Berterin took hold of Ormont's shoulder with a shy look.

"He's never met you, ser. But Ormont has visions, usually distorted and vague. I suppose, that was where he 'saw' you." he explained.

"Visions?" Ormont gave him a sheepish smile.

"A tall stone, covered in the glitter of frost..." he told, and Falgon stared at him silently for a moment before he nodded, then Milla rested her hands on their backs to herd them inside.

"Before the sun sets, boys." she teased, and she followed them along with Gavin, Renko and their kin, still not seeing Bella and her companions among the members who came down and she decided to go look for them while the family lingered in the great hall where people crowded the arrivals to welcome them home. Suddenly, Ormont stopped looking down at the floor where a deep cut split one of the stones. He knelt down, running a finger over the deep gash, and his eyes clouded, but he cringed suddenly, like he'd been struck against his head.

"Is something wrong?" A concerned Berterin asked beside him, and he slowly looked up.

"No. No, I just... I was just wondering, what happened here..." he quickly told, deciding not to share; and Berterin glanced at the cut. It was perfectly straight, it was caused by something hard... and sharp. He looked up at his mother as she vanished through the arch to the eastern wing, and hurried down the long passages into the heart of their apartments to her daughter's room, thinking they might be there. But all whom she found were two chambermaids, one sweeping the room and the other replacing the bedding with clean silks.

"Have you seen my daughter, perchance?" she asked, and one of the girls looked up from the bed.

"Not for a while, milday. Mayhaps in the garden, or with the maester? She was carrying a book." she reported, and Milla nodded. If they were in the garden, she would have heard the horn. So, they were likely to be in the common room or with the maester, then. She hurried back, glancing over the hall as she passed where the people still stood together in their happy conversations around the nobles, then she rushed up the incline and many steps towards the maester's tower where she finally did find them, sitting around the wide desk next to maester Adlyn in his silver grey, going through the little tome she bought at the herbalist's shop while Beatrice paged through another book, and Sam and Stephanie seemed to be making notes.

"Bella?" the deep green eyes met hers excitedly as they all looked up.

"Mother. Maester Adlyn has been helping us with my book. He's found several references to the elements, like earth and air." she announced, and Milla smiled back.

"That sounds fascinating, but you girls had best come along now. We have arrivals." she told, and Bella glanced away.

"Must we really?" she may have been expecting that a vassal lord came to court again, on some or another matter.

"Don't you want to welcome our lords home?" her mother asked, and she looked back with wide eyes that seemed to sparkle.

"Our lords?" she asked, and Milla laughed.

"Yes, my sweet. _Our_ lords." she glanced at maester Adlyn, the excitement brightening his deep brown eyes.

"Well, what are you waiting for, child? Go. All of you, go." he urged, then they stood from the table, leaving the tomes and parchments and hurried down the winding stairs and long halls lit with the lights of torches, all while her heartbeat echoed in her ears. _He's home... He's come home... Finally, he's back!_ They'd waited so long with no word, but finally their lives would be complete again. Then she emerged into the hall, pausing at the top of the eastern stairway and looking down at the group on the second level in front of the great hearth. Her brother was home, too. And then she saw the lord with his arm around the shoulders of their lady, he was speaking with her father and the sentinels, and the happiness enveloped her. There was only one more, who needed to come home, and she wondered if the heir was still in Oldtown and if he was coming home, as well.

"Uncle Raeghun?" and then he released the lady at his side and turned, looking at her. She gasped taking in the vision that was her best friend. He wasn't a boy, any more. In his place stood a man, tall and proud with wide shoulders and a broad chest. Hair of black gold, and blazing frost blue eyes.

"Rychon..." then he smiled, making her heart skip a beat or three.

"Hello, Bella." his voice was deep and lordly, something magically alluring as the heat in her cheeks crept into her stomach. She rushed down the steps to meet him in an elated daze, but in her haste she stumbled on the last step and fell forward, colliding into him and driving the air from him. Timorously she looked up at him, but saw the grimace fade back to the beguiling smile as he chuckled.

"I know you're happy to see me, but please be careful." he teased her, and heard those around them break out is soft laughter, but she did not mind for the silliness and threw her arms around his neck while his circled her.

"Welcome home. I'm so happy that you're back." she breathed against him, and his arms tightened.

"So am I." he agreed before releasing her, and Berterin stepped forward.

"I'm home, too." he reminded in a soft tease, and she smiled.

"Of course you are, dear brother." and she greeted him the same way. This was a good day, a happy day, and it was spent with family together again, and she happily presented her companions to her brother and best friend, whom all blushed brightly. The castle hands returned their belongings to their rightful places, and when Bella finally reclaimed herself she noticed light eyes staring at her. But unlike so many of the others, there was no joy in the glare, and she took a breath to steady herself. Then she took Rychon's hand, looking up at him.

"I'd like you to meet someone." she told, and he nodded as he allowed her to lead him away to meet the guardsman. She smiled as she approached him, hoping she might change the thoughts that must be going through his mind if she presented them to one another personally.

"Rychon, this is my escort, ser Devan Locke." she said, and mirthfully she saw him smile at the stranger and extend a hand.

"A pleasure." he greeted, and Devan accepted the hand gingerly. Then she looked at the youngster.

"Devan, my dear. This is lord Rychon Taugere, lady Claira's son." she told, and he forced a smile of his own.

"Oh, yes. I've heard of you." he breathed, but the friendliness was not long lasted as he glanced at Bella, the hardness of his eyes still there.

"Quite endlessly, I might add." he emphasized as he brought his hand back. He was annoyed with her for some reason, but suddenly his demeanour was returned.

"You make that sound like a problem?" Rychon challenged, and the light eyes went to him again.

"No, of course not. Everyone is overjoyed at your return, my lord." he quickly replied, and the sudden heat receded.

"Good, then I am happy to hear that." he settled, and then looked at Bella still beside him.

"I'll meet you again tonight." he said, and she nodded while he then left back the way they came, leaving the couple alone as she stared after him.

"So, you've seen him. Are you happy now?" Devan suddenly asked, and she turned towards him.

"Of course I'm happy. Everyone is happy. You're the only one who seems not to be." she said, and he smirked.

"I have no great reason to be. Not if you're going to discard me, now that he's here." he remarked, sending a series of bee stings through her stomach. He made no effort to hide the disdain of jealousy.

"Devan, we've been close for almost a year. You think I'd simply forget that?" he glanced up at the young man moving away from them.

"It's not hard to imagine, with how you were clutching to him moments ago." the stings became a boil through her body as the anger fumed in her.

"Is that what you think of me?" she saw him breathe out, but did not wait for an answer.

"I'm not that stupid!" then his hand took hers and he drew her closer, forcing a shy smile.

"So the gods cursed me with envy. I don't want to lose you, to anyone." he breathed, and then lowered to kiss her, but she gently pushed him away.

"Not here." she told, and he scowled.

"You're afraid he'll see?" he tried again, a bit more demanding but her fingers found his mouth before it found hers.

"It's not him. My father-" she wanted to explain, but then he pulled her suddenly closer.

"Then let's leave. We can go within a week." again he urged her, and she stared at him. She didn't want to leave. Everything she knew was here. Everyone she loved was here. This was her home...

"I... I can't." then he drew back.

"I should have known." he breathed, and she started to turn.

"Think whatever you want." she sighed, and returned the way she came to the stairway and looked up. Maester Adlyn had come down from his chamber, and he too met the young lords joyously. She took a deep breath, and allowed herself the ease again. It didn't matter what Devan thought now, if he loved her the way he claimed to, he would understand. She could not just abandon them, at the very least until she was wed. His family could come here for the celebration... but such notions would have to wait a while longer. The sunlight faded to twilight as the day vanished, and all met in the southern hall to feast together on a delightful supper of poultry roast, sweet carrots, spiced potatoes and creamy cabbage, followed by gooseberry pie along with mead and press, all in the presence of hearty laughter, gallant tales and an energetic jester with a flute. Even the hearth seemed to glow brighter behind the lady in her assumed place of the lord's seat, her Battle Master to her right side, and her son to her left where the Trentins faced them at the high table, and Bella zealously claimed the seat in front of Rychon for the evening.

"Whatever happened to Wink?" Claira asked, noting that the little ferret did not return home with them, and Rychon laughed.

"Oh, he found his own little lady of the woodland. And he decided to stay with her." he told, bringing back the day his pet relinquished the comforts of a home with stone walls for the freedom of the Wolfswood alongside a snow white jill. He was sad to see him go, but if it was what would make his little friend happy he did not mind it. He looked up, bringing his eyes to the Battle Master on the other side of his mother, mostly silent and watching the hall.

"So, when will I face my trial against you, ser?" he asked excitedly, and the marvellous eyes met his.

"There is no need, sire. I understand you have proven your capabilities quite well." he assured, and Rychon breathed out, feeling equal parts disappointment and relief. Disappointment that he would not get to test himself fully against his teacher, but relief that he would not need to face his steel again. At the very least, he could still ask him to go to the training grounds if they had the time for it.

"Not without flaws, ser. Not without flaws." he returned modestly, but saw the great man smile.

"Men need flaws. It's what makes us human." he consoled him, and for just a moment the eyes went away from his; but he couldn't decide what it was they were trying to hide for that half a heartbeat. Late into the night the hall was cleared and their people returned to their chambers, and Falgon did not escort Claira to the lord's wing as was his norm, giving her son the opportunity to do so freely in his stead. The remaining servants were dismissed, and the door shut for the night, then he turned to his mother standing on the carpet waiting for him. She smiled as he approached her.

"I can't believe that you're taller than your father." she noted, and he laughed.

"I am?" in his memories, he was always looking up at him. He had never thought he'd be as tall as he was, as great as he was. And now, to hear he might have been looking down at him...

"I suppose you take after your grandfather, Rychard. He was very tall." she mentioned, and then took his hand in hers.

"Not as tall as Falgon, but well above most men." she remembered, and then she smiled watching the blue eyes looking back at her. As light as her own, but with a blaze she did not possess. His father's son... Line of the Ardent Kings with fire in their eyes.

"It is wonderful to have you back home, my sweet Rychon." she again said, her voice high with emotion; and then he held her.

"It is wonderful to be back, mother. Coming home was the best day I've had." then he pulled back, staring at her for a long moment.

"But I've been meaning to ask you something. I thought it should wait until we were alone." she watched him curiously, and then he sighed, seeming to think for a moment on the words.

"Who bit you?" her hand came up to her neck, suddenly self-aware trying to hide the scars.

"I didn't think you noticed." she breathed glancing away.

"Of course I noticed." he gently brought her hand away, examining the blemishes. They were well healed, but the wounds were once deep.

"Are you going to tell me?" he softly pried, and she looked back at him.

"A mercenary, when Mount Ardor was attacked. But he's dead now, they all are." she revealed, and he stared at her.

"When?" she shrugged.

"Three weeks ago, maybe a little bit more. I'm not sure." then his arms went around her again, closing her in the warmth she was so long bereft of.

"I'm sorry. I should have been here. I should have been here, to protect you." he breathed, and she pressed him tighter.

"My sweet boy, you're back now. We're together again. That's all that truly matters." she said into his shoulder, and they just held each other, happy and heedless of the time that passed from hours, to days, to weeks.

Rychon Taugere was the mirror image of his father, so many had claimed. Some, even called him by his father's name on occasion, and quite by accident. As the winds blew the sun and moon across the skies and storms over the lands the youngsters settled into their former routines well, and retook their sparring each day along with the more noble obligations of their court and Rychon attended his mother in many of these matters, with the intention of taking them over completely in time, and he was fondly doted on by all, save for a small handful. He discussed the northern threat with his mother as promised, but regardless of her apprehension and those of others, messages were sent to their bondsmen to ensure that all their resources were heeded carefully, from arms and armour to training to provisions; they needed to be ready to answer a call to arms at a moment's notice. He also took the time to visit the maester from time to time on the progress of his wound, which had yet to fully heal. The healer had mentioned that should maester Wolkan have used Redquiver root paste immediately each time he had cleaned the wound, the healing may have been faster. But his persistence to purify the injury was what may have spared him yet several more months of ineptitude, and the wound was indeed healing well, if not as quickly as he may have hoped. On lord Berin's insistence and lady Claira's permission, the members of the Order of Sentinels whom had been lost were replaced, when he chose six of the most valiant and devoted members himself, men who had formed part of their household for five years and more; whom were sers Jaysen and Michalis Flare from Cainhorn Keep, Ragon of Flint, Samm Smallember, Jolly Jon from Hillfield and ser Petyr Horn. They were all fervent in skill, and zealous in loyalty. But accounting the Battle Master's continued presence in the lady's company, and the now well known occurrence in the Hall of Fire at his hands some months ago, these new members were assigned to the young lord himself and the other ladies of the hold. But there were several utterances that Devan was most displeased at not being one of the chosen, further souring his temperament. But an easement came in the Horn Festival that came and went as it did years before, and was enjoyed by all in the realm who could or wished it so, and rumours were heard of a fleet having arrived at Dragonstone from the east not too long ago. More nobles came to court as well, with the hope of presenting their daughters, sisters, cousins and nieces as possible suitors for the young lord, and he met them all graciously while many lovely ladies wished to win his affections; and quite eagerly was late lord Garrett Foch's eldest daughter, the comely Ameera Foch among them. Even Bella's own companions frequently expressed their admiration of him, giggled and whispered on how handsome and how courteous he was, sighed and swayed for how strong and brave he was, and would flush ruby red cheeks each time he greeted them. But as far as choosing a maiden to court, he kept his thoughts to himself. But yet another apparent appeal surfaced between Berterin and Stephanie, and to Milla's delight the timid youngster seemed to trust him, or even favour him. They would spend many an afternoon walking the garden and the halls simply talking, and he even offered to teach her to ride. Such days were brought through in the castle's outer bailey where at first he led her around on a small brown palfrey as gentle as she was called Daisy, showing her how to hold the reins and how to sit, while his companion Ormont sat on a barrel watching them. Later when she felt more comfortable, he would join her on his own charger, circling the bailey first on a walk and gradually to a trot, and from there the girl blossomed. Bella's days were confined to the hold, primarily in the company of her guard, or then with her ladies when he was needed. Often when the lords entered a room with her present, he would steal her away to a different place or fabricate a reason for her departure; and it was apparent that she could not find the time to share or enjoy their fellowship as much as was desired. It was a cool overcast day, well after the excitement of the festival faded away that Claira stood in front of the window of the Hollow overlooking the outer bailey, watching a group of riders make their way outside towards the fields. Her son and his company, off to enjoy a ride and an afternoon of hawking with the village falconer and four of his prized birds after inspections were completed. Usually, her own company would join his on most noons, but today she had matters to attend to. She took a deep breath, and released it slowly as her hands ran down the front of her gown, feeling the smoothness of the orchid purple silk with silver and pearl embroidery. She had prayed for years, this was her answer. Then she turned and made her way back to the table where she took her seat and directed her attention to the letters on the desktop. With a clear parchment, she claimed the quill and started the letter, bound for Earndale Palace. She finished three letters when she heard voices in the passage, and looked up when Milla entered the room, and issued her a gentle smile.

"Working again?" she softly teased, and Claira sniggered as she returned her attention to the letter.

"You might say that." she agreed as her friend came to claim the seat next to her.

"Bella has met with Jeody on tonight's supper. I hope you don't mind?" she informed, and Claira nodded.

"No, of course not. She's a great help." she said as she continued the letter, and Milla glanced at the completed messages.

"You're making preparations?" she suddenly realised and looked at Claira, who slowly nodded.

"For Rychon's succession, yes." she concluded, and Milla stared at her with gleaming green eyes.

"But... But Raeghun..." she started, perplexed for a moment at her decision; but Claira looked up at her again with a sure smile.

"It's al right, Milla." she soothed, and the eyes softened. She glanced down, away from the frost blue, unsure of how to respond. There was sadness, but no deep sorrow. No regret, but simply acceptance.

"When did you realize?" she asked softly, and watched her friend sit back against the rest of the chair, staring at the space in front of her and allowing herself a deep breath as she chose her words. And then she smiled again.

"When he came home." she finally breathed, and then looked back at Milla.

"For years, I have hoped and prayed that the lord of Mount Ardor would return to me. And he has." she told, and then looked out the window, recalling that bright and glorious day, although it was not entirely bereft of heartache.

"When I saw him, he looked exactly like Raeghun. I thought it was him. And I knew then... I knew..." she softly confessed. Her lord had returned to her. The lord of Mount Ardor was home, at last. All else that followed would be coincidental, or alternately defined by the will or whims of the gods. Then she felt a hand on hers, soft and comforting as she looked back at her court maiden.

"I'm so sorry, Claira." she breathed, squeezing her fingers gently, and she returned the pressure.

"It's al right, Milla. We'll be al right..." she assured.

"When will it happen?" she asked, and Claira thought for a moment.

"Shortly after his sixteenth name day, that should be appropriate." she calculated.

"That is still a couple of months away." Milla recalled, watching her friend.

"We still don't know where my husband is, or what happened to him; and it may yet still be many years before we have that answer. But, while I don't wish for all hope to be dissolved, the rule of our country cannot remain under me indefinitely. Our people need a lord to guide them, they need his strength and courage for their future." she explained. There was still a flicker of hope, there always will be. And if her Raeghun came home, he will meet his son as the lord of Mount Ardor, and liege of the Corridor.

"I understand." Milla said, feeling equal parts happiness and grief. Happiness that their home, their people and their future will see prosperity and joy, but grief for what the lady of their hold was willing to surrender for it.

"I didn't see Bella and her friends in Rychon's company. She hasn't been spending as much time with them as I thought she might, since they came back." Claira mentioned, finding it something odd. She saw them at feasts, and meagre other activities inside the hold, but other than that she seemed to be rather isolated from them.

"Oh, I'm sure they're just preoccupied. Their responsibilities are keeping them quite busy." Milla said, but suspected that was not the only reason. The young guardsman who was to all knowledge her daughter's close companion for a year was possessive of her company, and easily irked with her wishes to spend time with the young lords; and despite her attempts to appease him they quarrelled frequently. Berin had half a mind to send the boy away, but for her pleading he had allowed him to stay on. But this was a subject that was a matter of concern to Rychon as well. He hoped that things may return to the way they once were, or something resembling it at least; and had asked her company to join them for their ride, but they didn't make their appearance when it was time to leave, and it left him wondering why she kept to herself. She hadn't been off the grounds in weeks, it was like she was a prisoner even if she would never admit to such. It was he who kept her there, and the notion that someone was controlling her was worrisome. Bella was a lady of his hold, not some peasant wench. She should be allowed her choices, she should be allowed her freedom.

"Berterin." the youngster came up to his side, mounted on a charger as tall but not as heavy as the young lord's grey destrier.

"Yes, my lord?" he presented himself.

"Do you suppose your sister is doing al right?" he asked, and Berterin shrugged.

"She hasn't complained. Is something troubling you?" he asked, and Rychon sighed.

"She hasn't come riding with us, despite my invitations. I thought she would be happy to get out." he mentioned, feeling thwarted. He remembered the day he came back, how his heart took wing when he saw her, beautiful in a dress of coral pink with a silver brocade centre piece and her hair naturally framing her lovely face. He wanted to see her smiling like that again. Then Berterin looked away.

"I suppose you're right. She used to be a very fond rider, but she hasn't left the castle in a long time." he agreed.

"Stephanie has not said anything, but maybe they're just busy." he concluded while Rychon looked over the fields.

"I don't think it's that. Despite her ladies-in-waiting, she's being separated from others." Rychon decided, realizing the sense in that. He looked at his friend.

"I want to take her out, she'll lose her mind if those walls are the only thing she sees." he told, and Berterin smiled.

"That sounds good." Berterin agreed, also hoping that they may find a way to release her from that jail. No matter how beautiful or magnificent or comfortable or indulgent, a prison remained a prison, and such things oft did not prove well for the mind. They settled on a wide green field, and watched excitedly as the birds took to the air. Among the four there were two Gyrfalcons, a Peregrine falcon and the spirited Red falcon with its white belly and fiery copper wings they'd come to admire, and as the day dragged on the grand animals brought down several prey items including hares and a number of birds. With dusk and a fine selection they returned home, where their family gathered around the high table and the rest of the hold shared the lower tables, and they supped on butter seared trout with cheese stripped cauliflower and creamy spinach alongside sweet mead, followed by peach pie with custard while Berry and Joldewin once again immersed the hall in their talents. The evening was calm and peaceful with fine company, and while lying in bed and staring at the canopy of his bed, Rychon wondered on his future as he listened to the wail of the wind outside that started to blow cold; but here, inside the walls of the burning mountain, it was always warm. His mind continued to wander between a recent past and a distant future, alternating once or twice with a distant past and the next tomorrow he'd see until he drifted off to soundless sleep and waking again to the rose blush of dawn. Like his father, he took to bathing in the mornings, for no particular reason other than it being a good way to wake up. After sparring and meeting in the southern hall to break their fast, followed prayer under the weirwood fountain, inspections and matters of court, and then he approached Bella and her companions, heading towards the garden.

"Bella." she turned towards him, her lovely face lighting up in a smile.

"Rychon." she acknowledged him, and he returned her smile as the others softly giggled. He loved seeing her smile.

"I again extend an invitation to go riding with us this afternoon." he told, but then the smile slowly faded.

"I can't..." she replied sombrely, and he stared at her.

"Why?" he asked, and she looked away. Devan would be patrolling on the curtain wall this afternoon, and he would no doubt notice her leaving with him. He didn't like her spending time with the lordlings, or even her brother to be entirely honest.

"I... I have things to do..." she tried, and he glanced down at the book in her hands.

"Please don't lie to me." he said softly, and she looked back at him as her friends exchanged glances.

"I'm not. And besides, Devan-" then he smirked.

"Since when do you need his permission?" he challenged, and she hardened feeling the heat in her stomach.

"I don't." she quickly denied, and then saw him smile with a glint in his fabulous blue eyes.

"Good. Meet us at the stables a little bit later." he instructed, and then turned to leave, likely to see to the arrangements, and her abdomen fluttered with little butterflies, in her secrecy desperate to escape the walls. A hand gently took hold of hers, and she looked at Beatrice beside her.

"Let's go, Bella. We haven't been outside the walls in months." she urged excitedly.

"Besides, the lady's son himself invited us." Samantha concurred.

"Please?" Bea continued, and Bella sighed.

"Oh... Very well, then." she finally agreed, but couldn't hide her own smile. If she told Devan that the young lord ordered her to go, perhaps he would not lose his temper again, Rychon was after all on all standards much higher than him. He could glower at him for a while, but nothing more. They hurried back to their rooms where she put the book away, and brushed her hair before again securing it with a jewelled pin. And then, with the help of the looking glass against her wall, she ensured that she appeared appropriate in a comfortable dress of warm, deep green velvet with gold detailing around the neckline and sleeves, and a sash of gold weave around her waist. _Why are you making such a fuss? It's just a ride..._ she told herself, and finally discarded her fine court slippers for comfortable riding boots before meeting her companions again in the hall, from where they left the confines of the hold, heading down to the bailey, and finding the company in front of the stables awaiting them. Her brother and his friend already mounted on their coursers and Rychon on his great Storm.

"I'm sorry we're late." she breathed, making for her palfrey. A snow white elegance she'd called Pearl.

"No rush, Bella. We were waiting just for you." Berterin teased as she mounted, taking the reins up in her hands and savouring the feel of the leather saddle beneath her. The sentinels of their company helped the other ladies onto their palfreys, and she looked up at Rychon, patiently waiting.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Yes, we can leave." she said eagerly, and then he spurred his horse forward, and led their group through the gate and over the bridge into the country with three sentinels around them. For a moment she thought she heard someone calling to her, but allowed the wind to carry the voice away and into the distance as they rode, and she relished the feel of her Pearl beneath her in a gracefully balanced trot. Rychon glanced at her where she rode beside him, grateful that he could see her happy again. They took the main road past Garde's Post that would take them to the horizon, but soon turned down a narrow little pathway that passed a farm, and would lead them through the thick forest past the Willow and back home by late noon. They made their way along the small trail through the woodland which would only allow two horses close together on the path with Rychon and Bella leading, Berterin and Stephanie behind them, Beatrice and Samantha following, and Ormont with the sentinels tailing them, just enjoying each other's company and sharing their stories and adventures, heedless of the cold of a new winter and paying no mind to the sky that darkened under a thick veil of clouds. But then Rychon glanced up, suddenly thoughtful of the rush through the trees as the wind picked up. _There might be a storm on the way..._ but the conversation remained blithe, and he hoped that the rain might only start to fall this evening when they were safe and warm at home. They ambled on over the tiny dirt road that snaked through the lush trees, when a worrisome sight appeared before them when the first of the thunder sounded in the distance. A broken tree hung hazardously above the trail, perched on a dry, broken branch of a tree on the other side, swaying in the gusts of wind as Rychon regarded it carefully. There was no way around, and if they headed back the way they came they might only arrive back at home well after dark, and he wasn't intent on keeping the girls out that long.

"We should move quickly." he advised, and another harsh gust of wind swept through the woods, and a loud crack sounded just above the wind.

"Hurry." he spurred his destrier forward to lead them through, but the wind seemed angry as they forged onward, erratically hammering against the broken tree. Bella followed, with the others close behind, when another savage gale ploughed through the trees.

"Look out!" someone's voice tore through them, and the frightening crack of wood showered them as the dry branch broke away.

"Get out of the way!" it was Berterin's voice screaming at them, and the pale horses leapt forward with painful heels in their ribs the moment before the tree came crashing down on the earth, blocking the pathway. Pearl danced around on the dirt as Bella attempted to control her, but Rychon circled them with Storm to keep them from blazing down the trail and took hold of the reins in his right hand.

"Are you al right?" he asked, watching as his friend forced several deep breaths into herself.

"Y... Yes..." then she looked up at him, with a sudden uneasy smile.

"That was close." she laughed, and he glanced back.

"Too close." he agreed, noting the dark streaks down his horse's flanks where the branches caught him. Then he released the reins as Bella secured them tightly, and rubbed a hand down Storm's neck. _Good boy, you didn't_ _bolt_ _..._ then he looked up at the others in their company, staring at them from the other side of the fallen tree where Berterin held onto the reins of his own courser and Stephanie's palfrey as she clung to the mane wide-eyed, and cursed under his breath.

"Bella?" she called out to her, and the young lady urged her horse closer where the stricken youngster could see her.

"We're al right." she assured, while Rychon examined the obstacle. The branches would make it impossible for the horses to jump over, and was too thick to break off.

"And you?" he called to them, and Berterin looked at the wood blocking their way.

"We're fine." he breathed, and then brought his eyes up to meet Rychon's.

"What now?" he asked, and Rychon thought for a moment. There weren't a great deal of options, and the day wouldn't wait for them.

"Go back the way we came. We'll meet you at the keep." he told, and one of the sentinels moved forward.

"But, my lord-" he tried to persuade,

"There's no way over this, or immediately around. You'll have to go back, and we'll keep to the trail." he told.

"You're sure?" Berterin asked, and Rychon allowed him an easy smile.

"Yes. Now get going, or you'll in all likelihood miss supper." he advised, and watched as they turned their horses around to take the trail back, Stephanie spared them one final almost fearful glance.

"Rychon..." then he looked at Bella, staring at him.

"Don't worry, you're safe with me." he assured, thankful that a longsword was tied to Storm's saddle, but she blushed.

"Yes, I know." she replied, and he looked back at the small party taking the path away from them before turning and leading the way through the forest for a time longer still, and then the first drops fell. Rain was still more common here than snow, although they had their days of white flakes. As a sharp rumble of thunder sounded just overhead, Rychon looked up noting the dark blue-black clouds that hung over them.

"We should hurry, it's still a while's ride back to Mount Ardor." he mentioned glancing at her and taking up more of the reins. She nodded agreeing, and they spurred the horses into a canter along the narrow road. Moments later, the gentle drizzle surrendered to full-out pouring rain over the world, which he had hoped to avoid. Rounding a soft curve in the road, he glanced back through the drench, seeing her soaked and the drops splashing about the horse's mane. _She'll_ _fall ill if we go any further in this flood..._

"Are you al right?" he asked, his voice pushing through the rush of the downfall, and she glanced up at him.

"I think so." she replied, and he noted the tremble in her voice; then he looked around, his gaze falling on the forest to their right which seemed to be dispersed enough for the horses to move through.

"Let's see if we can find some place to wait out the storm." he suggested, and she again agreed with a shivering nod before they headed into the forest searching for cover. The rain seemed less intense under the roof of leaves, but the consistent droplets from the sky exchanged for heavier falls of water caught up by the canopy. They stopped and looked around, and then she pointed.

"We could try there?" she said, indicating an old overgrown ruin only just discernible from under a mound of earth. It might have been a hunter's cabin, once. They went towards it, deeming that it looked fair. A stone level protruded from the top of the mound, supported by old and rotting wooden beams and several pillars, while a square opening which may have been a door led into the shadows. They stopped the horses under the cover of what might have once been a small hall and unsaddled, leaving them tied to vines that covered the inner wall and then retreated into the shadows away from the cold of the storm's breeze. Bella brought her hands to her mouth and blew, trying to release the chill from her fingers. Rychon put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the fabric that was soaked through, and then realized that he too was utterly wet.

"We'll build a fire, and hang our clothing to dry. It should be better when we head back." he said, and they started gathering what they could for some warmth. As they rummaged through the space, she noticed that this may have once been a kitchen, with a stone circle in the centre where a fire would be made; and several old and rotting wooden shelves along the walls that could house pots and kettles; an arched opening against the back wall indicated an old oven while the rest of the area was collapsed and filled by earth. They brought together straw that lay scattered about the floor, twigs, sticks and several splintered logs from under the unused oven and assembled it in the stone circle. Rychon took two sleek stones from the floor, and struck them together precisely; each time summoning a spark until one finally fell onto the dry straw, and he softly blew to bring life to the fire. Bella sat on a stone step, watching as he worked; and breathed in relieved as Rychon raised up and smoke bellowed from the straw, a tiny flame kindling the chaff around it and the first blissful sounds of a burning fire met her ears. Then Rychon stood and passed her.

"You can add some more twigs once it spreads." he said and then headed outside. By the time he returned with several long branches and some strings of the vine overgrowing the walls she sat next to the burning fire, adding more sticks and watching as the flames devoured the wood hungrily.

"Quite the survivalist, aren't you?" she mentioned laughing as she added another piece of wood to the fire, and he chuckled.

"My uncle used to take me and my cousins out into the Wolfswood a lot. We had to do these kinds of things all the time." he told, tying the branches together into three temporary racks and placing them around the fire, then he straightened, and looked towards the doorway again.

"Al right, I'll just be a moment more." he said and then headed outside again, returning with one of the saddle bags.

"You should get undressed." he suggested, and she looked at him from her place on the stone step, something between shock and confusion in her glinting green eyes, but then he smiled.

"So, you can hang them to dry." he added unembellished, handing one of the small blankets from the saddle bag to her, and then she stood.

"Al right." she went off into a corner of the darkness, and started undoing her dress. He smirked, hearing her struggle with the constrictive fabric that was reluctant to release her.

"Do you need some help?" he teased,

"No... thank you... I'm... fine..." she called back through her battle with the material, and he chuckled. Some moments later she returned, clasping the tiny blanket that only just stretched around her to cover her from her chest to her thighs, and he looked up at her from the stone step. The way the light of the fire cast a glow on her still wet skin, then he stood smiling.

"You look like a nymph." he teased again, coming over to her as she mimicked a laugh.

"Very funny, Rychon." she said, dropping her shoes next to the circle and handing the heavy dress to him which she had wrung most of the water out from.

"Your turn." she said, passing him. He laughed as he took the dress and spread it out on the first of the frames, then with the small blanket in his hand disappeared to relieve himself of his own sopping clothing. She resumed her place on the stone step, trying to warm herself while she waited for him. Some time later he emerged, the blanket wrapped around his waist and the garments in his hands, also wrung out. She regarded him, the way the light and the shadow danced over remarkably well defined muscles, which looked more a man closer to twenty than five and ten. He placed his own boots next to hers, and then spread the clothing out over the remaining structures to dry, and then took a place beside her, reaching into the saddle bag and seizing two apples of which he gave one to her. They ate what was left of their rations while resuming their conversation, wondering if the others escaped the rain and listening to the thunder and constant rainfall outside, a flash of lightning illuminating the walls every so often. He looked her way.

"I heard you were quite a traveller over the time I was gone?" he mentioned, and she sniggered.

"Hardly. We spent three years at Citrine Arch to help my uncle, then we came back to Mount Ardor; and a little while after that my father took back Bristlemane Stronghold; we spent another half a year there. But my father insists that his place is at the burning mountain. He wants me to go back to Bristlemane when I'm older, resume its rights and obligations." she told, and Rychon smiled.

"Then you'll be the lady of the hold." He teased, but she turned away from him.

"I don't want to go." After a moment of silence, Rychon sat back.

"Then don't." her eyes came to his.

"You would have me refuse my father?" she asked, and true it was a daunting idea.

"This is your life, Bella. You are the one that has to live with the costs of these choices, not him." Then she smiled at him.

"And you? So, how does it feel to be the lord of Mount Ardor, and the Corridor?" he came forward again.

"I'm not the lord, yet. But honestly, it's terrifying. There is this immense role awaiting me, and I could only hope that I make the right decisions for everyone." He sighed, but then he saw her still smiling at him.

"You'll be a great lord, Rychon." Bella assured him, and he felt thankful for her confidence in him, praying that she was right.

"I hope so. But, I'm not my father. I was told that there is nothing more I could be taught by words and books; and that the only way to better myself it to experience the world." He said, his eyes going to the light of the fire, the frost blue seeming to emit a golden glow from the light, and she couldn't stop staring at him.

"A while ago, I had a dream…" he mentioned, and she leaned slightly forward to listen.

"What kind of dream?" he smiled, not bringing his attention away from the fire. He hadn't shared the dream with anyone, until now. But it was easy to talk to Bella, she understood him so much better.

"In the dream, I was sitting in a great stone hall where there was a grand feast, and there were many people there, all of them members of my family. A man was sitting opposite from me, he was a tall man, he looked like a giant. There was this energy to him, he was shining like the sun, and I could almost see the fire burning around him. He was wearing the colours of my house, and his eyes were white. He told me, that I would be faced with very difficult decisions very early in life. But that I must never make a decision based on my emotions, or even because it is what will be expected of me. He told me, that I must learn to think logically on every situation, good or bad, and consider every possible outcome; and only then decide on which will have the better outcome for everyone, despite my intensities or the wishes of others." He told, recalling the vivid vision that felt all but real and then shook his head, but his eyes retained their focus.

"It sounds grand. And I hope you will heed his advice." she breathed, and he smiled.

"I didn't know what he truly meant, or even him for that matter aside from that he was some or another lord Taugere. But he felt so familiar… Like I've known him all my life." Then his attention left the fire, and came to her; his eyes returning to his mother's frost blue, but she still stared at him.

"What?" he asked smiling, and he noted the soft blush to her cheeks.

"When you looked at the fire like that, your eyes were gold." She said, and he chuckled.

"Really? I've never noticed." He glanced away, the same flash of gold coming over his eyes. That was the thing she had always noticed when he was looking at a light, even since they were children, it had been something she fell in love with if truth be told.

"Yes, well. I suppose it's difficult to take out your eye and look at yourself." They laughed together, and then a sudden hard thunder strike from outside made her jump, bringing her closer to him.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from the scary clouds." He promised in another light tease, and then she looked at him again returning a playful face.

"How kind of you, my hero. I hear they're quite vicious." She teased back.

"Any time." He promised, recalling his own words years ago in the woods when he made a similar vow to his teacher as he placed his hand on her knee; and he could feel her shivering.

"You're freezing." He realized, her skin icy cool against his hand, but she shook her head.

"It's not that bad. I'm fine." She denied, but he lifted his arm over her shoulders.

"Don't lie to me. Come here." Somehow, he could instantly tell when she was lying, so she tentatively moved closer until she sat against his side, and he laid his arm across her back and shoulders, sharing the heat from his body, and she eased into him, laying her head against his shoulder.

"You're so warm." She praised softly, enjoying the warmth that came from him and slowly seeped into her, hearing him gently laugh.

"It's a family trait. The Taugere men are not just hot headed." He replied modestly, feeling her softly press herself against his skin to take in more of the warmth.

"It's nice…" she breathed against him, and for a while they sat like this in silence, listening to the chatter of the burning logs, the hum of the rain and rumble of thunder outside, hoping the others could find a shelter as well from this vengeful shower. Then he looked down at her.

"Do you feel better?" he asked, and she moved slightly closer, still drawn by the warmth.

"A little bit." Then his other arm went around her and hauled her up, setting her down on his knees with hers at his sides, and his arms around her waist.

"How's this?" she smiled happily, looking into his eyes that were even with hers.

"Much better." she breathed, feeling the warmth rising into her body completely, and they shared another laugh before she looked down, at the blemish on his shoulder.

"What happened here?" she asked, and he glanced down. The wound that was now a dark scar.

"Oh, that. I got hit with an arrow." he told as if it were something trivial, and she glanced at him in a moment of shock as he felt her thumb gently caressing the newly healed skin.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, and he smiled as a mischievous thought flashed through his mind.

"Sometimes." her finger came back softly as she studied the wound, and he suddenly jerked back with a hiss making her jump and nearly fall from his knees, but he held her steady and laughed heartily as the expression on her face changed instantly from fright to anger.

"Don't scare me like that!" she yelled at him, throwing a fist into his arm which sent a painful sear down his left side, and he bit back a groan of pain as his right hand came up to cover the injury. Her hands covered her mouth as she stared at him, the anger returning to the shock.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she apologised as her hand covered his, and he looked back at her.

"Fuck it, woman. You want to take my arm off?" he asked, feeling the burn fade away to a throb.

"I'm sorry!" she apologised again, but after a moment of stunned silence they laughed together again. He deserved that one. She smiled, and leaned forward, laying her body against his, and breathed against his neck as they held each other. She remained like this for a while, savouring the warmth from him, the feel of his strong arms around her, and his breath in her hair. He breathed slowly, enjoying each breath and the soft, sweet body in his arms. It was a pleasant feeling to hold her, something fulfilling to keep her safe from the cold, even if he did not require a sword to do it.

"I've really missed you…" she whispered softly against his ear, and his fingers went into her hair as she pulled back and their eyes met again.

"I've missed you, too." they stared at each other, for a long moment that seemed like the world had stopped, and then he gently pulled her forward, and captured her lips with his in a lingering kiss as she breathed him in, the soft touch writhing into her and rousing the butterflies in her stomach. He smelt of wild spice, and she felt herself smothered by the enticing tingling. She forced herself back from him, her shivering hands resting against his chest.

"Rychon… Please don't do this…" she begged in a whisper, and then moved to stand up from him, but his arm tightened around her,

"I can't kiss my best friend?" he brought her back against him as her hands softened and the fingertips gently slid over his chest.

"It's not that." she replied, looking down. She wanted it, he was different from Devan. His touch was gentle... his kiss didn't hurt.

"Then why?" he asked softly, and her hands went to his face as their eyes met.

"Because... I won't want you to stop…" she whispered, then he smiled and brought her mouth to his. Her arms went around him as she surrendered; their childhood fell away like the leaves in deep autumn and she was a woman, and he was a man, caught in the never-ending rush of the storms. His hand came back from her, his fingers resting gently on her leg before he slowly caressed the skin of her thigh, her hip and over her ribs as the blanket fell away from her. He moved forward, carefully laying her on the fallen blanket and covered her body with his, moving his mouth from hers down to her neck and shoulder, and hearing her breathe in deeply, her chest rising and falling beneath him. Then he drew back for a moment, and took in her form, small and slender and flawless in the soft light as her arms came around his neck. She smiled at him, then brought him closer to kiss him, and held him close as he continued to kiss her deeply, hearing a small moan as he discovered her tongue with his and engaged a delicate dance while his hand traced a line along her arm, over her shoulder and across her chest between her small round breasts, down to her stomach and over her hip to her leg before drawing her knee past him. She whimpered as his lips moved slowly down across her chest to the tender space between her breasts, feeling the pulse of her sprinting heart and her hands resting against his neck. Then his right hand moved down, and removed the blanket from his waist before moving closer to her. He came up and kissed her again while her arms wound around his neck to pull him closer, then gasped slightly feeling his warmth against her. His mouth went down to the other side of her neck as she breathed him in again while his hand resumed its place on her leg, again tracing a soft line up the contours of her body to her chest, and over her shoulder to rest on the surface below them as hers went around his sides to his back, and lifted her head to place her lips to his neck. He moved forward gently bringing him closer, and her fingers strained into the skin of his back, then she screamed as he moved again, feeling his flames burning its way through her abdomen. He soothed her with a delicate touch and a tender kiss, and then took her arms, raising her hands above her head and locking his fingers with hers, and then as he continued to move brought his mouth to her breast to tease the sensitive mound while her legs wrapped around his waist. She gasped and whimpered against him as he moved, the pain fading away into once unknown pleasure, unending bliss flooding them until finally she cried again to his pulse and his voice to her throat, and she breathed desperately as her arms lazily slipped from him. He too, claimed a deep breath before laying down next to her, allowing the cool of the stones to rise into his skin while she turned and nestled up to him, her hand slowly coming up and resting on his shoulder. Turning his hand, he marked the remnants of blood, and he cursed himself.

"Rychon..." her voice sounded softly against his skin, and he looked down, seeing her eyes looking at him, dazed and sleepy.

"I love you..." she whispered, but he felt a bitterness coursing through him. He never meant to harm her... His arm tightened around her and he tenderly kissed her brow, feeling her ease against him and slip away into soft sleep next to him while the rain continued to fall mercilessly on the world outside. But despite feeling torpid himself, he did not share the sleep and lay condemning himself for his crime. Had it been anyone else, he might not feel such crushing guilt. He'd ravaged her. Her father would hate him, her brothers would hate him, her mother... his entire family would hate him for this. But he could not undo it. Could never take back what he'd done. _I'm so sorry, Bella..._ He gently covered her with the discarded blanket, then carefully stood to inspect their clothing. It wasn't soaked any more, and should be wearable by the time the rain cleared. Then he added more wood to the fire before sitting down, and continued his silent shunning as he watched her sleep in the light of the fire, and the thunder over the forest. She was beautiful, she was strong, she was pure... and he stole that from her. _You never deserved what I did to you..._

Claira sat in her common room, watching her friend where she stood before the window, scanning the grey world outside and appearing restless. The rain was relentless, and she was clearly worried about them.

"Milla?" she turned, meeting her eyes with her hands wrung together in front of her.

"The children are still out there, and it's raining hard. What if..." she glanced down for a moment.

"What if something is wrong? Anything could have happened." she breathed, but the lady smiled at her calmly.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they're waiting out the storm somewhere. They'll be back soon." she assured, and Milla breathed out, wishing she could believe it. She couldn't understand why she felt so anxious. The fighting was passed, both their sons were accomplished battlers, and Bella was very capable of defending herself. Besides, Ormont and three sentinels were with them. There was no reason to be afraid.

"You're right, I'm being silly." she breathed, and then walked back to her chair to continue her knitting.

"But, if they're not back by the time the sun has set, I will send all sentinels and every available guard out to find them." Claira offered, and Milla felt relieved then, casting a last glance at the outside far into the distance where her daughter still lay sleeping under the little blanket beside the remnants of a fire. The world was a dull silence around her, and then she felt something heavy settling on her and opened her eyes.

"Bella. Get up, it's time to go." she heard Rychon's voice, and then he moved away. She sat up, softly rubbing her eyes and looked down to see her dress lying over her. It still felt cold, but at least it wasn't wet any more.

"How long have we been here?" she asked, bringing her attention to him where he stood in the doorway, already clothed and watching the skies that was slowly starting to clear.

"A couple of hours, I think." then he looked back.

"You should get dressed. I'll have the horses saddled and ready." he advised, and then vanished. She stared at the empty space for a moment longer, and then prepared to stand, finding herself sore and uncomfortable before suddenly remembering. It was not a dream. Carefully she came to her feet, and pulled the velvet back over her skin, proceeding to fasten the laces as best she could. Then she gathered her hair back, and secured it with the pin before pulling the riding boots over her feet, and then glanced at the space around her. What was left of the fire was but burning ashes, the racks were folded and discarded against a wall and the saddle bags gone. So she leaned down, taking up the blankets and made her way outside where he waited with the horses.

"We'd better hurry, there's not much daylight left." he told, and she nodded handing the folded blankets to him, and he shoved them into one of the saddle bags as she watched him. She felt the ache to her body, and the feebleness to her limbs, but couldn't think of anything to say as she stood wondering. Did he care? Then he turned to her, his eyes hard and emotionless.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and for a moment longer she stared at him. _Did it mean nothing..?_ Then she looked away.

"No..." she finally decided, and turned towards her palfrey, taking hold of the saddle to mount. But her limbs were unhelpful, and she could not raise herself. She heard him sigh and then his strong hands took hold of her waist, and he lifted her up enough to swing her weight into the saddle. Taking up the reins she waited as he mounted, easily and unaffected. Then he looked at her.

"Let's go." he urged his horse onward, leading the way back to the pathway as she followed closely behind him in silence, their horses plodding noisily through the new mud on the trail left by the rain. But for a while, all she could do was to stare at him, confused and feeble. He didn't say anything, he didn't even smile at her. _Why..?_ The woods started to give way, and they emerged onto the open fields, the height of the burning mountain far in the distance bathed in the copper light of dusk, and they continued on towards it.

"Rychon..." he glanced back for half a moment.

"Yes?" she looked down at the ground, the droplets of rain still clinging to the long grass.

"Are you angry at me?" she asked, but he kept his pace.

"No. Why would I be angry at you?" he returned, but she found it difficult to find the kindness in his voice.

"I... I just thought..." she started, but wondered.

"It will be dark soon, we should get you home." he again urged before spurring Storm into a paced canter, bringing the great keep closer in every stride. They passed under the gatehouse in the deep crimson purple of twilight, and finally dismounted to give their horses to the care of the stables. After helping her from Pearl's back, she stood on shaking legs as he examined her for a moment, and then brought his hands away from her.

"I hope you enjoyed our ride, my lady." he said, and then turned and walked away. She felt cold, the cracks working their way through her heart.

"Rychon..." she took a step forward, then he paused and looked back. Again, nothing in his eyes, no emotion to his features.

"Will you not speak to me?" she asked softly, completely perplexed.

"About what?" he asked, and the chill became a stinging cold that stabbed through her chest like a dozen blades.

"About… what happened?" she tried to remind him. Did he think nothing of it? Did it mean nothing? Then his eyes went away from her for just an instant as he drew a breath.

"Nothing happened." she shattered, and tears burnt in her eyes.

"I'll see you later, Bella." he said softly, and then left while she stood there broken and profaned. He didn't care. He felt nothing. He corrupted her. The only warmth was the tears escaping her eyes, and the flame in her stomach. Then a hard hand wrapped around her wrist, and she turned to Devan behind her.

"Where have you been?" he asked, but in his eyes was not kindness or concern. He was angry.

"Out." she replied, trying to pull away from him, but his hand tightened.

"What happened?" he demanded, and she looked away from him.

"Nothing..." she breathed. Was it nothing?

"I told you, I don't want you with them!" he warned once again yanking her closer, and the ice erupted into a blaze as she wrenched away from him.

"Don't touch me! I don't want to see you! If you ever come near me again, I'll open your cheek!" she yelled at him, then turned and fled into the confines of the castle, to the safety of her chamber while the warm tears still trailed down her face. He called after her, but she didn't care. He could go jump off the bridge. She didn't want to see anyone, and ignored every stare through the long hallways. Finally she slammed the heavy door of her chamber shut, and fell down on her bed, screaming into the pillow as the thoughts came back. _I want to be married to the man that takes me..._ She had refused him, every time he attempted to persuade her. _Not if you're going to discard me now that he's here..._ She wanted to see Rychon again, but not because of this. _I'm not that stupid..._ She wanted to believe she could be strong, that she could stay sensible. _Not all things are forced. Some_ _a_ _re just... not controlled._ Then she cried, drenching the silks in warm tears, careless of the discomfort and heat that still lingered in her, all she could feel even now. She hated this place, hated him, hated herself... hated all of it. The heavy door opened and closed behind her, and she cringed at the sound. _Just leave me alone!_ But no words would form through her sobs.

"Bella?" her mother's voice would normally calm her, but instead it deepened the pain and contempt.

"Bella, what's wrong?" she sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, a gentle hand to her back, but the cries remained.

"Bella, will you please talk to me?" her mother begged, but she gripped the pillow tighter to smother the screams.

"I can't help you, if you won't let me." Milla tried again, and the dismal cries softened into whimpers.

"I can't tell you..." she sobbed, and the gentle hand ran softly along the length of her back.

"Did you and Rychon fight?" Milla tried to find a reason.

"No..." she tried to breathe instead of scream.

"Bella, please. Please tell me what happened?" Milla pleaded again, but Bella felt her stomach twist and churn and seethe. How could she tell her? What greater shame was there? But she sat up, wiping the tears from her cheeks. What more could happen?

"We were separated... We were waiting for the storm to pass... Rychon and I... we were alone... and... what happened... I just... we..." her hands covered her face, and the words suffocated her. But she felt arms around her, holding her tightly.

"Oh, my Bella... My darling child..." but she was shivering, too; and again she could not stop the cries.

"I'm sorry, Mama... I'm so sorry... I... I have disgraced you..." she sobbed, but her mother's hands remained gentle, and her comfort was blessedly calming.

"It... It will be al right." Milla tried to soothe through the heartache. Her only daughter, the heiress of their line. Once she had dared to dream that their houses may be joined... but not like this. Then Bella looked up.

"Please... Please, don't tell father." she begged, her deep green eyes desperate and frightened.

"Please..." she continued, but Milla's heart sank away.

"Bella, I have to." he had to know. She must tell him. This was not a secret she would could keep from her husband.

"Please don't tell him. He'll hate me..." she sobbed, and Milla held her close again, softly rocking.

"Oh, my sweet child. Your father will never hate you..." she soothed as Bella cried against her. She would have no choice, but she would approach him delicately if she could. Berin has always been froward, oft unpredictable and easily irked where his children were concerned. But Bella, his baby girl, was the light of his life. There was no telling how he would react to this...

Rychon stood facing the hearth of the lord's hall, his body as much aflame as the logs in the fireplace. The servants were dismissed when he'd entered, but having no desire to eat or sleep he lingered here for an unknown amount of time. Berterin and the remainder of their group had taken refuge from the storm at the farm bordering the woodland after the rain started to fall, and returned to the keep after dark, and while he was thankful that all were home safely, he still continued hating and cursing himself. He'd lost himself when things were so easy with her, while she trusted him to keep her safe. Then he heard the heavy door behind him open, and the Battle Master's deep voice greeting his queen good night after all had been settled and cleared. She returned his gentle words, and then her soft footsteps came his way after closing the door.

"You were not present for supper." she noted.

"I wasn't hungry." he replied, and he could feel her stare at him. Her frost blue eyes digging into his back like frozen arrows.

"Are you al right?" she asked softly, but he did not turn to meet that frigid stare.

"It was a long day." he returned, and the brief silence that followed was more disturbing than he would have imagined. He couldn't tell her what happened, what would he say to begin with? Was there any explanation he could give her, that would lessen the shock, would soften her rage, would stifle her hate for his shame?

"Rychon, is something troubling you?" she finally asked, and the flames tore through him painfully.

"No." he breathed, in his desperation trying to keep his voice low.

"You may tell me anything." she reminded him in her gentle way, but only a small smile made it bearable to look at her.

"Yes, I know." he said when their eyes met in half a heartbeat, then he turned away from her again as his mind screamed and begged for the fire through him to ease. He could tell her anything, but not this...

"Al right. Good night." she sighed, and then started making her way towards the steps.

"Sleep well, mother." on other nights she would kiss his cheek before departing for her chamber. But perhaps, his behaviour told her differently this night. And she was right. He was deserving of no kindness from anyone. He was meant to be the lord of this domain, and already he had fucked up. Finally, he decided to exchange the carpet for his bed, but sleep would not be his as his mind continued to wage its war that was all but maddening, and when the sun cast its rich light on the horizon he might have been on the verge of losing all reason. He rose again warily from the mattress, gathering his garments he made for the bath chamber to cleanse. Relishing the warmth of the water, he decided to ask Falgon to go out to the grounds for training, that might clear his head enough to think. Or he'd go alone. Either way, he needed to get away. He needed the seclusion, and the silence. He dressed in dark woollen breeches, good riding boots and a pale tunic under a belted leather jerkin before leaving the wing to seek out their Battle Master. He found him on his way up to assume his place at the lord's wing, awaiting their lady.

"Ser Falgon." the warrior looked up to acknowledge him.

"Good morning, sire." he greeted, and Rychon stared at him for a moment.

"I'd like to go to the grounds for training today." he told, and his former teacher nodded.

"Of course. Shall we head out with noon?" he asked, and Rychon hesitated for a moment.

"In truth, I'd like to leave early. If that's al right?" he asked, and saw Falgon smile at him.

"You are not asking me for a favour, sire. You give me a command, and I obey." he told, and for the first time Rychon felt a spark of confidence, and he could smile back.

"Good. Have the horses saddled, I will call for rations. And Gavin will see to my mother." he decided, and Falgon bowed.

"As you bid, sire." he returned back down the steps, heading for the doors to the outside world, making for the stables as Rychon sighed. Their Battle Master at least had a comforting presence, irrespective of his fierce prominence. Then he proceeded down to the barracks to give Gavin his assignment before going to the kitchens where cook Jeody supplied two saddle bags with bread, hard cheese, salt pork, fruit and waterskins. He slung the bags over his shoulder and then left the kitchen, but a presence on the second level made him look back briefly, where she was standing. Watching him, and the ache deepened. He claimed a breath to stifle the burn, then turned away from the deep green eyes and left the keep, passing a party of guards on their way to their rounds, receiving an acrid stare from one. But he paid the guardsman no mind as he vanished through the doors, and Bella stared at him for a moment longer before noticing Devan looking at her. Then she dismissed the thoughts, and continued on her way.

"Is something wrong, Bella?" Samantha softly asked next to her.

"No." she replied, but she still felt affronted, still resented his warmth that lingered in her.

"Did something happen?" Beatrice gently pried, but she couldn't find the need to confide in them.

"I... I told Devan that I don't want to see him any more." she confessed, but perhaps he wasn't deserving of her scorn. Had she heeded him, then perhaps this may never have happened.

"Did you fight again?" Sam asked, and for a moment she felt her fingers burn before a gentle hand wrapped around hers, and Stephanie softly squeezed her fingers.

"No. He's just... a bit demanding. I need some distance." she told, and heard Beatrice giggle.

"It's because of Rychon, isn't it?" she teased, and Bella faced her suddenly ireful.

"It has nothing to do with him! If I don't see him again either, it couldn't bother me." she declared, and again she hated it all. Then she turned away from them to hide the waiting tears.

"I'm leaving for Bristlemane in any case... So, what does it matter?" she breathed, and it might be better. To get away, and leave it all behind to find a different life. But try as she might, force herself as much as she wanted, her mind kept going to him, and the rage continued to battle the sweetness of their time together as she wondered where he was going. Yet, deep into the woods they reached the clearing, and dismounted their steeds, leaving them to graze. They walked over the grass, and Falgon examined the grounds. It was clearly eradicated, the logs dangling at angles with broken ropes, or fallen on the ground. The shafts too were snapped, and worn. With no one to maintain these grounds, it was left wrecked by time and weather.

"This must be repaired before you resume your training here." he mentioned.

"I suppose so." Rychon sighed, and he looked back to where the youngster was seated on a stone, his head resting in his hands, and he seemed desolate as Falgon examined him. He was burdened, and pained.

"You didn't come here for training, did you?" Falgon asked softly as he approached him, and after a lingering silence he saw Rychon's shoulders rise and fall in defeat.

"No..." he whispered, and Falgon settled down beside him. They shared the silence for a while, but if his presence was all the young lord needed right now, he would allow him that. And it was comforting, but he wished his father was home. He would give him the guidance he needed, he would tell him what to do. Then Rychon looked up, lowering his hands.

"Have you ever done something, you wish you could change?" he asked, and Falgon regarded him calmly.

"I've done countless things, that I wish I could change." he told, but it felt like the words breathed peace into the world around them, and Rychon sat slightly back. He, at the very least, would not condemn him to death like he knew others would.

"I've done something terrible. My entire family will hate me for it..." he started softly, but there was nothing but silence as the warrior listened, simply attentive with his striking eyes, and so he felt the comfort to tell him everything.

"I... I took Bella..." he confessed, and suddenly all the flames of his anger and rue broke over him in a fury, rising in a flood from his hands and feet into his core.

"I feel horrible. I never meant to hurt her. She didn't deserve what I did to her." he confided, expecting harsh words from the tall sentinel, whose root was set in the protection of their fairer and gentler counterparts. But his response, was certainly unexpected.

"Did she refuse you?" he asked softly, and Rychon shook his head.

"No. But if I hadn't kissed her, it might not have happened." he told.

"Oh. Oh, I see." he breathed, looking up at the shadows creeping between the trees on the other side of the grounds. He knew what the young lord was feeling, all too well. He had no reason or justification for contempt. But Rychon had to strangle a laugh. _That's it?_

"And you're not going to say anything?" he asked, and the eyes met his again solidly.

"What do you want me to say, sire? That it was wrong? It was, and you had the capacity to realize that on your own. But wishing it didn't happen, won't undo it. Your only choices left, is what to do, going forward." he told, without anger; and Rychon looked away from him again.

"Maybe, I don't wish that it didn't happen. Just the when." he thought, and heard the sentinel sigh.

"One course, might be to wed her." he suggested, but that was not something he could bring himself to so suddenly. And he couldn't subject her to something he wasn't sure of, either.

"I don't want to marry, yet. If I turn out to be a shit lord, what kind of husband would I be?" Rychon asked, casting him a glance. He might have expected the rigor of an obligation, but instead he was met with compassion.

"You don't need to be a great lord, to be a good husband." Falgon told him, but Rychon sighed.

"But still... I need to be sure of my competence, and my stability. I must be sure of myself." If he would only make her miserable, there was no point in it. And in that instant he shunned the words she'd given him when she lay bare against his skin.

"You don't love her?" the warrior asked, a gentleness that deserved the truth.

"I care about her deeply, but I'm not sure if it is love, yet." he confessed, and then lowered his eyes to the ground.

"But whatever happens, I will care for her... for both of them... They will always be well provided for, no matter what." he resolved, fully intent to hold his feet in any situation. He would support her regardless of anything else. Then he felt a hand on him, just for a moment imagining the strength of a father on his shoulder, and looked up into a soft smile.

"That is a decision a man would make. I am proud of you, Rychon." he approved, and the youngster felt courage come back to him. He might not be able to make it right, but at least he could make it better. Then he sighed softly.

"Can I ask you one more favour?" he asked, and Falgon nodded.

"Of course." he agreed, and Rychon sat back.

"You have always been close to my mother, and you are far more eloquent than I am." he started, and the sentinel laughed softly. He knew exactly what he meant.

"I will speak with your mother for you, but that might be the extent of my benefit." he agreed, and Rychon had to share his laugh.

"Thank you." he breathed, and then looked back at the training grounds; only now realizing that it was in a state of impairment.

"You won't be able to get much training done today. But, we can stay a little bit longer if you want, or we could head back." Falgon suggested, and Rychon concurred.

"We'll head back, and start the repairs in a few days." he decided, and then stood. They took the time to inspect the grounds for what was needed to restore the labyrinth before remounting and taking the way back to Mount Ardor, and returned just past noon to find Berterin and Stephanie in the outer bailey doing their rounds on their horses while Ormont watched from his perch on a barrel, calling out his advices. Once in a while, they'd dare to pass over to a slow canter for several steps before falling back to a trot, and he generously praised her efforts. They surrendered their horses, and whatever was left in the saddle bags to the stable boys before entering the great hold, and heading up the stairs. He'd missed most of the morning, but his mother might be going over the reports in the Hollow; and that was where they found her with maester Adlyn and Gavin, a selection of scrolls waiting on the table from where she looked up at him.

"You're back early." he smiled as he approached.

"The grounds are in need of restoration before I can resume my training there. We'll have that done in another day, or two." then he glanced at the parchments on the table.

"Go and rest, I'll take care of these." he proposed, and she glanced at the letters.

"It's just entreaties." she said, and he laughed.

"Then I should be able to handle them." he assured, and she looked back at him.

"Are you sure?" he gently took her hands to draw her to her feet.

"Yes. You've been doing far too much." he urged, and she sighed.

"You're so admirable, my Rychon." she breathed, but despite the painful sting to his heart he brought her cold fingers to his mouth.

"Thank you, for believing in me so." he said, softly stroking the skin on the back of her hands. Then he brought her from the table and allowed her to leave the counsel chamber, watching dismally as she departed with her sentinels behind her, knowing that the news would crush any faith she ever had in him. But whatever came, he must face it. Then he turned to the maester.

"Shall we continue?" he asked as he moved to take his place, and the maester nodded.

"Of course, my lord." he agreed, and reached for a nearby scroll while Claira made her way up the passages and stairways to her common room. With Stephanie in the bailey polishing her riding skill, and Milla in the garden with the girls it would still be a while before they joined her, but she might take the time to sort the basket, and she would admit in secret that Bella was out of sorts since they've returned from their ride the day before, and it proved unsettling. She would even dare to say that she was rather cynical if she wasn't silent completely. Like Rychon, she was not present for supper; and although she joined their table this morning while he chose not to, she barely breathed a word. Sweet Stephanie even suggested that she see the maester, which she declined – as politely as she could. She entered the common room, finding it vacant save for a couple of servers clearing and restocking the tables. As she made her way to the basket, she heard a brief exchange between her sentinels at the door, where Falgon excused Gavin for the rest of the day with the assurance to resume his place in her company for the remainder, and then he left. She glanced down at the clutter in the basket, threads and needles and fabrics and wools in a colourful mess. But barely had she reached down to pick up the fabrics that she heard his heavy footfalls coming up to her.

"Your grace." she turned back, met with the great mass behind her looking down.

"Might I beg a moment to speak with you? Alone, if it please you?" he requested courteously, and the air in her chest froze over for that instant. This was a very rare request, and quite uncommon from him; but if he did, it was something important. She looked at the girls.

"Leave us, please." she instructed, and they gave her an anxious glance before leaving and closing the door behind them. Claira waited, listening to the footsteps vanishing down the passage before returning her attention to him, and saw his shoulders rise and fall.

"You might wish to settle down, your grace." he suggested, and the ice in her chest increased.

"Is something wrong?" she asked worriedly as she took a seat on her chair, and he stood in front of her. His eyes were soft, but stern as he finally knelt before her.

"Your son came to speak with me, on a matter that is a dire concern to him." he started, and she felt the ice spread into her stomach and cheeks. She'd noticed that he was acting strange, that he was aloof and distressed. But despite knowing he could always come to her, he chose not to; and she did not favour interrogation.

"Why didn't he just come to me?" she wondered, but saw her sentinel glance down with a gentleness in his eyes.

"I'm sure he wanted to, he just didn't know how." he replied, and then looked up to meet her eyes again, but the cold would not relent.

"He came to me, not because he did not trust you with his truth; but perhaps because he knew that you would be angered and ashamed." he further explained, and she sat back against the rest of the chair, wondering what happened, and the bees started to stir in her chest. _What happened? What did he do?_

"I don't understand..." she finally managed through the intensifying uneasiness, but he remained composed and controlled, and yet this did not ease her.

"Yesterday, when the youngsters went riding, the group was separated. Rychon and Bella took shelter from the cold of the storm, waiting for it to pass. In the comfort they felt with one another, he claimed her maidenhead." he explained, soft and calm; but the ice erupted in flames through her while the bees attacked every limb.

"You can't be serious!" somehow she abruptly rose to her feet livid, resolved to return to the Hollow to admonish him sharply for this scandal, and on their own family, no less! But he stood before her, gently taking her shoulders.

"He knows he has faulted, and has confessed his regret for his actions. He has vowed, that whatever the outcome, he will not reject her or the child. They will remain well cared for." he assured, and she felt suddenly dizzy as the flames left. How could this happen? This was far from what she'd imagined for either of them, and her heart wept as her fingers strained into his arms.

"Falgon..." she felt like crying herself, but was too appalled to even think clearly beyond the blow, and he carefully had her retake her seat. What should she do? Milla will be devastated, and Berin will be furious... and Bella... their beautiful Bella... she felt Falgon's hands on hers, and then looked up at his eyes. He was still as calm as a soft summer eve. _How could you be so tranquil?_

"I know that, as a mother, it is a difficult situation. But I ask that you not further berate him." he asked, so tenderly it was difficult to refuse him, and then he smiled in his gentle way.

"He is trying to find his way." he assured, and she sighed as the flames left and all that was left was the draining tingling through her body as she sat back resting her head in her left hand.

"I... I can't believe this..." she breathed dismally, but felt his powerful hands around hers and the soft pressure to her right fingers.

"Give him the chance." he urged, and she drew a deep breath. There was no way to change it, and as unfavourable as it was, there was naught to do but to accept it and live with it.

"Al right." she finally agreed. Whatever happened, she would keep them, and sustain them, and give her aid in anything that was required.

"He is becoming a man. And he wants to be a good one." Falgon again said softly, and she wanted to believe that. This was just so... so unexpected. Then she looked up again.

"What now?" she asked, and astonishingly he only shrugged.

"I promised that I will speak with you. But, the rest he will have to deal with on his own." he sighed, and her heart sank away. No doubt there will be a brutal exchange, and immeasurable tension in their home, their families might even be torn apart. She could only pray to the gods, that it will not come to any violence, and that the formidable sentinel may at the very least stay his hands. But such wishes, may be sadly forlorn as the head of their Sentinel Order stormed up the passages, drowned in rage. In the safety of their bedchamber where he discarded a torn tunic for a new one after sparring, his wife had approached him carefully, and spoke tenderly to withhold his wroth. But it was ineffective, and he ruptured. He cursed and he screamed, his fist still throbbed from striking the wall, and blood dripped from his fingers. She tried to calm him, but he tore away from her, listening through the burn as she cried and called after him, all to no avail. He should have him vaulted, should have him starved, he should have him whipped, should have him strung up by his feet. Had he more power, he would have his head for this! He entered the Hollow, all but blind.

"You impudent wretch!" he fumed heedless, met with the shocked deep brown eyes of the maester, and the blue of the youngster whom he had just addressed.

"Be mindful to whom you speak, lord Trentin." he returned disturbingly calm, and then looked at the maester at his side.

"You may leave us maester." he told, and the old man struggled to his feet before hastily making his departure, and closing the door. But all Berin could do was stare at the boy looking back, who had betrayed his family.

"You took my daughter!" he accused, and Rychon sat back.

"She did not refuse me." he replied, and the fire in him swirled in a maddening daze. _That does not give you any right to her!_

"You were like a son to us! As close as a brother to her! And you have defiled her! You have destroyed any possible future she had!" he continued, his hands aflame and the wounds across his knuckles searing. But Rychon regarded him, almost coldly.

"Regardless of your thoughts, your daughter remains a lady of my hold. All will be in accordance to her stature, here." he told, and Berin forced a deep breath into his chest.

"I expect you will see to it that -" he started, but the sudden voice silenced him.

"I will do what is necessary. And I expect that you will henceforth retain your courtesies as is appropriate." he decreed, but the flames came again. It was not enough.

"If you got Bella with child-" suddenly Rychon stood, his hands slamming onto the table surface.

"Then I will not be the first Taugere to father a bastard!" Berin fell silent. The boy he'd been chastising, was not a boy. He was a man, taller than he was. And he would be their lord.

"You have my standing on the matter. Now, get out." he ordered, and after a moment's baleful glare Berin turned and left, still livid. He had not offered any excuse, nor any remorse. He was vile, and self-seeking. He would be a ruin on this house. Suddenly he noticed the maester slowly shambling up the passage, and approached him heedless of the shadow vanishing behind him.

"Shall I assume that you overheard our exchange, maester?" he asked, and the old man turned back, his eyes still revealing his anxiety.

"Not intentionally, my lord. I swear." he quickly told, and Berin again forced his silence. The healer had wronged no one, he deserved no harshness.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that." he said softly, and the maester could claim a breath of his own.

"It's quite al right." he said, and then looked down at Berin's hand.

"Your hand." he noticed, and Berin brought it up. Most of the blood had dried, but the wounds were still glistening.

"It should be fine." he said, and maester Adlyn nodded.

"Come, I will bind it for you. I do find myself in need of some aid to reach my tower, though. I've sent my page to feed the ravens, and I'm afraid he has not returned yet." he hinted, and Berin had to smile. Their healer was a man well into his nineties, but regardless of his persistence he could be allowed his failings that most men would never see.

"As you wish." he held his arm to offer the maester some stability, and escorted him to his tower chamber where the maester cleaned the wounds with boiling wine and dressed it with an ointment before binding the injuries.

"If this has any meaning to you, lord Berin. I am sorry, for what happened." the maester said softly, and Berin sighed. He knew the truth now, there was no point in shying away from it. But the thoughts still angered him.

"May I offer you some tea?" the maester asked compassionately, and Berin sat back in the small chair.

"Thank you." the maester moved away, recovering the small pot from the fire over his hearth.

"I never expected this from him. He's not the boy I remember! He's impudent, he's conceited, he's arrogant-" he started as the flames came again, but oddly his broken hand felt cold. Perhaps from the balm. Then the maester looked at him.

"That may be, because he no longer _is_ a boy, lord Trentin." he gently interjected, and then replaced the pot on the table as Berin scoffed. That was something he had to agree to, though.

"And it's not about arrogance, my lord. It's about respect." he added, coming over with the cup in his hand and presented it to the lord whom slowly took it. Was it really about that? Then maester Adlyn took the seat at his side.

"Rychon is still very young, and an only heir besides." he told, and then dared a long sigh.

"Please understand, that he cannot allow anyone to treat him with contempt, no matter how close they are to him. If he permits any form of impiety against him, he will not long hold the honour and loyalty of his vassal lords. And in all perspectives, that is something that he must have." the maester explained, and while there was a truth to it, did it make him above reproach? None of the Taugere lords would have tolerated disrespect, but neither would they abuse the powers they held for amusement.

"But maester, what he did..." he started, the flames gradually diminishing.

"Was not without guilt, or shame. But I do believe, that he will never blatantly disgrace your daughter, my lord. He will do the right thing, regardless of all else." the maester assured, resting a withered hand on the lord's arm. There was comfort, and consolation. But, in spite of his intensities, what the old man had said was his honest truth.

"Do you truly think so?" Berin asked, and then saw the maester's sure smile.

"Of course I do. He is a Taugere, after all." he reassured, and then Berin sat back with the tea in his hands.

"I hope so, maester." he sighed, but then strangely the maester sat back as well, seeming almost mournful.

"This house is powerful, and respected, and ancient. It has stood for thousands of years beyond many odds. But, the Taugere line has never been as thin as in the last century..." he breathed, and Berin found himself stunned. Why would he be telling him this?

"Lord Raeghun was an only son. And while lord Rychard had both an older and a younger brother, the eldest was not true born, and the youngest died a boy. Lord Varin was an only heir. Lord Vaeghun, was an only true heir after an older brother was stillborn... and while his father was a powerful and virile man, he was easily swayed by others. And they all came into their rule young." he continued to tell, and then looked out the window.

"In the chronicles as left by maester Arngard before me, it tells that lord Vaeghun was sent to Storm's End as a boy to be warded. He served lord Baratheon for many years as a cup bearer, and squired for lord Lyonel Baratheon, that great knight known as the Laughing Storm. In his absence, his father was murdered and an assumed ruler claimed his wife, much as was attempted with lady Claira some years ago. The country disintegrated, and there were multiple rebellions. When the White Phoenix returned as a knight at seventeen to claim his father's seat, he had to sacrifice much and more; and the lands were drowned in blood of both enemies and allies." he told, and then looked back at Berin.

"Is this thinning of their bloodline a curse for an unknown crime? Who might know, but the gods themselves." he sighed,

"I cannot give you cause or issue, and I will not blame you for any anger you hold. But Rychon is the only living heir of house Taugere's name, and if he falls, so does this house and all it has stood for, for over ten thousand years." he softly breathed, but Berin nodded.

"I am angry, maester. I have every right to be. But..." then he smiled.

"This is my home, and my family. I will never allow this house to fall, so long as I stand." he said, and the maester smiled back.

"Good. Very good. I am relieved to hear that." he breathed. After finishing their tea, discreetly infused with a drop of Nightshade essence, Berin left calmer than he'd come. But maester Adlyn remained staring out of the window, suddenly ponderous. His own service started under lord Varin, whom was still a young man. But... while he was black of head and blue eyed like any true Taugere, he recalled another man with long hair white as fallen snow, and burning blue eyes. It could have been Aemon Targaryen, they've spoken at the Citadel from time to time. But his eyes were a bright orchid purple, and his hair cut short. Lord Vaeghun Taugere, the White Phoenix... Was this a dream, created by the many different accounts? Suffice it to say, that the memory was not clear, and yet it was so distinguishable. Yet, for all his vague and vivid visions, he was the oldest member of this house, and would never know for certain.

With another two days gone, ropes and shovels and wood beams and bags were loaded onto a small cart to start repairs on the training grounds in the woods. There were no more harsh words, but the tension remained in the halls. Courtesies were upheld, but without true kindness, and it was heartbreaking. Bella and Rychon paid no more mind to one another beyond an occasional greeting, and their interactions were less than they were before that unfortunate day despite sharing a table at meals. Berin was silent as well, and ignored the youngster unless directly addressed, and even then his replies were terse. With noon while two destriers, a charger and a mule left the gate of the burning mountain for the training grounds, Claira watched them go through the window of her common room with Milla next to her, awaiting the younger ladies.

"I'm sorry, Milla. I'm so sorry for what happened." she breathed softly.

"You shouldn't be sorry. This was their choice. All we can do, is to live with it." she sighed, and Claira looked at her, her stare lost on the outside world.

"You are handling this remarkably well." and then her light green eyes met hers, calm but grief stricken.

"What is left to us? We cannot change it." then she looked away again.

"It's just tragic, that this has separated our family so." she said, and then felt Claira's cold hand on hers.

"I never imagined, that it will come to this. But whatever the future holds, Milla. I will face it with you." she promised, and saw her friend smile.

"I know." Milla was grateful for her, for the assurance they had. The lady of Mount Ardor had become a powerful woman, with a tender compassion. They would stand together in wind and snow and storm. Always.

"Come." Claira led her back to the chairs where they took their places, and shortly later were joined by the girls to continue their works, sharing modest conversation except for Bella whom remained quiet and reserved, and spoke only when spoken to, and even more sorrow lingered over them that she wasn't their happy girl any more. Then she stood and lay her knitting down on the armrest to stand.

"Bella." she looked up.

"Walk with me, please. We must discuss this evening's serving with Jeody." she told, and the girl rose to her feet.

"Yes, my lady." she agreed, and they left the chamber, moving along the passages where servants and guards crossed their path. Until a single long passage left them alone, and Claira stopped turning to Bella.

"Bella..." she looked up at her with eyes empty of emotion.

"Are you still happy here?" she asked, and the girl looked down.

"Of course I am. This is my home." she said joylessly as Claira examined her.

"And yet, you wish to return to Bristlemane?" she asked, watching as Bella fumbled her hands together.

"It's not just me, aunt Claira. My father wants me to assume the rights of the hold." she explained, and then felt cold fingers around hers.

"Well, whatever you decide, whatever happens, you will always have our support." she said, and Bella felt a new burn of tears to her eyes.

"I... I didn't want to go... I never wanted to leave here... But..." she started slowly, and a tear escaped as she broke.

"But?" Claira gently urged, and she looked up again.

"But... if my presence here... will be something miserable... I... I don't know why..." she sobbed, and Claira held her.

"My sweet nymph. Why are you miserable?" she asked calmly, allowing the girl to cry.

"Because... Because Rychon won't talk to me... He... He just told me that it was 'nothing'..." she whimpered, and Claira softly stroked her back, but she rather focused on breathing than the fire in her chest. _Nothing, was it?_

"That was a terrible thing to say." she said, the flames burning its way through her chest, having a mind to chide him for that. His father would never have reacted in such a way, but... perhaps there might have been a reason?

"Were you alone when you put it forward?" she asked, and Bella took a breath to calm herself.

"We were in the bailey." Bella recalled, the air in her chest suddenly feeling hard.

"Were there others?" Claira asked again, and her breath became suddenly solid. Devan was behind her. That was what Rychon looked at before he left.

"I... I don't know..." she whispered, and then Claira drew away from her.

"I will speak to him. But it you still wish to leave, I will not try to convince you otherwise." she softly promised, and Bella wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Thank you. But... It might be best." she said and then felt a gentle hand secure a lock of hair behind her shoulder.

"As you will. But there's still lots of time." she eased, and then led her further down the passage to complete their task, while in the woodland there was progress on the fallen training grounds. Berterin had insisted to accompany them, but had difficulty controlling his thoughts as he worked. They used the shovels to renew the path through the maze, and replaced the broken shafts while repositioning those that had fallen. Berterin scaled a tree with a length of twine, and shuffled along one of the low branches before lowering the end of the twine to be tied to the rope so he could bring it up, and cast it down again. Falgon took hold of it, and with his great strength pulled the beam up and secured it at the proper height. With much of the day gone, three of the logs were repositioned, while fifteen others awaited the repairs.

"We'll tend to these tomorrow." Rychon decided, feeling worn. Then glanced at Berterin, dropping from the tree.

"Take a rest, and then we'll head home. We've done a lot today." he proposed, satisfied that the state of the grounds were already considerably better than before. He headed to the stone where they left the saddle bags to distribute what was left of the water and rations. He'd wanted to speak with Bella, but whenever he saw her she was with her ladies, and she might not agree to see him alone. Perhaps he could ask her for a walk tonight before supper, or tomorrow morning. He brought the waterskin to his mouth, and savoured the cool liquid before turning to hand it to his friend, but a sudden hard impact met his cheek and dull pain ran down his neck as he staggered, and the waterskin dropped from his hand. Dazed he looked at Berterin behind him, his hands clenched into fists.

"Bella is my sister, not your harlot!" he suddenly told him, and Rychon turned towards him.

"I never said she was." he replied, fuelling the youngster's anger.

"You never said anything! You just ignored her! If you'd acknowledged her, I might not have cared!" he swung at him, but Rychon ducked away and the blow missed, then he moved forward shoving his friend back.

"I didn't ignore her!" Berterin came at him again, he was fast; and a number of savage blows were thrown. Berterin's fist aimed for his face, but again he avoided it. He watched the flames of the lordling's right hand race for his stomach, and shot back as the fist swung by him. Once more he turned and brought his elbow towards his ribs, but the same hand blocked the blow, and the fire of his left hand came flowing towards his head. He dropped his weight, and the arm passed him. He could see it all so clear, it was easy to avoid him. If he could only surpass his strength... more blows were swung of which none connected. Again, Berterin threw his weight forward and they collided, rolled across the grass before finally Rychon found himself above his friend, pinning him to the ground with his fist raised, and then a powerful hand hauled him back.

"That's enough!" Falgon's voice shattered them, like thunder through the forest; and Rychon stood perplexed watching his friend rise to his feet.

"You fucked my sister, and then you discarded her!" he accused, his eyes glinting.

"I will never discard her! Never!" Rychon denied it. The world could burn and drown before he abandoned her.

"I said that's enough!" the sentinel roared again, and then turned his attention to Berterin.

"You! Sit down!" with the black wings spreading, he obeyed and sank to the grass, close to tears. Then Falgon looked back at Rychon, just staring at the space in front of him.

"Are you al right?" the youngster turned away from him, the left side of his face throbbing.

"I'm fine..." he lied. He wasn't. Not really. He expected harshness, expected others to hate him. Perhaps he should have expected this, too.

"When you said you wanted to take her out, I was happy... It was nice that you cared about her... If you'd courted her, I wouldn't have cared..." then Berterin looked up.

"And then you go and do this!" he yelled, tears escaping his eyes.

"This is not your battle to fight! Not your judgement to make!" Falgon chided him, but Rychon rested a hand on his arm.

"It's al right, Falgon." he eased him, and then looked back at Berterin.

"I don't know what you heard, but I do care about Bella. I never meant to harm her." he told, and then walked forward and knelt in front of his distraught friend.

"I deserve what you did. But she is a lady of our hold, and always will be. I swear, I will never reject her." he told, and slowly the eyes softened.

"Then why? Why are you avoiding her? You haven't spoken twelve sentences since you got back." he breathed, and Rychon looked down. _I haven't gotten the chance..._ No. _I don't know what to say..._ Maybe. _She hates me..._ Definitely.

"I will. I just..." he had to.

"When?" then their eyes met again.

"Soon. I give you my word." he promised, but she must agree to it. Then he focused on his cheek again for an instant.

"How hard did you hit me?" he asked, breaking into a smile and Berterin looked at him puzzled.

"I... I don't know..." but then he laughed.

"Hard enough, I suppose..." Rychon took his hand, and drew him to his feet.

"Ser Falgon." then he looked at the sentinel.

"This altercation never happened." he dismissed, and then he nodded.

"As you say, sire." he agreed. Children fought, boys fought, men fought, for multiple reasons, good and bad. But if this was discovered, lord Berin's son could be arraigned. It was death to bare steel against your liege lord, raising your fists to his son might be much the same. They gathered their belongings and took the trail back home, arriving at the keep with the twilight settling over the lands, and they settled into the southern hall for supper where they were served stuffed pheasant and raspberry pies, after which Bella excused herself with her companions. Presuming she wished for an early evening, he watched her disappear from the hall but could not deny the longing. Others also left, and finally with the hall cleared they returned to their chambers, where Rychon again found himself standing in front of the lord's hearth, looking up at the sword on the shelf, praying that he might have the strength to wield it one day. Then his mother came from the bath chamber, dressed in a soft yellow gown and her hair falling naturally down her back. Then she paused to look at him.

"You still haven't spoken to Bella much." she noted, and he sighed.

"She seemed exhausted." he replied softly, but she could only nod. _Your father would never have ignored something like this! Would never have avoided a situation, no matter how dire!_ She wanted to tell him, but had agreed not to rebuke him.

"She... She means to return to Bristlemane." she told him, and he looked down.

"I see." he breathed, and she approached him.

"If you said it was 'nothing', I can't change how you feel. But she's heartbroken-" she started, and suddenly his eyes met hers, burning in the flames.

"It wasn't 'nothing'. I've thought of it every waking moment since that day. But, I couldn't discuss it with her when she wished, because we were not alone. What kind of reaction would that have created? What would have been thought of her?" he asked, and the heat receded slightly as she stared at him. He risked wounding her heart, to protect her honour.

"Then do something nice for her, please." she begged, taking hold of his arm, and he looked back at the hearth, his doubts already conquering him.

"Give me one good reason she would want to see me now." he said, and she suddenly hardened.

"Because now you share more than just a childhood spent in one home, Rychon." she told him, and he sighed. It wasn't like he didn't want to talk to her, he just couldn't find the best opportunity.

"The longer you wait, the harder it will be for you." she told him, and he nodded.

"Al right. I'll try." he agreed, and then looked back at her.

"I just hope... she'll accept it." he breathed, and she gave him a comforting smile.

"She might be waiting, for you to come to her." she urged, and then gently took his face and brought him down to kiss his cheek.

"Good night." she whispered, and he smiled.

"Sleep well, mother." he greeted, and then she started towards the stairs. But before vanishing up into the hallways, she looked back at him, still staring at the sword and she drew a breath.

"Rychon." he looked her way.

"When you take up your father's sword, you take up all the rights and responsibilities of our house. I just... want you to be ready for it." she told, and he smiled.

"Don't worry. I will be." he assured, and she returned his smile before leaving up the stairs. Their country was in the best care, as his mother would remain regent until his father returned to them, or otherwise proven. But, he would make himself stronger and wiser as best he could, so he would be worthy of that. And he must start with Bella. He'd go to the carpenters before sparring, to commission a carving for her. Something special. And after meeting for their morning meal, he might ask her for a walk, if she wasn't busy, and if she would agree to it. Then he turned away from the flames, to relinquish himself to his bed.

The morning followed much as planned, and along with Renko he slipped from the hold with the dawn to find the carpenter's guild master just opening his doors. After a fair deal of detailing, he finally assigned the creation of the Trentin sigil, which will be refined by their member Qudo; who was by all notions exceedingly far better skilled in sculptures than wagon wheels; and if given the day to himself the carving should be done by nightfall. Returning to the keep, he discovered that he was late for sparring, and had to face Berin. Fists were harder than swords because your opponent was closer with more freedom, especially against him. But despite having to push himself hard to meet the challenge he was put to and ending up on his back no less than four times, the blows were not brutal. Worn of the bout, he took a seat on one of the bales while Berin reclaimed his shirt.

"How did I do?" he asked, and Berin spared him a fleeting glance.

"You're getting better." he replied, then pulled the fabric over his skin.

"Try not to be late tomorrow, my lord." he advised, and then turned and left into the hold. Rychon sighed as he stared after him. No more harsh words, but no less anger than there had been in the days before. He retained his courtesies, as well as his bitterness. _It will be a long time before you can look at me without hate, won't it?_ He pulled the shirt over his shoulders, then stood and entered the castle to cleanse his hands before heading to the southern hall to join their family to break their fast on eggs, sausage, bread, cheese, fruit and fresh press. Bella would keep her discussions to her companions, but would cast him the occasional glance. _I have to speak to her today. I can't wait any longer..._ As the serving girls were clearing the tables, their members left the hall; and he followed the ladies into the Hall of Fire.

"Bella." she turned, meeting his eyes.

"My lord..." she stood waiting, and a fire stabbed into his chest. _I can't wait any longer..._

"May I speak with you?" he asked, and she glanced away.

"I..." she started, searching for words.

"Please, I beg you." he pleaded, but still she hesitated. _Please! Please let me talk to you. Please..._ then she managed a tiny smile.

"As you wish." they turned for the garden, but the sound of a warhorn drowned the world, followed by the tolling of the bells and a meagre few barks and howls from the hounds. _Oh fuck! Why now?_ He turned towards her, watching him expectantly. Then took her hands.

"I will meet with you again later, I promise." he quickly brought her fingers to his lips, and then disappeared from her to meet the callers. But for the first time in days, she had a grain of optimism. She watched as he left the hall for the bailey, but as others joined him they followed. Rychon stood at the top of the stairway, awaiting the oncoming party with his mother, her Battle Master and the head of their order with him. Several taxing moments later, a group of riders entered into the bailey, and Rychon recognized two of them. With black hair and black eyes, the White Wolf rode at their front, with grizzly ser Davos Seaworth at his side. There was another hoary knight with them, whom Berin recognised as ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, who'd fought in the siege on Pyke, and fled Westeros at some point years later, as well as another black haired and blue eyed youth, and a number of soldiers. Rychon descended the steps to receive them as they dismounted their steeds, and surrendered them to the grooms and stable boys.

"Your grace." Rychon extended a hand to greet Jon as he turned to face him, and he took the hand easily.

"Good day, young lord Taugere." he smiled, and Rychon returned his gesture kindly before glancing back to the others joining him.

"Mother, my lords; this is Jon Snow. King in the North." he announced, and then returned his attention to the visiting party.

"May I present my mother, Claira Taugere, Lady of Mount Ardor, Wardeness of the Corridor." he presented, and Jon held his hand out to Claira while she surrendered hers.

"Such a pleasure, my lady. We've met before, many years ago." he told, issuing a gentle kiss to her fingertips.

"I remember. Welcome, to all of you." she replied, followed by more introductions.

"I did not think to see you again so soon. What may we do for you?" Rychon finally asked, but for half a heartbeat the young king seemed unsure of what to say, until his advisor came to his aid.

"We came to ask your help. Again." the old knight said, recalling their request at Pale Haven some months before.

"With what?" Berin asked curiously from Rychon's side.

"An assignment of great importance." ser Jorah put forth discreetly as he took a step forward, and for a moment Claira seemed uneasy before nodding. He was a large, robust man with hard features and hard eyes.

"Then perhaps we may discuss this charge, under better conditions?" she proposed, and Jon managed a grateful smile.

"Of course, my lady." he agreed immediately, and she started leading them into the hold.

"May we offer you anything?" Milla asked as the group entered the castle, and ser Davos looked up.

"Thank you, milady." Bella and her companions lingered behind, watching the lords and lady's progress into the shadow of the keep, in all likelihood intent to continue these discussions in the safety of the Hollow.

"What's happening?" Bella muttered, feeling unusually anxious as a vision from her girlhood came back, when the Young Wolf rode through the gate of their home. If strangers from other regions came here unexpectedly, it did not bode well. But then she felt a soft hand to her back, and looked up at her brother beside her.

"I don't know. But it seems important." he replied softly, veiling his own uneasiness. There were no threats – not directly at least. But if this was anything resembling of a war council, he might not be permitted to join them.

"I'll try to find out." he said as he led them inside, then watched as his mother made her way to the kitchen while their lady, her son, her Battle Master and the head of their Order accompanied the group up into the passages of the castle to the Hollow, and then followed. Three serving girls soon brought pitchers of mead where the members settled around the wide table with Claira at its head, Rychon and Berin to her sides, Falgon behind her left shoulder, maester Adlyn present, and the others close. Two girls left while the last remained to supply the goblets with fresh drink, and Berterin stood in the doorway, finding the atmosphere sombre he wondered if he should leave.

"Berterin." he suddenly noticed his father's eyes on him.

"If you insist on joining us, you'd best close the door and take a seat." he hinted, and so he did, quickly taking his place next to maester Adlyn where the server lastly filled his cup as well. A moment of silence followed as they waited, and Claira looked up.

"The hospitality of Mount Ardor is yours for as long as you need. What business do you bring to the burning mountain?" she asked, and Jon sat forward.

"Thank you, my lady. And I do apologise for this unexpected calling, I realize that circumstances have not been favourable." he said softly, and then the discussion continued among the members. The threat from beyond the wall, the meeting with Daenerys Targaryen whom had recently taken up the island stronghold of Dragonstone to the east of King's Landing for her aid, irrespective of the battles waging forth in the south. That they hoped to reach suspension of hostilities until the army of the dead was dealt with, but could only achieve this by providing proof to queen Cersei Lannister whom currently sat the Iron Throne. They went on to explain that they travelled by ship to Boatwright, rather than making passage to White Harbour and travelling down. But they came here with the belief, that they could plead for their help once more. That they may stand together against the Night King, and his force.

"An army of walking corpses?" Berin breathed dubiously.

"This threat is real. I've been beyond the Wall, I've seen them with my own eyes." Jon insisted.

"If we don't do this, and do it together, we will all die." Davos agreed, and Claira scanned the faces.

"Why not simply send a raven?" Claira asked, and Jon sighed.

"We've sent ravens to other houses for help before. Many did not believe, and our words have been left ignored. Perhaps you wouldn't have, either." he supposed, and she sat back.

"My son has told me of this. And while I cannot say that I believe you, I knew your father for a man of his word. I have no cause to think you are any different." she said softly, and then met his eyes.

"And so I will give you the benefit of your words." he breathed out, seeming relieved.

"The Corridor has stood in direct alliance with the North for as long as what could have been the Dawn Age, and if you need our help then of course you shall have it. What is it you need from us?" she asked, and Jon glanced at Davos.

"We are heading North to hunt down one of these soldiers, and once we have it we will return to King's Landing to present it to the queen. Your lord husband had once given his help and guidance to my brother, and I had hoped that we will have your support in this as well." Jon told, and for a moment Claira only stared at him with a frigid sting to her heart. She remembered that morning, too well. The sight of her husband at the head of their masses, his armour flashing in the early sunlight. And then he vanished into the distance, not to be seen by her again... It was a bitter-sweet memory.

"Yes, my husband gave his aid to your brother. And he has yet to return to me... You would ask me to lose my son to you, as well?" she asked, a crispness to her voice but no true anger. But all the visitors could do, was stare back abashed. Davos finally dared to breathe slowly.

"Milady, I know you have lost much. But if we do not make this work, we will all lose everything." he tried, almost soothingly. Flames were etching their way down her arms, but then a hand rested on her knee under the table, and the painful flames receded to a calmer tingle as she looked at her son, smiling gently.

"Your name is well respected throughout the kingdoms. Its importance will carry great efficacy for us, if we are able to attain this soldier." Jon softly agreed.

"You still need to capture this creature?" maester Adlyn asked, and Jorah nodded.

"It will be a hard endeavour, but we must make a success of it." he told.

"You're going alone?" Berin asked.

"There are more that might be able to help us, but we can't take an army north." Jon said.

"You won't need an army, just a few more men with experience." Rychon finally said, glancing at his mother.

"But, as regent it is left to my mother to approve." he hinted, and a sudden uneasy flash brightened her eyes. A heartbeat of silence felt like a day.

"My son has only returned to me barely three moons ago..." she breathed, but then looked at him.

"However, there are some choices that must be left to him, if he is to take his father's place one day." she allowed, and a heat burnt through him. She believed in him, she trusted him, and still does. Then he smiled, looking back at Jon.

"I will accompany you myself, along with two of my strongest." he said, and a deep voice filled the chamber.

"Shall I join you, sire?" Falgon asked, and Rychon looked up at him. He was their strongest, by now it was well known. Berin was their strongest, but he will not expect him to risk his life for what he'd done to them. He had to choose others.

"No, you are our Battle Master, and will remain here to see to the defence of the burning mountain, and to protect my mother, as is your duty. I take Renko and Jay-" he started, but then Berin silenced him.

"I'll go." he said solidly, and Rychon stared at him. _I... I can't let you..._

"You are the head of our Sentinel Order, lord Berin." he reminded him, and the deep green eyes met his securely despite the soft smile.

"And the head of the sentinels' place is at the lord's side, my lord. I will go." he returned persistently, and Rychon sighed in secret, in his heart deeply relieved. Then he looked at Jon.

"When do we leave?" he asked, and he spared his own companions a quick glance.

"As soon as possible." he told, then Rychon nodded.

"We will start preparations immediately, and head out with the dawn." he decided, then looked at his mother who sat silent, but for the pain in her eyes.

"With your permission, we should start tending to our measures." he requested, and she slowly nodded, and with that the members took their leave from the counsel chamber, and orders were sent down to prepare the horses to ride at first light, along with a cart to hold their effects. In the passage, on his way down to the barracks to see to the needed arms and armour, Rychon again approached Berin.

"Lord Berin..." he turned back, looking up at him and the guilt left the youngster silent for an instant.

"You... You don't need to go." he again told softly, and then the sentinel faced him fully.

"I will. You are still my brother's son, after all." he replied, compassion in his voice for the first time in days, and Rychon looked down. _Loyal beyond all else..._

"Thank you." Berin bowed his head, and left again down the passage to complete his task. The swords would be sharpened anew, including his own. The armour must be sufficient, and they would certainly be in need of warmer attire for the journey. Winter had come, and they were going into the heart of it. _You are still my brother's son, after all..._ No, it wasn't just that. _You were like a son to us..._ he sighed. _You still are..._ Much of the day was spent on preparations and alterations, and with noon Berterin did not call on Stephanie for her afternoon riding lesson. To be fair, he'd been absent for much of the day, following the meeting. But passing the castle armoury from asking the smith to examine a recently discovered lax horseshoe on Storm, Rychon found him there inspecting his sword, and entered curiously.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and Berterin looked back.

"Making preparations, as you've ordered." he replied easily, and another surge of heat went through the young lord. _No... I can't let you go... Not you, too..._

"You're not going." he refused, and Berterin gave him an odd look. An almost defiant look.

"Excuse me?" Rychon sighed.

"I need you to stay here." he told, but his friend still stood staring at him.

"There's no way I'm letting you go off alone." he insisted, but Rychon scoffed slightly.

"I'm not going alone." he denied, but the eyes remained hard and resolute.

"If what Jon said is true, you'll need every sword." he continued, and it was true. But one Trentin life was already put on this, he could not have another.

"Berterin, we can't-" he tried, but a hand to his shoulder silenced him.

"You're not changing my mind, Rychon. I'm coming with you." he told, and Rychon knew then that even chaining him to a pillar in the Hall of Fire, would not keep him here. Then he laughed.

"You're stubborn, just like your father." he teased his friend, and received a proud smile back in turn.

"I am his son. As you are yours." he said, but for an instant Rychon wasn't sure if he should feel honoured, or ashamed. He wasn't his father, he'd done things he never would have. But, if he could, he would redeem his name.

"Al right. Make sure your equipment is sufficient, and that you're warm enough." he suggested, and then returned to the keep. In the kitchen, bags were stocked with salt meat, nuts, hard bread and hard cheese, provisions that would hold until they could replenish. In the wings, crates were supplied with warm clothing items, including thick wool doublets and furs. In the stables, the chosen horses were given larger portions than normal, and in the bailey the wagon was examined for any faults that might need repair. All, while night came too soon. With the preparations well under way and the wind blowing cold in the darkness, the lives of the hold assembled in the southern hall with their guests to share a last kind evening where they supped on warm leek and potato soup, followed by hearty mutton pies, and berry cobbler with custard. And as once before when he was a child, the King in the North found himself admiring the great sentinel whom he'd once named his friend, happy that his once small wish to meet him again could be granted. Everything he remembered remained the same. The dark hair, the striking features, and the fierce, honey-gold eyes, touched by a spark of red. Only...

"You're not as tall as I remember. I always remembered you, looking down at me from the heavens." Jon reminisced, but saw the warrior smile.

"You're not as young as I remember, majesty. You were a base-born boy of six when we met, and now you are a king of three and twenty." he reminded him, and Jon was awed for just that instant. _Has it really been that long?_ He hasn't changed... at all.

"But I am relieved, that you took my words with you. That your birth does not determine who you are." then Jon laughed. It was good, to hold on to those words. Perhaps, in some small way, those words had brought him this far, as well. With the ladies escorted to their chambers to retire, the lords lingered at the table over a final horn of ale, discussing their way forward. They would start on the Honey Road to where it met the Roseberry Trail, then follow that up north to where it joined the King's Road for a couple of leagues and then continue on to White Harbour. And from there continue on to Eastwatch by the Sea, which was the closest Wall Castle to Hardhome where the Night King was last seen. They would set out with daybreak, and only stop to make camp with twilight should they not have the benefit of an inn, farm or smallhold for shelter. If the road and the seas favoured them, they would reach the Wall within a fortnight, but with all that awaited them before they could claim success, they would not see home for a number of months. It was difficult, with no guarantee, but the path had been set and there was only one way to go. _Forward..._ After sating their thirst the hall was cleared, and the remaining members and guests made for their apartments. The visitors, having been given free choice of any of the chambers in the west wing vanished down the great passage, japing on their full intent to make use of the luxurious bath chamber before claiming a good night's rest while Rychon parted ways from Berin and his son to return to the lord's wing himself. But unexpectedly, he found his mother in the lord's hall in front of the hearth, again neglecting her sleep.

"Mother?" then she turned to face him. Her features were soft, but her eyes were drowned in sorrow.

"Must you leave?" she asked, and he approached.

"I want to help them. Father would have." he told softly, and she looked down.

"You only just got back, Rychon..." she whispered softly, and his arms circled her gently.

"I don't what you to go... I... I can't lose you..." he held her tightly, softly soothing her aching heart.

"You're not going to lose me, mother." he tenderly kissed her brow.

"I will come back to you. I promise." she looked up at him,

"How could you promise me that?" she asked, but he smiled.

"Because I am the son of lord Raeghun Taugere. There is nothing alive – or dead – that will keep me from my family." he told confidently, then her arms circled his neck and she held him.

"You are... of course, you are..." she agreed, stifling the sobs.

"Thank you, for allowing me this choice." For a while they stood, surrounded by the light and shadows until a soft knock at the door drew his attention.

"Enter." they released each other as a handmaiden carefully peeked inside.

"My apologies for disturbing you, milord and lady." she pardoned, and Claira acknowledged her.

"It's al right." she eased, and Rychon faced her.

"Is something wrong?" the girl smiled with a subtle blush.

"No, milord. A crafter from the carpenters guild begs an audience." she announced, and it struck him like a bolt from a crossbow. _Fuck! I almost forgot..._

"I will meet with him, thank you." the handmaiden nodded, and then vanished again as Rychon turned to face his mother.

"Go to bed, there's one more thing I need to do." he urged, and she nodded.

"Al right. Good night." she started towards the stairs, and he left the lord's wing rushing down to meet the crafter; while Bella lay on her bed watching the stars through the window. Today hadn't turned out at all how she'd hoped. He'd promised to meet her, but with this sudden turn of events, and the rush to gather their means, the notion must have fell between the cracks of his thoughts. And they were leaving tomorrow. Perhaps, when they were gone, she would leave as well. It might make her parting from her home less painful. She buried her face in the pillows, her arms wound around herself, shunning herself. She could still feel him. Why could she still feel him? Why would this heat not leave her? By all the gods, why? But, somehow she couldn't bring herself to hate it. It was a pleasant warmth. A kind warmth. A gentle warmth... and maybe- She shot up as a soft knock sounded at her door, but thinking she had slipped into a dream, she waited until it sounded again. She stood, and made her way to the door to open it. The sight left her stunned for an instant.

"Rychon?" he stood facing her, his blue eyes bright.

"I am sorry if I woke you. I didn't mean to come so late." he apologised, and she smiled.

"It's al right." she told as she stared at him, elated that he'd come after all. Elated that he was speaking with her. And then he glanced down at the object in his hands.

"I came to give you this, along with my apology for my behaviour... and my actions. I pray you might forgive me." he said softly as he presented the carving to her, and she took it gently in her hands. It was a mounted knight, less than perfect, but the crafter took great care to meet the smaller details on the knight's face, feet and hands; and a flowing mane, tail and caparison with dark spheres on his flanks for his steed. And instead of a banner blowing in the breeze, he was holding a great sunflower. Regardless of the few flaws, she fell in love with the tiny knight and smiled.

"Did you make it?" she asked as she looked up, and he laughed. Could that be a blush?

"I wish I could say yes, but I asked the guild." he confessed before bringing his eyes to the carving.

"If you don't like it-" he started, but she laughed.

"He's charming. Thank you." she said, adoring her little warrior. She would name him 'Veric', and his place would be on her dresser in the morning sun where he could watch over her.

"My mother tells me you mean to return to Bristlemane." he said, and she looked up at him.

"I have thought about it." she mentioned, but saw him nod.

"If... If you'd permit me, I would be pleased if you'd stay." he said softly, and in that instant she felt her heart flutter. _He... He did care... He does-_

"At least until I returned." he then added, and the fluttering died away.

"Oh... I..." she couldn't find the words.

"Please?" then she sighed.

"As you wish, my lord." she agreed, and he glanced down the passage.

"I shouldn't keep you, it's late." then he looked back at her, with a soft smile.

"Good night, Bella." she returned his gesture.

"Sleep well, Rychon." fleetingly he leaned down, placing a kiss on her cheek so softly she may have missed it, then he turned and left. Her hand came up to the skin touched by his lips, and smiled. It was warm, and the touch was true. She might have laughed, but decided not to, and rather returned into her chamber and closed the door. But the heat refused to fade, and she could hope again. She crossed the room, and set Veric on the dresser in front of the window before falling down on her bed, and waiting for sleep and the world faded away to return with the dawn, and with it the departure of their loved ones. After breaking their fast on sweet roasted grains with fruit, thick cream, honey and tea; they gathered in the outer bailey where the horses were ready and waiting. While the visitors reclaimed their assumed steeds after bidding their hosts farewell, Rychon, Berin and Berterin lingered with their families where the Head of the Order held his wife.

"I will return to you." he promised her yet again, and her arms tightened around him.

"You always do..." how many times had he left her side, and each time he came back. Then father greeted daughter, and sons greeted mothers.

"Stay safe. Look after one another." Claira whispered into Rychon's shoulder.

"We will." They held each other tightly for a moment longer, then he kissed her brow and left for his horse with Berin and his son following. He swung into the saddle easily, where a longsword awaited his hand in front of his left knee, then glanced at the group around them, and finally his eyes settled on Jon.

"Lead the way, your grace." he nodded, and they departed the burning mountain for a far off cold horizon while their family watched, and waited, and prayed...


	29. Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29 - THE KINDLING

Rychon looked up at the massive structure that he'd heard of only in tales. The great Wall that was their protection from the monsters beyond... and now that was exactly where they were going to find one. The journey was favourably uneventful, save for a brief encounter passing Moat Cailin where they were delayed. But a good deal of persuasion allowed them crossing, and further progress towards White Harbour, from where a handful of soldiers would travel down to King's Landing with the horses to await them there, and they continued on to Eastwatch by ship, hoping for better speed and time than would be allowed by travelling over the countryside. The company was pleasant, and much of what they did was rest when confined to the barge; but while Berin spoke and laughed and joked with the other members of the fellowship, he'd barely spoken directly to him, leaving him feeling pitiful that their kinship had crumbled so. But there was nothing to do, but give his best, hope, and wait, and endure whatever came. The sky was clouded, but it might have been noon or later whilst hues of blue and white glided on the ice that reached to the sky. A hand to his shoulder broke his reverie, and he looked at Renko at his side regarding him with calm grey eyes, his brown curls ruffled by the wind, and already he was covered under warm furs like the others. The air had become increasingly cold over the past few days as they neared the castle, but he only recently felt himself in the need for the thick furs. It might get even worse once they crossed into the frozen lands of always winter.

"Don't fret, my young lord. We'll be bound for home again, soon." he tried to comfort, but Rychon smiled.

"I know. I'm not worried." then he laughed.

"Compared to a battle, this should be easy." _I hope..._ then he glanced back at Berin, removing a bag and his sword from the skiff they'd used to come ashore while Berterin adjusted his clothing. But regardless of the tenuous exchanges, he was happy to have the imposing sentinel with him. He was grateful for both of them. Then Jon passed him towards the keep in the wall of ice, and they followed behind to find the castle occupied by many of the Freefolk men who now guarded it. Their burly ginger haired headman met them in the first hall, grinning with bright eyes.

"Well now, thought you'd have better business than comin' up here." he mentioned as Jon greeted him.

"We're going further, I'm afraid." he told, and Tormund stared at him.

"Further?" he then glanced at the others.

"You know what's out there. Know what happened at Hardhome. Then you gave your life to bring my people here, and now you want to go back?" he asked, and Rychon found himself curious. _Gave his life..?_

"It's not what I want, it's what we need." he returned, but the bear-like man was hardly swayed.

"What you need? You need to risk more-" Jon took his shoulder.

"I'll explain everything, my friend." he assured, and then the wildling's eyes regarded the rest of the group again.

"And you brought others, as well." Rychon stepped forward.

"We offered to help." he said, and suddenly the man smiled.

"Ah, course you did, lad." he extended a hand happily.

"I remember you." he mentioned, examining the features in front of him, but might have been unable to determine exactly from where.

"Yes, we fought together to retake Winterfell from the Boltons." he reminded, and the eyes lit up.

"That's the one! You took an arrow to your gut." Tormund recalled.

"Shoulder." Rychon corrected, and then glanced back at his people who stared at him. All but for Berterin. He hadn't told anyone but Bella; and now his mother would definitely hear of it.

"This is Tormund, leader of the Freefolk." he introduced, ushering them forward.

"You remember my friend, Berterin?" Rychon quickly directed, and then brought Berin and Renko forward to present them as well.

"And two of Mount Ardor's finest warriors, Berin and Renko." They shook hands, and Tormund seemed pleased as he looked over the newcomers.

"Good. We need strong arms." he said, and then turned back towards Jon and his company.

"Now, tell me about this madness that's befallen you." he said. They made their way to a small hall where Jon, Davos, Jorah, the youth of the king's company named Gendry, Tormund, Rychon, Berin and Berterin settled around a table, and debated on the waiting task, and Tormund sat baffled. Then he glanced at Davos.

"Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?" he directed, and the elderly man sighed.

"I've been failing at that job, of late." he muttered as Jon sniggered.

"How many queens are there, now?" Tormund asked.

"Two." Jon replied.

"And you need to convince the one with the dragons, or the one who fucks her brother?" the large man continued, forcing Gendry and the youngsters to stifle a snigger of their own as a silence followed.

"Both." Jon answered, then Tormund sat forward, seeming to mull over the situation.

"How many men did you bring?" he finally asked, and Jon glanced at the others. Along with his allies from the Corridor, they would number eight now, two still adolescents and another two beyond their fiftieth years.

"Not enough." he breathed.

"The big woman?" Tormund asked, and Jon smiled. He'd been besotted with Sansa's own protector for a good while. Then the headman looked away, seeming disappointed.

"We were hoping some of your men could help." Jorah mentioned, and Berin looked up to agree.

"We don't have any familiarity of the lands north of the Wall. Your knowledge will be invaluable, and we can only prepare ourselves properly with an understanding of what we're about to face out there." he explained.

"I'll be stayin' behind. I'm a liability out there, as you well know." Davos sighed, and Tormund looked at him.

"You are." he agreed easily, and then his eyes settled on Rychon and Berterin.

"The children might stay, too." he suggested, but Berterin sat forward.

"We're not children. We've fought in a battle before." he said, and Jorah smirked.

"One fight doesn't make you a man." he tried, but Rychon looked at him.

"Maybe not. But we came to help, and help we will. I will not sit here idly waiting in the cold." he told solidly.

"We can't take boys north of the Wall." Tormund continued, and suddenly Berin laughed softly.

"They're young, Tormund. But they're as brave and stubborn as any of your own men. You won't change their minds." he said, and the big man sighed before looking at Jon again.

"You really want to go out there, again?" he asked, and slowly Jon nodded. Then Tormund sat back, accepting the decision, and then his thoughts wandered for an instant.

"You're not the only ones." he then told, and stood to lead the group down to the castle dungeons.

"Our scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here." he explained as they neared a cell with four prisoners, light and cool wind spilling from a window open to the elements. Jon regarded the men, three hidden away in the shadows and another great man wrapped in a cloak lying on the bench staring at the wood and stones above him. His hair was long and tousled, a dark beard across his gaunt features, and the wounds left by fire over much of his right brow and cheek.

"You're the Hound. I saw you once, at Winterfell." Jon recognised him, and he slowly sat up.

"They want to go beyond the Wall, too." Tormund told, and a voice rose from inside the cell.

"We don't _want_ to go beyond the Wall, we _have_ to." one of the men corrected from where he sat against the wall, watching them with a single bright eye while the other was covered beneath a crude leather band. Then he leaned slightly back.

"Our lord told us that the great war has come-" he started to explain, but a voice cut him off.

"Don't trust him. Don't trust any of them." it was Gendry, coming forward out of the shadows with Berterin behind him.

"They're the Brotherhood. And the last thing their "lord" told them to do, was sell me to a red witch to be murdered!" Gendry told as he watched the prisoners, and they simply stared back. Surely, they did not expect to see him alive after that encounter.

"Thoros?" Jorah asked, and another figure emerged slowly out of the shadows.

"I hardly recognised you." the knight breathed, watching the gaunt figure in the corner huddled under his cloak, but the blue eyes lightened slightly as he smiled.

"Ser Jorah Mormont. They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself." he pardoned, and the big red haired man turned to stare at the knight beside him.

"You're a fucking Mormont! Like the last Lord Commander?" he directed as Jorah turned, and faced him fully.

"He was my father." he revealed, and the headman glared at him.

"He hunted us. Like animals!" Tormund told bitterly, but ser Jorah regarded him calmly.

"You returned the favour, as I recall." he reminded, and a moment of bitter silence hung between them before the figure at the far back of the cell rose slowly to his feet.

"My lord?" he took the hood from his head, and stared at Rychon as if he were looking at a ghost, or an idol, or some celestial being.

"Lord Raeghun, is that you?" he asked, his voice something between a whimper and a laugh, and suddenly Berin recognised him. He was haggard, aged a decade beyond his years, and his left cheek was hollow like flesh had been removed from it.

"Hilfert." never would he have imagined to find one of their own here. But a heat crept up his back as Rychon glared at the prisoner.

"What the-fuck are you doing here?" he suddenly demanded, and all other thoughts vanished at his harshness that was so unexpected. Gendry looked at him, taken aback by the noticeable warmth that emitted through the space with the young lord's voice.

"You know him, too?" he asked, and Berin returned his attention to the man watching them from the other side of the bars, still staring as if in a drunk dream.

"He's a sentinel-" he tried to explain.

" _Was_ a sentinel." Rychon corrected as he regarded the gaunt soldier, anger in his burning eyes.

"Rychon-" Berin tried softly.

"You were assumed dead, with the others! And here you are." he directed, and Hilfert slowly lowered his eyes; but then the man with the hidden eye smirked.

"Here we all are. At the edge of the world, at the same moment, heading in the same direction, for the same reason." he agreed, but ser Davos granted him a suspicious glance.

"Our reasons aren't your reasons." he told him, and then that prisoner stood and approached them.

"It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are. There's a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together, whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the lord of light-" he started, but the fearsome fighter known as 'The Hound' silenced him.

"For fuck sakes, will you shut your hole!" he complained, and his comrade glanced back as he looked at those in the hallway in front of the cell.

"Are we coming with you, or not?" he demanded, and Jorah looked at him.

"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" he asked curiously, and the slender man in the corner named Thoros started to raise himself as well.

"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell, waiting to die?" he asked, and Jon sighed.

"He's right. We're all on the same side." he agreed, and Gendry looked at him, his profound blue eyes almost hard with truculence.

"How can we be?" he asked as Jon regarded them men inside the cell. They came here with a purpose, it was true. And it could only help theirs.

"We're all breathing." he told. The cell was opened, and the Brotherhood given over to freedom. Some time later, with all prepared and their people sheltered by thick pelts and leather, the northern gate was opened and their party took their steps into the waning light of the frozen lands north of the Wall.

Bella slowly made her way up the winding steps to maester Adlyn's chamber. She'd been feeling odd for a number of days, with warmness and an uneasiness to her stomach which her mother quickly noticed and suggested that she come see him. Samantha had offered to come with her, but she declined rather wanting to be in his company alone. She entered his wide solar where they had spent a great deal of their childhood, crammed with cases and cases of books, cabinets and cabinets of tubs and bottles, and shelves upon shelves of items that he used daily in his alchemy. Roots and flowers grew from pots and planters, there were even vines growing along the wall through the window where a patch of moss clung to the south side of the stones, and for the first time snow had been falling for more than a morning outside the walls. The healer sat at his desk, mixing a balm in his hands.

"Good day, maester." she greeted, and he looked up with a warm smile.

"Lady Bella, come in. What may I do for you?" he invited, setting the balm aside as she approached.

"I'm feeling a bit queer, maester. I was hoping you could help." she told, and he motioned to the chairs by his little hearth.

"Certainly. What seems to be the concern, my lady?" he asked as they settled down, and she tried to explain the strange sensations of warmth and a tightness to her stomach as he listened.

"Might I examine you?" he asked, taking his pendulum from his sleeve, and she agreed. She gave her hand and he applied gentle pressure to her wrist below her thumb as the crystal swung above the leather with the sphere, then he replaced the pendulum and let the back of his hand rest against her brow, and softly felt along her throat behind the curve of her jaw for any swelling. He examined the base of her throat for discolourations and the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbows for rashes. Even the inside of her mouth revealed nothing. And while determining that she was slightly feverish, could find no other faults.

"Are you feeling anxious, perhaps?" he asked, and she slowly nodded after a moment.

"I suppose I might be. With my father and brothers gone..." she decided, but that may not have been the only reason. She'd heard the same kind of discussions among other girls from time to time, and once or twice heard mention the kind of remedy that could be used. Her bloom had not come when it was meant to, and dismally she'd hoped that it was simply delayed for couple of days, but she thought of it unwillingly often; and found herself conflicted. Then he nodded.

"Shall I propose a cup of tea?" he asked, glancing at the cabinet that stocked everything he required to create his range of remedies. Camomile tea, Peppermint tea, Ginger tea, Sage tea, Lemon tea, Passionflower tea...

"I have quite a selection, all offering relief." he proposed, but she sat silent for a long moment, just looking at the floor in front of her.

"Maester..." she started softly, not daring to meet his eyes. She clasped her hands together, and held them between her knees to keep them from shaking.

"Do you have any..." it was a difficult thing to ask for, and it left a bitter sting to her mouth. What would he think of her?

"Any moon tea?" she whispered, but when she looked up at him, there was no horror, no shock, no disgust. Just compassion, and understanding.

"I could make some for you, if you wish?" he agreed softly, and she felt like crying. She was frightened, and ashamed, and heartsick.

"I am sorry, to ask this of you." she whimpered, but then felt his withered hand gentle on her arm.

"I am here to help you, my lady. Not to judge you. But perhaps you might consider the Camomile, or Passionflower first." he suggested tenderly, but she looked down again, fighting the tears. Then she heard him sigh before he stood, shuffling over to his cabinet and opening the doors to search for the required items. She watched as he rummaged through the wares, taking a tub of honey. _Can I do this?_ A bottle of mint. _What would my family think? My mother, my father? Aunt Claira?_ A vial holding a herb with small, delicate flowers. _What would he do, if he knew?_ A small branch from a plant in one of the pots. _This will be Rychon's child..._ A twig with small purple flowers, resembling lavender. _No... No, I can't... I can't..._

"Wait." he paused, and looked back at her.

"I... I think I'll have the Passionflower tea, for now." she amended, and saw him smile.

"Very good." he proceeded to exchange some of the items for others as she sat waiting. Perhaps it was just anxiety and strain. She could reconsider the tea again later, if she needed to. But, it couldn't be now.

Their party trekked through the world north, where there was nothing but rock and ice and wind. The sun was low over the horizon, and dark clouds were starting to pull over them with the increasing winds. Through their own light discussions Rychon listened to the other exchanges that rose and fell as time went on. Gendry's questions on how the wildlings lived and kept themselves warm in this place that was always cold. Tormund's remembrance of their king beyond the wall. The Brotherhood's teasing of a youngster whom once wished to join them. At some point, Jon stood with ser Jorah, wishing to return the sword that once belonged to his family. But he declined, so the sword may stay in the light of honour and the hand of trueness. As they headed down a narrow trail to a flat expanse, Jon approached him.

"Rychon." he paused, and looked back at the King in the North.

"Your grace?" he smiled.

"Your mother is a fine woman." he mentioned, and Rychon nodded.

"She is. But, she's changed." he thought, and they continued down the trail.

"I suppose that time is to blame for that." Jon looked up at the horizon. The delicate lady he'd once recalled was now hard, and tough as nails.

"I apologise for what she said." Rychon breathed, but Jon still smiled. He respected her.

"I wasn't offended. She spoke an honest truth, and I understand why she said that. I might have reacted much the same way in her position." then he looked at him with half a laugh.

"I admire her. And with her position, it's necessary to be strong. It suits her well, though." he hailed, and Rychon shared his laugh. There was no anger in the words she'd said, not as much as there was sorrow. She didn't blame Jon for what happened, but it still tugged at her heart.

"It does." he agreed as they reached the base of the trail and crossed a flat expanse before starting up another incline where Ser Sandor Clegane needed to rectify some of his garments, and evidently there made a new friend in the ginger head leader of the Freefolk, whether he wanted it or not. And lord Berric Dondarrion, now the leader of the Brotherhood, declared that the wars of men were irrelevant, and that the only war that truly mattered was the battle for life against death; and that true warriors kept fighting for that victory until their last breath left their bodies even though they knew that outcome was inevitable at any rate. He tried to ignore Hilfert, who'd gathered the courage to speak with Renko and Berin, and even Berterin on an occasion or two. But he found he had nothing to say to him, the deserter who abandoned their order and his family. He'd been alive all this time, and yet he did not come back to them. There was no one who could wish for a better life than anyone could have in service of the burning mountain, and he discarded it with little thought to take up with a glorified band of raiders. As they continued to walk, listening to the voices around him that almost echoed off the ice, he looked up at the horizon where a darkness lay, wondering how long they would need to range like this before they found what they were looking for. It would be unlikely that they'd just come across one wandering on the flats alone. Had Falgon ever been here? He could have been. He'd been all over the known world at some time or another when he was still a sell sword, off fighting other men's battles for them, or keeping their cargo's safe, or watching over their properties. But it was a hollow existence, he'd once said. With nothing but moving from one place to the next, and trying to get there intact. He'd seen more wondrous things, and more death in that time than any of their soldiers ever would, and never knew any single man for more than a couple of years. But now he had a place and a purpose, one that overruled all others. And he was happy to do it, and so much more. Was he playing for her? His dear mother who was anything but an ordinary woman, and not just because of her mesmerising eyes or beautiful marbled hair. She'd always been a gentle and caring lady, but she's changed since he left for Pale Haven. She'd become strong, and held their lands and kept their people in both his and his father's absence. But, she'd suffered and it hardened her. Luckily, she didn't need to face it all alone. The Trentins were always there to offer their hands and shoulders. Their strength and comfort. Milla was always with her, just as Berin had always been with his father. But, even he couldn't bring him back, and still nothing was heard. No one ever sent demands, but there were strange rumours from time to time. All that he dismissed. He would never abandon them, he would never leave. They could only hope, and wait. The wind started to increase, howling over the ridges cast across this white countryside and he wondered if it was snowing back home. They'd had some meagre falls, but most was already melted by noon if the day was not completely overcast. But he counted them lucky, for the heat and comfort of the burning mountain. It wasn't just a name. What were they doing right now? Perhaps sitting in the warmth of the common room, creating pretty works with needle and thread, and sharing stories from around their country. Who would be marrying who before long? Which nobles were coming to court to sanction a favour? Which lords continued to offer their kin as suitors? To be quite honest, he never saw past the faces. Comely faces, homely faces... They were pleasant enough, but there was no feeling for them. Not one...

"Lord Raeghun..." he turned back to a figure behind him.

"It's Rychon." he corrected rather irately, and Hilfert glanced away.

"Of course... I'm sorry, you look exactly like him." he pardoned, and Rychon lightly scoffed.

"So I've been told." he continued to walk, taking note of those around him and the dismal song of the wind over the peaks in the distance.

"He was a good man." Hilfert continued, and he glanced at him again with a heat in his arms.

"Is there something you want?" he asked, sooner not wanting his company. The former sentinel paused, as if searching for words.

"No... Just..." then he sighed.

"I wasn't with your father when he died." he started, and the fire blazed into his chest.

"He didn't die." the flames were creeping their way into his face and stomach as he glanced at Berin, walking with Berterin just a few feet behind.

"Berin said he was taken by someone." he told, and then turned to continue up the trail. Others were talking too, their voices a murmur above the wind. But Hilfert followed.

"When he was taken, I was not with him. I was with those who stayed behind to hold Harrenhal." he explained while Rychon attempted to control his breath. The air leaving his lungs into the cold air seemed almost thicker than most.

"We were told that everyone was killed." he said.

"They were. Our soldiers were put to the sword, those who surrendered were hanged. The sentinels taken and tortured to death. I... I can't tell you all the horrors that happened there..." Hilfert told softly. It was a week of blood, screams and the deepest of the hells...

"Then why are you here?" Rychon asked.

"I was lucky to have escaped. One of the charwomen took a liking to me, and she helped me. She's likely dead now, too." he breathed, and Rychon paused.

"Why didn't you come back to Mount Ardor?" he asked, and the eyes met his. Deep and sunken and as close to death without being a corpse.

"I wanted to... gods know I wanted to. But, I had no horse, no armour, not even a dagger to defend myself. And they'd broken me so, I couldn't take down a hen with my fists. If I was found by the enemy, I would have been slaughtered like a damn feast calf." then he glanced down.

"Perhaps I should have died, with the others. They... they kept their honour until the very end..." he looked at a small group of men passing by.

"Lord Berric found me, destroyed and half dead in a stream close to the Trident. They took me in, tended to me as best they could. And I joined them. What else could I do?" Rychon shrugged.

"If that's the choice you made, best to live with it I suppose." he replied as he walked, half wishing that the man would stumble and fall so he could leave him behind. Nothing he said would change what happened. What he'd done.

"I probably will, and it will haunt me until the day I die. I just... I just needed you to know that." Hilfert sighed, and Rychon glanced at him.

"Know what?" then he looked up, at the horizon far in the distance where the darkness continued to sweep closer.

"That... if I could change all of it in a heartbeat, I would." Hilfert finally said.

"You want me to pardon you for deserting your charge? For deserting my family? You did what you did and it's done." Rychon told, and Hilfert nodded.

"I know. But, I needed to tell you, I'm sorry." he said. _Sorry that I found you, perhaps..._

"Good. Now go, your Brotherhood might have need of you." he dismissed him, and watched as the gaunt figure sullenly walked off to join Thoros several feet in front with the Hound. He breathed in deeply, hoping the icy air would cool his core; then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you remember what made your father a good ruler?" it was Berin beside him. He thought back to the many meetings in the Hollow, those he could remember. When his father spoke, it was like he was the only person in existence.

"Because he was sure of course. Resolute and unquestioned." he recalled. If he decreed that the fields would hold barley instead of corn it was so. Hells, if he decided the sky was grey it was so.

"That he was. But, there's one thing more." Berin agreed, and then his fingers softly tightened.

"He did not just speak. He listened." he reminded, and then continued on his way while Rychon stood. That was true. Everyone had their opportunity to speak before he did, and when it was him no one breathed a word unless asked a question or given an order. _I'm not my father... How could I ever be like him..?_

"It's getting colder." Berterin breathed as he passed, and Rychon looked up. It was. The clouds were churning in the sky, and white flakes began to fall to yet cover the world in their blanket again.

"Best to keep moving then. And stay together." Rychon decided, and they proceeded into the shadows of what might be a snowstorm waiting to devour them.

It was a cool afternoon at Mount Ardor, many members on their own business or visiting the village. Claira and Milla spent their time in the garden choosing flowers for their evening tables while the girls were in the common room, going about their embroidery. Falgon was the only other member with them here in the still lush green despite the cold, but it was good to have some distance from others. Claira looked at her friend, scanning the delicate red ringed petals of the carnations.

"Are you al right? You've been awfully quiet lately." Milla spared her a fleeting glance, but there was no glow in her eyes.

"I'm fine. I'm just thinking..." she breathed softly, and Claira drew a deep breath. Her thoughts weighed heavy on her.

"You're only quiet when you're troubled. It's hard to get you this..." she paused for a moment. _What would be the right word? Angry?_

"This uneasy." she decided.

"No, I'm not. There's nothing wrong with me, my friend." Milla insisted, feeling a sting to her throat as they continued down the garden path, but her silence was all too clear to their lady. It had become harder to hide from her, from those blue eyes that saw so clearly.

"My dear Milla. We've known each other since we were children. Do you truly think I would not see the cracks in your heart?" Claira tried to soothe her. _Please tell me? Let me help you..._ Then Milla turned back, a soft shimmer behind hardened green eyes.

"I can't tell you..." _I don't want to be pitied._ But it was hard to fight the tears.

"I already said... that it does not bother me. So, how can I still feel like this... and say that it does not bother me?" she asked, looking down to hide her eyes as a sour bile crept into her mouth, and the sting became a bitter choke in her throat. But Claira sighed. _Very well... I will not force you._

"I don't want to impose you. But you remain under my care, and your well-being is my responsibility as much as it is my direst concern. All of you." she assured, but then Milla looked up with a faint smile.

"I understand that. And I know you are always there for me. It's just... I'm afraid if I tell you, things will change. Maybe even everything..." she whispered as Claira started to turn. _And Berin will most likely kill him. And I will lose everyone I love... My best friend, my sweet boy, my daughter maybe... and my husband will be so mad at me for not telling him... And then I will be forced to go._ When she looked up, Claira sighed. But her frigid eyes held nothing but compassion.

"You are my family. No blood or fire or steel will change that. And I will protect my family, whatever the cost may be. If you do not trust me now, you might find it to do so someday. I will be here..." she continued to turn away from her. _It will be wiser, not to press her now. There is still much to deal with._ Suddenly a soft hand wrapped around her fingers.

"You're my sister, Claira. I will always trust you with all that I hold dear..." She felt hurt, it was painful not being able to share this weight with anyone, the tears all but a silent release for the torture. The gods only knew she wanted to, it would make her heart so much lighter. But of the outcome, that was something terrifying.

"I will speak with you, just..." _When we are secure, and alone... Where no one will hear..._ But the cool fingers rested on hers, gentle and soothing.

"Come, the servers are waiting for the flowers." Claira gently urged, and they selected a bouquet of lilies, roses and small delicate flowers for their tables, then headed inside to present them to the serving girls, after which the ladies retreated back into the halls of the castle. But instead of joining the girls in the common room, Claira led Milla to the lord's hall, offering a cup of tea. There were still chambermaids and charwomen busy on some of the chores, but Milla stood next to the table as Claira passed her.

"You may return to your chores tomorrow." she announced, and without question they acknowledged her and left from the hall, where Falgon took his post at the doorway. She glanced up at him.

"Please see that we are not disturbed until given other instructions." she told, and he bowed his head.

"Certainly, your grace." then she sighed, and pushed the heavy door closed before coming back to Milla.

"We can have some tea, and I do believe we missed our prayers this morning." she suggested, and headed over to a smaller table nearer the doors open to the balcony, a fresh pot brought up this afternoon. She'd been keeping more tea in the lord's wing now that it was colder.

"As you wish, my lady." Milla agreed, and Claira proceeded to pour the steaming liquid into the waiting cups, using straws to mix honey into the contents before offering one to Milla, and settling down on the divan with the other in her own hands, and Milla joined her, staring at the cup in her hands.

"It's been three weeks since they left..." she breathed, and Claira nodded staring at the flames.

"They'll come back to us. They're strong, they're resilient, they're clever... and they're together. They'll come back." she assured. _He promised me he would... He promised..._ She reminded herself of that constantly. They finished the tea, mostly in silence before making their way to the fountain where they prayed for their family's safe return. They did this morning, but sometimes it was a comfort to come back and beseech the gods favour again. Milla's prayer though, seemed longer as Claira waited for her, and they finally took a seat on the small bench beneath a tree, reluctant to leave the safety of the lord's sanctuary. This was a comforting place, shielded and always warm. A while later, immersed in this place, Milla released a tense breath, her hands together in front of her.

"Claira..." she started, soft and slow. _I can talk to her... I can..._ Then she looked up. _I have to..._

"What happened..." but which words were right? The past few weeks had been unexpected, and difficult. The situation between the children was a strain, and then the men left, and now this as well...

"Bella came to me." she breathed, and Claira nodded.

"She would, of course..." but in her heart, she felt dismayed. _About what? I hope she isn't planning to go to Bristlemane, after all..._

"She had some uneasiness to her stomach, and warmness... She has not come to me since she went to see the maester." she started softly, feeling cheerless and worried. But Claira seemed calm.

"You suspect there may be more to this?" she asked, and Milla slowly nodded.

"I think so. Perhaps... I may be wrong, but... What if it is? What will happen?" she asked, hiding the desperation. _Everything will change._

"I see." she drew a breath, but did not seem to be upset.

"If it is so, then it will happen. And we will live..." she said calmly as Milla stared at her. Unfortunate as the circumstances were, a new life was a blessing. Then she looked at her friend, the clear green eyes still anxious.

"What are you afraid of, Milla?" she asked tenderly, and she looked away.

"I did not suspect this so soon... I'm afraid that Berin will never forgive Rychon for this when things are already this uneasy." she took a moment, and then breathed out.

"But, I will never forsake my daughter. I will support her no matter the outcome. If this is the way things are, then so be it." she determined.

"And of Berin's reaction to Bella being with child, I assume?" Claira added softly.

"He might not forgive her, either. He won't repudiate them, but he will hold on to that anger in his heart... and things will change." she whispered, but then could find it to smile.

"I know that Rychon will not stand idly by to see her struggle, he will do what he believes is right. I... I'm sorry my friend..." she whimpered,

"Berin will never shun a child, much less his own blood. But if it comes to such, I will send Bella to Pale Haven or Hightower to have her baby." Claira proposed, and Milla shot back stunned.

"Not alone, of course. Stephanie will remain at her side, and Petyr will go as her protector." she added, and Milla breathed out with a half relieved sigh.

"I know Berin won't shun his blood, I just thought of how he reacted to what happened, he won't take this lightly... I'm grateful for the suggestion and all of your support." For a moment she seemed to be favourable to that notion.

"What will we tell people, of where she is?" she asked, and Claira smiled.

"I don't see why it should be anyone else's concern where she goes to learn. But, in such case, she is visiting to refine her court." she decided, and Milla nodded. The uneasiness was leaving her, finally.

"Very well. And after? After she had the baby, what will happen then? And if Rychon finds out that we sent Bella away and he won't know his own child, he's like to murder us." she mentioned, but Claira laughed softly.

"Bella won't stay elsewhere, so he will know his child, have no doubt. Our grandchildren will grow up here, regardless of anything else." she insisted, _And gods forbid if I must take the child into my own care, I will..._ Finally, Milla smiled. The relief driving the darkness from her clear green eyes.

"So, are you mad at what happened?" she asked, and Claira rested against the back of the bench.

"No. No, I'm not mad. It came as a shock when Falgon told me, I won't deny it." she confessed, and Milla again seemed aghast.

"He knows?" but Claira regarded her calmly.

"He knows. Rychon spoke with him, rather than to approach me directly." she looked up at the sky.

"Just as Bella revealed this to you, rather than directly to her father." she breathed in deep.

"A daughter is her father's joy, as much as a son is his mother's pride. And while Falgon is not Rychon's father, he might have felt much the same. To confide in someone they trusted." she told, and Milla looked away. _A daughter is her father's joy, as much as a son is his mother's pride..._ The Grey Tom had said that.

"But..." Claira continued as Milla's attention came back to her, she just stared at the space in front of her, her blue eyes soft.

"With everything we've lost... All of us... Won't a new smile, a new laugh..." then she looked at Milla.

"A new life, be something wonderful?" she asked, and Milla nodded. They'd suffered losses, all of them. It had been a long time since they truly gained; and this may indeed be a sudden comfort sent by the gods.

"It will. And truth be told, I have thought of it as well. It will be grand if she is... Not just to you, or to me. For everyone." she agreed.

"Whatever happens, we will face it together. But we will do so when the time comes." Claira reassured her, and she nodded.

"Yes. Yes, we will." then she laughed softly.

"Thank you Claira, I needed this. I feel so much better now." she sighed, and felt Claira's hand on hers.

"Good. I am relieved to hear that. And I hope you don't feel like you must hide anything from me again." she gently teased her friend.

"No, I won't. I will speak with you." she promised.

They made their way up an incline, shuffling along the icy slopes as Rychon thought back over the past day, or perhaps it was night. He wasn't quite sure. His arm still emitted a burning throb, but at least the bleeding had stopped. He looked back at Berin, his son walking by his side. He was walking slowly, and had difficulty breathing for a time, but at least that seemed better now. Thoros of Myr had the worst of it, as he ambled along next to Jorah who'd offered him a hand. Their party was considerably smaller now... The storm swept over them, and they decided to press on rather than sitting in the snow waiting for it to pass. In the blizzard with one of their members wandering on ahead of the party, Tormund pointed as they spied a shadow in the distance, something big and hulking.

"A bear." Jorah Mormont had identified it as they stared at the figure, and the Hound briefly commented on how big the creature was.

"Do bears have blue eyes?" Gendry had asked. No. They didn't. Their eyes were black, or brown, as it happens. Then came the attack as the scout ran back and weapons were drawn. The beast snatched him away, and vanished into the swirl of flakes and shadows even as Jon ran to try and help him, nothing left but a discarded spear and several smears of blood on the snow. They huddled together, circled backs-to-backs, swords and spears and axes and hammers waiting for it to appear again. Then a sudden scream cut the howl of the storm, and a great snow bear fell upon them with a fury not known to the living, with eyes burning blue like the stars. If not for the holes that exposed the ribs and lungs and guts, they might not have seen it at all. They'd lost at least three companions, and many were injured as the monster swiped and gnarled and snapped at them wildly. Jon himself was struck away when he slammed his sword "Long Claw" into the beast's back, landing on dirt and snow several feet away. The Brotherhood summoned flames from their swords, and advanced to meet the enraged animal along with himself and his company. It snarled at them, more a scream than a roar as steel dug into flesh. It clawed at them, groping and biting and growling, and as a massive paw came down the rotten claws tore through the fur and wool and skin on his right arm. Berin took a hit to his chest, and another member was thrown savagely through the air, crashing down on the snow where he lay still. A strike from lord Berric's longsword set the bear alight, but for all their effort the slashing steel only seemed to anger the bear rather than injure it. It stood, the icy eyes fixed on ser Sandor, letting out a shuttering scream as he stared back, seeming for a moment to have lost all thought of where he was. It lunged forward to tear the life out of him, but brave Thoros of Myr stepped in front of it, and was knocked to the ground as jagged teeth clamped down on the burning blade, trying to force their way through to flesh. Tormund struck at the bear with his axe, but again infuriated the monster swatted him away with a savage snarl before returning its attention back to Thoros, and continued to battle its way through the sword as the man struggled to keep the jaws from his skin. Then it suddenly tore the weapon from his hands and flung it aside, finally sinking its teeth into the priest's chest, furiously shaking for a better grip as he screamed. He cringed, he'd never heard sounds like that, and for a moment hoped he would never hear them again. In that moment, perhaps mad or possessed he flung himself forward driving his own sword deep into the putrid gut; but it was not before Jorah Mormont of Bear Island plunged a dagger of dragon glass into the beast's back that it fell, and Thoros was dragged away, leaving the burning corpse to wither in the snow. Once at a safe distance and sure the monster would not rise again, they examined the priest, and the carnage that was his chest. Ripped to shreds and full of deep puncture wounds, Jorah had urged to return to Eastwatch to treat the injuries, but the priest refused. So, falling to what they had they gave him wine to drink before dousing the tears and holes, and Berric cauterized the lesions with his blade. But for all the horror of that, he found the power to jape about being "bit by a dead bear". It was a sour joke, but they hauled him up and pressed forth, following the prints left by the creature, and mercifully some while later the winds and the snow calmed, allowing them a lighter sky. Then he paused, waiting for Berin and Berterin on the incline.

"How are you faring?" he asked as they neared, and Berin looked up.

"Better now, that the air has cleared." he breathed, and Rychon nodded. Had the bear struck him any harder than it did, it might as damn well near stopped his heart.

"And your arm?" he returned, and Rychon glanced down.

"It doesn't hurt any more. I'll be al right." he lied, and they continued. Just up the slope, they could hear Jorah asking Thoros about the siege on Pyke, to which he replied that he scarcely remembered anything at all, and that others had told him what had happened there later. He was becoming weaker as time went by, and even struggled with the wineskin he always kept on him. Jorah admired him, saying that he'd thought Thoros of Myr was the bravest man he'd ever seen, to which the priest modestly replied that he may simply have been the drunkest as he continued on. But no. He was brave, even if he did not see it himself. He'd proven as much several times. At the front of their column, Tormund stopped raising his hand and silence fell over them. There were other sounds, the thud of something hard on stone and snow, and the clang of steel. Someone else was out there, and it sent a lash of warmth up his spine. He could see Tormund and Jon silently creep forward for a view over the ridge at the trail below where the sounds were emitting from. There was a brief exchange, and they hurried back to the group soundlessly.

"We saw a party of wights heading down the path." Jon told, glancing at Tormund.

"The trail heads to a stream flowing by the south bank. We could ambush them there." he suggested.

"We can't just fling ourselves at them. If they're patrolling it means they're alert. They could hear us coming a league off." Berin cautioned, and Jorah stared at him.

"What do you propose?" he asked, and he took a moment for thought.

"We need to confuse them, flaw their attention, even for just a moment. We might have an advantage then." he offered. But the dead, did not think like the living. Did not react like the living. Honestly, who could know what they were capable of or what not? There was another stretch of silence, and then Jon turned to Gendry.

"Gendry, you and Berterin head down the hill. Build a fire at the trail and hide yourself. Be quick, and be quiet." he instructed, and they nodded before rushing off ahead as the remainder of the party followed. While they concealed themselves the youngsters cleared a patch in the snow before throwing discarded twigs and roots together, struggling with the stones the sounds were nearing down the path, and at the last instant as they heard the clamouring off the stones, a small spark was grabbed by the wood and it took fire eagerly, then they ducked away behind stones and mounds of dirt and snow. Just a short while later the lazy footsteps could be heard clearly over the ground as the group straggled by. Rychon felt his heart pounding against his ribs, the sounds around him all but drowned out. Then there was silence as the group stopped, their attention caught by the burning fire. He glanced at Jon several feet away, peering carefully over the stones where he hid. And then at Berin and Renko to his right, waiting for the signal. He breathed in deep, the cool air filling his lungs as his muscles grew warm. _Just one... We only need one... The others don't matter..._ his hand tightened around the grip of his sword. Then they sprang on them, fortunate that they did seem to be confused for a moment. With blades drawn and burning and voices churning the air into turmoil they fell upon them hard and hysterically. The creatures defended themselves, and they found that they were stronger than what their figures would suggest. Jon himself battled against what would be called a White Walker, skin pale as ice with long snow white hair and shining blue eyes. Hammers crushed bone, blades cut through wasted flesh, spears pierced organs that were no longer of any use and axes split the bodies asunder. Jorah had lost his dagger, and struggled with a wight's strength around his throat as Rychon cut down a creature charging him, intent to reach him before the life was drawn from the knight's body. But as he turned, something curled around his ankle and on the unsteady snow he slipped and fell, his head slamming onto the ground. Dazed, he looked up at a shadow above him ready to strike a rusted axe into his chest. But instead, the gleaming tip of a sword burst through its gut, and tore the chest from the legs and Berterin stood behind it. He reached down, and Rychon took his hand as he hauled him back to his feet. Then a strange sound rang off the stones, a dismal steely song like a frozen bell the moment before Jon Snow's blade cut through the body of his foe, and all the other corpses fell, crumbling to dust on the snow. All but for one. It stood there, snarling and screeching at them as their group circled it. Grey, decaying skin patched a once lengthened face and wisps of pale curls clung to what was left on the unexposed skull. The blue eyes regarded them, but strangely it did not attack, yet. It stared at them, like it was afraid. Hilfert moved forward, shoving the creature with a spear held in his hands, forcing it forward. Then Tormund discarded his axe, and the wight charged at him. With a single hard blow he knocked the creature to the ground where it sprawled under the weight of ser Sandor while Gendry, Jorah, the Brotherhood and Berin tried to hold it down. For something foul and decomposing, it was unnaturally strong. Suddenly it let out a wail, high and piercing and agonizingly loud, echoing off the stones and down the pass where they'd come through. Sandor clasped his hand over the gaping mouth to drown out the sound, but the force ripped flesh from the mouth. He grunted in disgust as he flicked the mess from his hand, and again attempted to silence the creature as Jon stood listening. Rychon joined him while the others continued to subdue the dead soldier, binding its hands and legs together while Tormund sent the toe of his boot into its side a couple of times.

"I thought there would be more." Rychon breathed softly, watching as Jon examined the distances.

"There are more." he whispered.

"Is something wrong?" Rychon whispered, not sure why he did so. And then it struck him. There were more sounds, and it wasn't coming from their group. It was still distant, but it was clear. The sound of a mass heading their way, the sound of thousands of feet. Jon looked back, Tormund and Jorah had looked up at him, they could hear it too. Jorah quickly pulled a bag from his furs and pulled it over the creature's head while others used more rope to bind it securely. They got to their feet, and Jon came back to the group with Rychon, giving his attention to Gendry after considering the paths available to them and their group gathered, the creature carried on Sandor's shoulder.

"Run back to Eastwatch! Get a raven to Daenerys, tell her what's happened!" he ordered, but Gendry shook his head.

"I'm not leaving you." he refused.

"You're the fastest! Go, now!" he glanced at Berterin, whom he might have expected to come with him, but the boy was evidently of no mind to leave his father behind. Reluctantly he turned, choosing the quickest path back to the Wall castle while the group chose another. Suddenly, Tormund grabbed hold of the hammer held in his hand.

"You'll go faster without the hammer! Give it!" he told, and again he was reluctant.

"Give it!" Tormund ordered, and with that he let go and sprinted away. And while he made his way south-west, they headed east through a pass, hoping to mislead the mass that would now pursue them. On the other side, they came upon what seemed to be a lake with a tiny island in its centre, yelling to those behind to quicken their pace to keep up, hoping to have a better defensible position from its height. But as they stepped onto the lake, the ice cracked beneath their weight.

"Stop!" Jorah cried and they paused, the ice snapping and splitting beneath their feet. Jon glanced back through the pass behind them, where a black mass flooded towards them. Thousands of undead stormed through, angry and ravenous.

"Go!" he ordered, and they ran again heedless of the splintering ice beneath them, heading for the island. Runners rounded the lake intent on cutting off their escape. Someone fell, and Renko quickly pulled him up to run again, but the wights were closing the distance between them. From the vantage of the stones in the lake, the members scanned the world around them, the fact that they were being surrounded all too real.

"Faster!" Renko ordered the straggling member as they bound forward, but the fall must have limped him. Three creatures grabbed for him, their bony hands catching onto fur and leather and he fell again. The force shattered the ice and they fell through, each broken shard dragging another with it finally forming a destroyed circle of frigid water around them as scores of corpses vanished from sight and sank to the bottom of the lake. Renko reached the group, clambering up the stones to join the party and Jon breathed, and breathed, and breathed again. While the ice was broken they could not be reached by the damned, and he watched as the ring formed a solid wall of black bodies with blue eyes watching them. They would be safe for now, but it would only last so long. Silently he prayed, and hoped that Gendry would reach the castle soon, and the raven would reach Dragonstone before they ran out of time. All they could do now was wait as darkness slowly closed over them. Several members took watch while the others huddled together for warmth, and exchanged positions as they waited out what must have been night as the creature still squirmed and screeched behind them on the stones. But by morning, nothing had changed as members struggled to their feet. The ring of death was still around them, still watching. Sandor sent yet another blow of his boot into the wight's side, releasing an irritated wail from the creature which seemed to rile the others, and they listened as the angry voices emitted from all around them. Berric knelt down to wake his friend.

"Thoros?" but no, their group had grown even smaller yet. Thoros of Myr lay silent on the snow, his skin bereft of colour and his eyes open to the sky just the way he had been watching the stars, likely having succumbed to his wounds when the cold hands of the Stranger came for him in the darkness. There were no words, no tears, but hearts grieved. Sandor knelt as well, and sighed.

"They say that it's one of the better ways to go." he tried to comfort. It was a kinder death than most people faced, but if it was a comfort, it was a small one. Then he pulled the wineskin from the body, removed the cap and drank.

"Lord of light..." Berric started, folding his friend's hands over his chest.

"Show us the way. Come to us in our darkness and lead your servant into the light." Berric prayed. Jon took the wineskin from Sandor, and then looked at the others.

"We have to burn his body." he told, and then emptied what remained in the wineskin over the corpse.

"We'll all be close behind him, unless the lord of light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire." Tormund hinted, and Berric glanced at him. He drew the sword from his side, and summoned flames from the steel; then touched the blade to the soaked furs.

"Lord of light, come to us in our darkness. For the night is dark, and full of terrors..." he again prayed as they watched the body burn. Jon made his way down to the edge of the island where Rychon, Berin and Berterin were standing watch, then Jorah followed, taking a place next to him.

"We'll all freeze, soon." Jorah softly breathed, and then looked at Jon.

"When you killed the White Walker, almost all the dead that followed it fell. Why?" it was a curious thing.

"Maybe he was the one that turned them." Jon supposed, and Jorah nodded as a thought sparked in his head.

"We could go for the walkers." he suggested, ten White Walkers would be easier to deal with than ten thousand soldiers.

"Maybe we'll stand a chance." Rychon regarded the mass around them.

"We can't risk it. There are too many" he said, and Jon agreed.

"No, we can't. We need to take that thing back with us." he reminded, and Berric also slowly joined them, watching the soldiers around them.

"There's a raven flying for Dragonstone now. Daenerys is our only chance." Jon told, hoping that she might make it sooner rather than later.

"No, there's another." Berric suddenly said, his eye fixed on a figure high on the hill mounted on a withered steed, his blue eyes gazing down from a ragged face, small spines of ice protruding from his scalp much like a frozen crown. Then he brought his sword up and pointed.

"Kill him." he motioned towards the king himself, and Jon looked up at the monster he had hoped not to see again.

"He turned them all." Berric told, but Berin scoffed.

"With thousands of his soldiers around us, how do you propose we get to him? Ask for a fucking personal audience?" he mocked, and Jon shook his head.

"You don't understand..." Jon breathed, but how could anyone truly understand? Berric disregarded Berin's statement, and glanced at Jon.

"The lord brought you back. He brought me back. No one else, just us." Sandor joined them on the edge of the island as well.

"Did he do it to watch us freeze to death?" Berric asked, and though there was sense in the question there was none in the situation they found themselves in.

"Careful, Berric. You lost your priest. This is your last life." The Hound warned.

"I've been waiting for the end for a long time. Maybe the lord brought me here to find it." Berric decided, but the Hound did not seem convinced.

"Every lord I've ever met has been a cunt. Don't see why the lord of light should be any different." he complained again. Then Berterin turned, bringing his eyes away from the still masses.

"They haven't moved. I suggest that we do the same, for now." he told, and with little options available, and lacking the strength to fight their way free or the wings to fly, that was agreed to.

Bella stood at her window, looking up at the stars that were bright in a cloudless sky. It had been a long cold day, but she still felt warm. She'd seen maester Adlyn once more, but again asked for Camomile tea to calm her nerves. He'd asked her if she'd experienced any sensitivity to her breasts, or nausea. But no. It was just the heat, and the tightness. Recently, she'd developed an odd habit of rubbing her stomach when she was alone, which was both comforting and irritating at the same time. She huffed, suddenly realizing that she was doing it right now. _Stop that, you ninny!_ She forced her hands away from her to rest on the stone of the window, and returned her eyes to the stars wondering where they were and what they were doing, while somewhere in the distance a white streak split the black night sky. _Could they see that, too..?_ Were they cold? Where they hungry? At least, they won't be lonely. She missed them, her father and brother... and her friend, however much she wanted to deny it. To her right, she could see lights flickering in the windows of the barracks, once in a while the shadow of a guard would pass through the light, either coming from or going to their rounds on the midnight exchange. Below her was a small vacant stone courtyard used by the guards lighted with a few torches, ringed with the curtain wall on the cliff side. Beyond that was the ocean separating the keep from the continent, then woodlands and the lands that spanned to the horizon, and Renko's family was in the village waiting for a husband and father to return. His wife was a kind homely woman called Braya who tended one of the stalls in the village centre selling meat for the farmers. She came to the castle frequently to see her husband, oft bringing the children with her. Three girls and two boys, spirited and boisterous, but not altogether unruly, and lady Claira seemed to enjoy them. And how they loved her, the girls especially bewitched by her hair. But, she found a special kind of joy in little Hazel and Ricket. She was grim with Rychon away, all could see. It was a cruel thing for her to feel so alone despite those around her. He was all she had. The only blood that was hers... But then again, he might not be. She looked at the moon high in their sky, it had already turned. Then a knock at her door drew her attention and she looked back startled, thinking she dreamed it. It sounded again, louder. _Who in the world..?_ and she rushed forward to open the door, finding a familiar face waiting on the other side.

"Devan? What are you doing here?" she asked as he quickly slipped inside and closed the wood behind him.

"How did you get here?" she again asked. Since their lords left, guards were posted at the entrances of the wings; then she looked down at his bare feet.

"Watt's asleep, so I slipped past him. It's quieter without soles on your feet." he teased, and she shook her head.

"You... You shouldn't-" he seized her hands, and then smiled.

"It's al right, Bella. I know. And I forgive you." he told, but she felt utterly baffled beyond words.

"I know what happened wasn't my fault, and that you feel terrible. That whatever argument you and 'lord ass' had, shouldn't have been directed at me." _Don't call him that!_ She wanted to yell at him, but then his hands tightened around hers.

"But, I'll let you be with me again." he announced, but still she struggled with her words.

"Will let me be with you?" truth be told, she hadn't thought much about him since that day. He led her to the bed where they sat down.

"Yes. You're miserable without me, everyone can see it." then he laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder.

"Devan..." _It's not you..._ she wanted to tell him, but the touch was almost comforting.

"Many told me not to; that I should just leave you be. But, I don't want to see you this grim all the time." he told, and she looked down. Maybe he was right. She'd been despondent, and terse. And maybe, he wasn't deserving of her scorn. Maybe... he could bring her away from all of that. He was right. It wasn't his fault.

"Thank you..." she whispered, and he took her face in his hands.

"It will be al right. We'll be al right, you'll see." he assured her, but somehow she had difficulty believing that.

"I... I don't know, Devan. Do you really think so?" but then he smiled gain, confident as he always was.

"I love you. Isn't that enough?" he asked, and she glanced down.

"It... I just don't want to be disappointed..." she said softly, _Again..._ Did he ever think of her? She heard him softly scoff, and looked up at his smirking face. It was a handsome face with grey eyes and dark burgundy hair, strong and defined.

"Now why do you think I would do that to you?" he grinned, and then pulled her forward to meet her mouth with his. His kiss was demanding, as it always had been; their time apart had not lessened his fervency. There was little gentleness in him... Then she pulled back, just to allow herself a breath. For all that he was, Devan was a skilled fighter and had a sturdy mind, as well as a fine singing voice she may confess. He knew what he wanted to accomplish, he'd spoken of such things many times. She could be al right with him, in the end.

"I'm sorry. And I did miss you." she confessed, and he leaned closer.

"I know you did." he softly laughed,

"And from now on, you will stay close to me." he told, and then she moved forward to kiss him, her tender touch lost as he returned it eagerly. His right hand moved into her hair, while the left slid around her side and pulled her roughly closer, his tongue starting to move in between her lips. _What does it matter..?_ Her arms coiled around his neck as he pulled at the ribbon holding her white night gown to her body. _Why should I care..?_ She felt the fabric slide away, revealing her skin as his kiss deepened still, she yielded at last to the hunger of his starved lust. _My father's not here..._ His hands were everywhere, her back, her breasts, her thighs, and his mouth to her neck as she gasped. _My brothers aren't here..._ Suddenly he took her from the bed and set her down on the edge of the dresser, her hands holding his neck while one hand adjusted what remained of her garment and the other loosed his own. _He's not here..._ Then he seized her again, his kiss smothering her and his freed hand bringing her closer to his excited desire. _I'm ruined, besides..._ She could feel him, warm and thirsty to the skin of her thighs. _Why would it be any different..?_ Suddenly she gasped, an explosion of warmth flooding her body from her stomach into her limbs and cheeks, and she looked at him.

"No, wait!" she called, almost begged, and he stared at her, visibly disappointed.

"Please, please wait..." she pleaded, and he moved slightly back.

"For what? There's no one here." he moved forward to kiss her again, trying to continue but she pushed him gently away.

"Please, I can't. Not now..." she said, and he moved back.

"Bella..." he breathed and she looked away. _I can't tell you why..._ Then there were footsteps in the hallway, and a knock to her door as her heart froze.

"Hide!" he ducked away, and she stood from the dresser pulling her gown to the way it was, and the knock came again.

"Just a moment..." she answered, retying the ribbon and rectifying her hair. But the knock came again.

"Enter." the door slowly opened, and a familiar face cautiously peered inside.

"Are you al right?" it was her mother, and she smiled. Relief washing the heat away.

"I'm fine." she replied as Milla stepped inside.

"I heard voices." she noted, and Bella glanced back.

"Oh, that? I was... speaking with Veric." she quickly told, indicating the knight on her dresser. Milla smiled as she approached, taking in the fine carving.

"I see. It is rather lonely without them, isn't it?" she agreed, and Bella sighed.

"It is. But, they'll come home soon, wont they?" Milla nodded.

"They will, my sweet." then she turned towards her again.

"It's past midnight, you should be asleep." she told, and Bella thought for a moment.

"I was watching the stars for a while, wondering where they are. I won't stay up much longer." she promised, and Milla gently took her hands in hers.

"Very well. Good night, my Bella." she leaned forward, and gently kissed her brow.

"Sleep well, mother." she replied, and watched her mother leave her chamber, closing the door behind her. She felt suddenly tired, her heart racing through every vein. Then she heard Devan haul himself from under the bed, and they laughed as he came to his feet.

"That could have gone worse." he joked, and she nodded.

"Count yourself fortunate that it was my mother, and not ser Falgon. He would have dragged you from your hiding place and flung you from my window." she told. He'd been known to round the halls of the castle sporadically himself.

"Indeed. He scares me." Devan confessed, and she sniggered.

"He should. Silent men, like silent waters, are deep and dangerous." she warned him, _He's a deadly man, for all his patience..._ and he sighed.

"We should both get to rest, I'll meet you tomorrow." she suggested, and he nodded slowly.

"As you insist, my lady." then he kissed her again, and blessedly left without further argument. She looked back at the carving on her dresser, taking in all the fine details. _Was it you..?_ She came closer to admire him again, but then stared in astonishment. The dark spheres on the horse's flanks which she had thought was simply blotches on the wood, was the Taugere sigil. Expertly branded into the timber with a hot needle. Then she smiled again, hidden in her secrecy. _If_ _by chance_ _I am with child, I would rather know that it is his..._

Rychon took account of his company as best he could, although his mind wandered frequently, and deliberately back home to his family... Perhaps more than most, to his best friend. They'd been here for days, he couldn't tell exactly how many as the watch was often exchanged. The provisions in the bags all but spent, they would not last much longer. He pitied the other members of their party, being made to suffer the cold while his own blood kept him warm and safe from this utterly inhospitable air. Then slowly approached Berin, standing watch on the edge of the lake as the dead continued to watch back, still not having moved at all from where they were. It was difficult not to wonder, what were they waiting for? Were they waiting for them to move first, or waiting for them to freeze, or starve to death? Who could say?

"How are you doing?" he asked, and Berin glanced back, bits of frost clinging to his hair and his arms crossed over his chest to conserve what heat he had.

"I'll be fine. We're just used to warmer days, than here." he assured, and to the lordling's relief there was no quiver to the sentinel's voice.

"Al right. If you need anything-" he started, but Berin smiled lightly.

"Don't worry about me, my lord." he told resiliently, and Rychon nodded. Then he turned and headed up the stones to his friend, where he was sitting against a small rise, huddled up in the cold. He'd been sitting there since before what might have been dawn.

"Berterin." he knelt next to him, taking his shoulder and a shard of ice was driven deep into his core. The youngster was pale and shivering, and his lips were turning blue. _Oh, fuck!_ _No... No, no, no! This can't be happening!_ For that instant his mind did not respond, then he snatched his hand and pulled.

"Come on, get up!" he ordered, hauling Berterin to his feet.

"I'm... I'm cold..." he managed, and Rychon held him tightly to his chest, trying desperately to pass his warmth to his friend, but the winds were blowing cold.

"I know." he told as he stroked his arms and back, then he looked away, to the men keeping watch.

"Lord Berin!" he called, perhaps it was the tone of his voice that made the sentinel whip around and rush up to them. The sight of his son left the lord shocked for half a heartbeat.

"Oh, fuck it." his first thought was to rip the furs from his own body and drape it over the boy as Rychon continued to rub at his back and arms while he shuddered uncontrollably. But as he fumbled with the straps, Rychon's eyes met his.

"Don't be stupid!" he snapped at him, and his hands came away, knowing it would be of little help in any instance. Then Berin looked up at two others.

"Renko! Hilfert! Get your asses over here!" he ordered, and they rushed up to them to receive their bidding, irrespective of which order they belonged to.

"Shield him." Rychon told, with Berin to his son's right side, Renko - the taller of the two took a position behind the lordling while Hilfert stood to his left to ward off the wind. Sensing their distress, Jon suddenly appeared.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and Berin glanced at him. His deep green eyes distraught.

"Berterin is sick." he breathed, knowing there was nothing they could do. They were miles from a maester, their wares spent and no means for a fire. It seemed all but hopeless.

"I'm... I'm sorry... Rychon..." Berterin whispered through his ragged breaths.

"Don't worry. You're going to be al right. I'm going to get you home." he promised, but all he could do was pray. _Please, gods_ _... Please help me. Please. Please help me save him... Please..._ others took up the watch as time dragged by agonizingly slowly and their small group stood huddled close together to protect an ailing member while the phoenix core of their heir warmed him. Jon and Tormund continued to round the island, every so often returning to the group to offer a hand. Their intentions were kind, but with no means, there was nothing that could be done. The best option was to shelter Berterin from the cold air while Rychon continued to hold him, sharing his warmth. Some time later, he started to sway, and twice his weight dropped and they had to pull him back up to his feet.

"Berterin?" Rychon called for his attention, and in a whisper he mumbled something back. He was starting to lose conciousness in brief instances.

"It's getting worse." Berin breathed, forcing his voice to come through hard to hide the desperation. Rychon shook his friend slightly.

"Come on, look at me!" he ordered, and the face slowly lifted, revealing lips that were now a purplish blue.

"What's my name?" he asked, and Berterin's face slowly lowered.

"R... R... Rye..." he tried, but the name faded into a mumble.

"My full name! Full name, Berterin!" Rychon demanded, again shaking his friend to bring him back. He felt like slapping him, but that would not serve.

"R... Rye... Rychon... Tau... Taugere..." he tried again, a bit louder this time and Rychon smiled.

"Good." he praised, but then felt Berterin slump again slightly, and once more he shook him gently. They couldn't let him go to sleep, it was one he would never wake from, and the anguish burnt like the sun in the western sky.

"Come on, Bertie!" he called, and the face lifted again.

"It... It's... Berterin..." he corrected, revealing clouded eyes, but he was alert at least.

"Good." Rychon again praised, continuing his efforts to warm him, and battering him with questions to keep his mind active. Berin looked down at Sandor, standing on the edge of the island, still staring at the mass around them. Slowly he reached down and picked a stone off the side, then flung it through the air. _What the hell are you doing?_ It struck one of the soldiers on the other side, knocking its jaw from the rotten skull, but it resumed its position. He mumbled something, and then reached down for another stone. Realizing what he intended, Berin rushed down to stop him, but once again the stone sailed through the air just before he grabbed onto his arm and wrenched him back. In dismay he watched the stone crash down on the ice and glide across, coming to a halt in front of the soldier's feet, and it slowly looked down.

"Oh, fuck..." the Hound breathed in the still air. The broken ring had frozen again, the water becoming solid and passable to the dead.

"Thank you, so much Clegane. I haven't had a good fuck in weeks, and now you've gone and fucked us all." Berin scowled as he unsheathed his sword, watching as the creatures slowly started to saunter forward over the lake. The remaining members of the party gathered, weapons ready for the coming horde that ambled closer, and closer. Rychon turned to Hilfert.

"Watch over him!" he commanded, and then turned unsheathing his own sword. The former sentinel obeyed, taking Berterin's shoulders and guiding him away higher onto the island while Rychon descended towards the attackers. The warhammer was the first to slam into a soldier, knocking it away, and others followed cut down with swords and axe and spears, for what little use they were. The flaming sword set some ablaze, blades cut through limbs and necks and bones, dragon glass splintered bodies into ash and the warhammer created a new hole in the ice where the lake consumed the bodies. They fought and fought with no relief, they would be swarmed before too long. With no way to go forward, Rychon and Berin could at the very least remain where they were, guiding attacks away and cutting down their attackers as they passed, using the foe's own strength and momentum to their advantage while others were not so fortunate, but ultimately they were forced to give ground with thousands of soldiers advancing on their small group. A wight grabbed onto Tormund, but he threw it down splitting the creature with his axe while Berric drove his flaming steel into another. They cut wildly, but then a burning figure stumbled up the slope towards their prisoner, clumsily fumbling at the ropes. Jon noticed, and rushed up to cut it down. They were attempting to save it, Rychon realized. They were not completely insentient beings after all... Bones and bodies continued to shatter in the frenzy while Hilfert struck down two awkward stragglers that made their way up the hillside, and their group grew smaller and smaller as members were overwhelmed and brought down.

"Fall back!" Jon called, once and then twice as the remaining warriors again gave ground. Tormund urged them on, fending off more grappling hands as they retreated, felling swarms as they came. In an instant, the dead closed over the wildling headman, dragging him down as bony hands reached from the hole in the ice and he struggled screaming. But when all seemed lost, Sandor Clegane struck the body from above him, and dragged him up the hill to continue the fight, and on and on it went. Jon dragged the wight to the height of the island where Hilfert kept Berterin as the battle raged on, long and desolate and all but hopeless, and it seemed there was no end to the horde. Jon continued to drag the body up the slope when one came from behind, cutting the rope and grabbing the King in the North. Hilfert moved forward to shove the creature away, giving the White Wolf the space to shove his sword through the creature's gut. Then he stepped around the king, and took hold of the hands to pull the wight further to the height of the mound where Berterin stood, holding his sword in shivering hands.

"Put that away, boy! You can't fight the way you are now!" he told and then turned to face any attackers.

"I... I can... Still try..." Berterin insisted, clasping the sword tighter, waiting for a black mass rushing him. But Hilfert shoved him aside, focusing the attacks on him as two screaming figures came at him. He cut down one, while Jon opened another's back splitting the spine; but the ground stopped beneath his feet and he fell into the death underneath, swallowed by the hands and teeth waiting below as Jon watched dismally. The attention of the monsters were on him for but a moment as the screams died with him, then they turned yet again, clawing and reaching for those above. Berterin sat up, feeling the cold through him, much like the fingers of death. There was no more space to go back, and the enemy pressed in on them with no remorse. Rychon glanced back at him, and then cut down another soldier screaming at him. If they could only hold their ground, there had to be an end to them. Everything had limits, sadly even their strength. Tormund turned suddenly, startled by the touch to his back, but it was only Jon. There was nowhere left to go, but if they must die here they would do so fighting until the breath left their bodies. Until the very end... swords and hammers and axes and spears and teeth and nails if need be. Fight they will... Wights started to scale the height behind them, and their circle grew smaller. Jon raised his sword to engage them, heedless of the never-ending mass, but then a rush of wind and a light and a surge of blaze above them made him duck away, and the lake exploded into fire, many creatures with it as they floated away in ash on the wind or sank to the bottom of the waters. Rychon looked up, where three massive shadows big as barges floated effortlessly in the sky on wide wings, bathing the world in fire and light, and the absolute awe stunned him. He would have thought he was dreaming if he wasn't so tired. _Dragons... Real dragons..._ They were magnificent creatures. They roared and flamed, the world a field of fire in the frozen, and for now the advance of death was slowed. The largest, a huge fearsome giant of coal and crimson scales settled on the northern side of the island, shattering more black bodies in bright fires. On his back was a beautiful woman with long silver hair, garbed in white fur against the cold. The Hound hauled the wight over his shoulder as the dragon crept closer, bathing more soldiers in fire and Jon approached as the woman reached down to take his hand, but he turned towards another creature scampering up the slope, and he turned away to cut them down. Others rushed up to the dragon, scaling its massive wing to find a place on its back. The wight was slung down over one of the hard spines running the length of the dragons back to keep it in place while Jorah called out to Jon. Rychon had Renko mount first to help Berterin up, and then Berin. He looked at the dragon. _Will he be able to carry all of us..?_ Not sure if it was a 'he' at all. Then Berin reached down, helping him up as well to settle between the sharp spines and all was mounted. All but Jon.

"Jon! Come on!" he tried as well, but the brave king still fought against the mass. Suddenly something long flew through the air, sinking deep into the chest of one of the dragons, exploding in gusts of fire and smoke and blood, and the creature screamed and wailed in pain, losing air. They watched in horror as it glided lower, and lower, finally slamming into the ice of the lake and silently sinking away into its depths. All seemed quiet. Even the sorrowful cry from the dragon beneath them seemed distant and cavernous. Seemingly suddenly enraged, Jon slammed his blade through two more foes then stood watching the Night King on the hill as he stared back emotionless. One of his companions brought something from behind, another white frozen spear. The intent was murderously clear.

"Jon!" Berin called once more, and he turned back.

"Go! Go, now! Leave!" he screamed at them, running back as his blade tore through more monsters. But another three grappled him, throwing him to the ice and through it, and he vanished from their sight. The woman stared at the hole in the ice for a moment, perhaps hoping that he might reappear from the water, but he did not. Then she looked back, taking note of the White Walker on the hill, preparing to kill another of her dragons, then turned and grabbed onto the spines. The dragon lurched forward unsteadily, whether from the weight on his back or the slippery ice was hard to say. Its wings spread and flailed, sending many creatures down in a savage gust and the air beneath took it into the sky slowly, but still higher he climbed. A shaft whistled past as he banked, and his many riders had to clutch at spine and scale for a grip as not to slide off. But he abrupt surge had Ser Jorah slip from the smooth scales, but a hand grabbed onto him and held as he dangled from the dragon's side; but higher and higher the creature climbed. They glanced back to the lake they left, watching as the black mass swarmed it from all sides, they could not have hoped to stand against that for long. Rychon released a sad breath, Hilfert had done him a service, and gave his life for it. For that he will remember him, and honour him yet again as a protector of their family. But Jon... _We just have to make it back to Eastwatch. Then I'll go back for him..._ _I have to go back for him..._ They flew over flats and hills and rocky outcrops, and suddenly Rychon smiled. _We're riding a dragon..._ had he really just realized that now? Stuck on that hill and through all of the chaos, he hadn't thought of much. But one thing was so clear in his mind, so vividly splendid all of this time... dark hair and green eyes, and a soft sweet smile. They landed on the Wall where they dismounted, carrying the sick and wounded inside. Rychon made for the lower gate, but despite his insistence he was not allowed to leave again; and certainly not alone. The maester tended to all of them, giving his aids and medicines; and they waited as the sky grew slowly darker while the dragons circled above, calling for their sibling. Tormund, Ser Clegane and lord Berric took the wight from the Wall, to prepare it for transport to the city in the south. With naught else to do and Berin staying by his son's side, Rychon joined the white haired woman and ser Jorah atop the wall, watching the fields beyond.

"It's time to go, your grace." ser Jorah urged, but she remained staring out over the snow.

"A bit longer." she refused, hoping to see a shadow appear from the trees. But, there was nothing. They waited, and waited as the dragon cried above, and still there was nothing. Then she turned to make her way down, and a horn sounded in the distance. Rychon stepped forward, and a horse emerged from the trees.

"There." He smiled, it was him. The King in the North, had somehow survived. They rushed down to where the gate was opened and they collected him, half frozen and near to death from the horse's back. Wanting to leave the Wall with all haste, he was brought to a cabin on the barge where they stripped the iced up furs from his body, and covered him with thick clean furs and wools to warm him while the ship now carried them across the water. They did their best to comfort him, but the ragged breaths and shuddering muscles were all too clear. Then Rychon looked up.

"I'll sit with him for a while." He offered, and the others nodded. The air about him was noticeably warmer, and if the room was closed and he removed much of his own furs to let his skin breathe, the space would grow warm quickly.

"Al right. If you need anythin' just holler." Davos told, and then looked at the others.

"Let's go, we still have some to do." he urged, and the men left the chamber closing the door behind them. Rychon removed the furs and leathers, until he was covered in only his boots, breeches and tunic, laying them on the small bed for extra warmth and then took a seat on a little berth in the corner next to the bed, and finally breathed easier. The danger was done and they were moving away from it, and for a few days they would be able to settle. With yet another good cleaning by boiled wine, and bound with herb paste and linen, the cuts to his arm would heal although the maester mentioned that the skin might leave darker scars than normal because of the corruption that was left behind. The wight was crammed into a box in the hull of the ship, Berin and his son shared a tiny little cabin on the port stern of the ship where the lordling was made to rest under yet another series of pelts and furs and wools, and the three potions the maester gave at the castle brought relief but his body would have to battle the illness and restore itself for the better part. He was given spiced wine, warmed almost to boiling point; a mixture of herbs and milk and honey, and some strange dark syrup that made him think of molasses. But it helped, so he didn't complain. He might pay them a visit again later, but Jon had the worst of it right now. A sharp frigid breath every once in a while gave testament that he was still alive, and it was a while before he settled down, and the world had already started to turn dark when he suddenly realized that he felt hungry. It might have been a day since he last had anything. But as that same thought went through his head, and as if sent by the gods, the door swung open and Gendry stepped inside, holding a plate in his left hand and a clay cup in his right. He seemed confused for a moment as he stared at Rychon, so lightly clothed. And then looked around the room, but not finding what he was looking for he moved inside and shut the door before coming over with the items and set it down on the table. The plate held a heel of bread and a small wedge of hard cheese, and the cup was half filled with a dark liquid. Perhaps ale.

"You should eat something, you've been here more than half the day." he offered, and then looked around again.

"Thank you." Rychon took the bread and broke it apart in his hands as Gendry sat down.

"I suppose it was the sunlight..." he breathed, and Rychon laughed.

"It helps, but the windows aren't big enough to let that much sun in." he said, glancing at the small diamond windows as he brought the bread to his mouth. It was light at best. Then Gendry looked at Jon.

"How is he? Has he woken yet?" he asked, and Rychon glanced at the king as well.

"Not yet, but he's out of danger. Let him rest." he told, and Gendry looked around again before returning his attention to Rychon.

"What are you looking for?" Rychon asked him curiously, suspecting he knew the answer to that.

"I don't know. A brazier? A fireplace? It's a lot warmer here than anywhere else on the ship." he said, and Rychon laughed as he held out his arm; but Gendry stared at him puzzled.

"Go on." Rychon urged with a smile, and slowly Gendry brought his hand up letting the fingers rest on the skin, and then the dark blue eyes met his, completely awestruck.

"It... It's you? You're making this heat?" Rychon lightly laughed again.

"It runs in my family." he told, and Gendry sat back seeming satisfied that his mystification was at last solved, and Rychon continued on his small supper while they shared soft conversation. It seems that Rychon had missed much while he was sitting here. The woman with the white hair was called Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons, and rightful queen of the kingdoms. She had elected to travel with them for a few days to treat the meeting in King's Landing and what they would need to discuss there, while her dragons flew ahead.

"Oh, yes. Your brother is up." Gendry suddenly mentioned with a smile, and Rychon breathed out.

"Good, that is a great relief. But, he's not my brother." he told, and Gendry nodded.

"Oh, I honestly thought you were related." Rychon looked away, at the darkening sky outside.

"We are, indirectly. His uncle is married to my aunt. But, we grew up together just like our fathers did." he explained, thinking back to the many fond memories with all of them. They spoke of their childhood for a little while, Gendry had been a blacksmith's apprentice since he could remember, that might have been why he was best at swinging a hammer, both on and off the field. Rychon finished his ale, and then saw the youngster opposite from him gently tug at his tunic.

"You might go and get some rest yourself." then he looked at Jon with a teasing laugh.

"He's like to cook if it gets any warmer in here." Rychon had to share his laugh. In the still air he didn't take note of how warm it had become, and others would notice it far more easily than he would.

"Al right." he stood and left the room, stepping through the door the colder air struck him like a wave of cool bliss, and he breathed it in eagerly. He decided then, that he would spend some time on the ship's bow to take in the air, and made his way down the passage. But before escaping the confines, someone blocked his way and he was met by the silver haired woman. She seemed to have been crying a while ago, and he felt for her.

"I am sorry for your loss, your grace." he said, and she managed to smile.

"Thank you." she looked up at him, regarding his burning eyes closely.

"How is he?" she asked, and he glanced back.

"Still sleeping, but the worst has passed. He should wake before too long." he assured, and she sighed, appearing to be relieved at that.

"What you did was very brave. All of you." she breathed, but he'd wager that what she did was even more courageous, daring to come after them.

"It was no less than what we set out to do, albeit with much difficulties." he replied, and she nodded before examining him again.

"And you are?" Oh, yes. They'd not had an opportunity for formal introductions.

"Rychon, your grace. Of house Taugere." he told, and then noticed her eyes. They were the most distinct feature about her. What he thought was a light blue, was in fact a soft violet. Perhaps a tribute may lighten her heart slightly.

"Your eyes are lovely, your grace. My father's great grandmother may have had eyes like yours. She was a Targaryen, too." he praised, although he might have ruled out that last part as she stared at him.

"Your father's grandmother?" to his relief, she sounded curious.

"Princess Daella Targaryen, daughter of king Maekar, your grace." she laughed as she glanced away, pausing for a moment.

"I remember... My brother once told me that she was a stupid, weak girl. That she married a fierce and bloodthirsty knight called the White Phoenix who beat and disgraced and ruined her. And that I would be exactly like her..." she told, but he smiled.

"I cannot tell where he found that information, but the chronicles of our house tells it very much differently. Neither can I claim to have known your brother, but I trust the words of our maester more." she looked back at him, seeing him smile.

"The White Phoenix was fierce, there is no doubt of that. But by no means 'bloodthirsty', unless threatened. We know that lord Vaeghun loved his wife and family dearly, that he treasured all of them to the end of his days." then she sniggered.

"Your grandfather fought against my father, but your great grandfather married my great aunt. Strange world, isn't it?" she teased, and he nodded. If it was put that way, it would make them kin. But he thought, it was a small wonder that his own family was not known for a degree of madness like the Targaryens, but for a much different reason. The Phoenix core claimed its toll on their men in the end, after all...

"We both have the blood of fire in us, but there are unique differences. Your are a Targaryen, the dragon. I am a Taugere, the phoenix. Maybe together, we may bring more than blood and fire, resilience and strength to our foes." she stared at him, was he even saying the right thing to a queen? But he smiled.

"But to the world, we may bring hope, and light, and warmth." he concluded, and again she smiled truly. She had a lovely smile, as well.

"What an interesting man you are, Rychon of house Taugere." she breathed, and he bowed his head.

"Good night, your grace. May you sleep well, tonight." he greeted, and then left into the outside world where he stood on the wood of the ship's bow looking up at the stars, thinking of home. It won't be that much longer any more, the hardest part was done. And he prayed that the days would be short and unexceptional, deciding that he'd had enough exceedingly memorable days in the past week to last him his life. What were they doing inside the warm walls of the burning mountain? Was she thinking of him, as well..?

Milla sat at the table in the southern hall, staring at the bowl before her. They were served sweet roasted grains with fruit and thick cream with honey this morning, as delightful as always. But there was a sombre air about them, yet once more. Bella had started to spend time with Devan again, like she once did. And near a week past she sought her out well past midnight, heedful of sudden cramping to her stomach. So, as any mindful mother would, she had her daughter stay with her in her own chambers until morning, intent on visiting the maester should it worsen. But with the dawn, the glistening petals of her bloom came, and strangely she wept for a while, but of relief or despondency she would not say. Nigh on a month and a half later than it should have. There was no reason to fear her husband's reaction any further, and her daughter will not be sent away. Perhaps by fault of the circumstances, she merely passed over a moon... In all truth, she could not say if she was happy or downcast herself; while already imagining what the little one may have looked like. He would have had his father's magnificent eyes, of course. And dark hair, like they both did. She glanced up towards the end of the high table where the girls had gathered, dressed in warm velvets of rose, apricot, lilac and lime. They were talking and Bella was smiling while they enjoyed their morning meal, it seems that the fear and confusion had left her, and for her she hoped as much was true. Then she turned her attention to the lady in ocean blue beside her, sampling her tea in small tastes while her Battle Master sat on her right side, as had been his place for years. She may have been only disappointed of the outcome, but would not say so. When she told her that there was no need to make arrangements for Bella, she smiled and said that it was good. But the light had left her eyes. _There will be others, dear Claira..._ she had thought at the time, and again the same thought passed her now. Then she looked back at the dish in front of her, still unfinished. But her appetite had been sated long ago, perhaps the serving was a bit excessive. She missed her husband, and both her sweet boys. Brave boys of fifteen and fourteen now, she was remiss to admit. Young men whom would soon start their lives on their own, wherever their whims took them, just as lord Rychon was shortly to start his. Messages had been received from the vassals of the Goldfields that preparations were started, and they would begin their journeys to Mount Ardor as soon as summoned. The succession was another event they could look forward to, though. Then she sat back with her own cup in her hands, waiting and listening to the clamouring of the hall. People spoke of all kinds of things, from which shade of apples the noble steeds preferred to the feats of high-born paladins. All was shared amongst them. A remaining question, although not put forth so brazenly, was when the successor would wed and sire an heir of his own, while short messages from the ladies whom vied for his affection continued to arrive every so often. If not for a rough chance of fate, the latter may have been sooner than expected. But there was another matter that Claira had been reluctant to address...

"You still haven't sent supplies to Winterfell..." she breathed, and Claira lowered the cup in her hands.

"We have our own people to consider, Milla. If I send resources to the North, there might not be enough to see us through the winter." she told, shunning the thoughts. A raven from Winterfell arrived some weeks ago, with a message requesting provisions of food and raw materials to be delivered there to prop up their own; and she wondered if that was the fault of a poor harvest or delayed preparations with all the chaos they'd been showered with.

"You're going to refuse them?" Milla asked, and Claira sighed.

"I might discuss it with my son when he comes back, before making a final decision..." she said. The hall was finally cleared and they made their way back to the lord's garden as was their routine before inspections and court matters would start, praying to the old ones for comfort, for a brief winter, for short days and shorter nights, and for their safety and favour over their loves. While the youngsters continued their lessons, the guard routines were revised, the armoury was deemed sufficient, and the smith sanctioned supplies of iron, steel, coal and oil from the village. Supplies were taken in for the kennels and the stables. Taxes were received. Meat, press, meads, wines and produce stored for the castle kitchens. Herbs and plants and liquids sent to the maester for his many medicines. Court matters were brought, discussed, disputed and settled. And with noon, a bell tolled in the west-side sentry tower, bringing the lady and her company to receive the visitor. He rode through the gate on a mud brown mule, bags slung over his mount's flanks; and he was dressed in pebble black robes, a chain around his neck. Claira regarded the youth as he dismounted and handed his mule to the stables for care, then he turned and came their way. He was once a skinny lad, but he had become fairly robust. Life in Oldtown seemed to have done him good. He smiled as he made his way up the steps, his dark hair cut short and his light eyes as keen as ever.

"Good day, lady Claira." he greeted heartily, and she returned his smile. Finally, he was home, too.

"Good day, Gerry. Welcome home." she received him.

"It is maester Gerdwyle now, if it please milady." he replied politely, and she paused for a moment. She'd not thought that his name was that much longer. For all his years in the castle, he had simply been known as "Gerry". But she laughed pleasantly.

"Well then, Gerdwyle it is." she agreed, and ushered him inside, where he finally displayed his chain with pride. Among the many links that adorned his neck was Black Iron, Yellow Gold, Bronze, Iron, Steel, Lead and Electrum, and no less than five Silver rings. He was as dedicated as his master, and just as kind. He would be given his own space in the maester's tower, and continue to assist their healer in anything he needed, and as much as he still could continue to learn from his vast and rich knowledge. Their elder had started to grow tired and afflictive, yet all of this time kept his clear mind. In his nineties, an age that only an exclusive few had the gods blessing to reach; it seemed that he may live forever... The day passed then much as any other as the new maester settled in and returned to his routines. Maester Adlyn was delighted at the boy's return as well, and greeted him wholeheartedly, and it was like he never left. He shared their tables for supper, expressing his venture to Oldtown, the gracious hospitality he'd received at Hightower under care of lady Mae and her lord husband Cladus Hightower with their family. The illustrious Citadel with its great library and many studies, and the arch maesters with their many wisdoms. After the hall was cleared, all returned to their apartments for the night, but Claira made her way to the crown of their own tower, high as the sun where she watched the dark of the world, little sparkles of light scattered over the landscape. Falgon stood behind her, sharing her view of the night. The wind was cold, but she neither felt nor cared for the chill.

"Falgon..." he took a single step forward, the mail protecting his body softly ringing as the links brushed one another. He still looked exactly the same, only his heavy brown cloak over his shoulders for protection against the new winter.

"Your grace?" she continued to watch the fields, their lands that glittered like gold.

"Should I be worried..." she glanced back.

"About Rychon, and the others?" she asked, and he softly smiled.

"No, your grace. I should not think so. They are all exemplary men." he assured, and she looked down at her hands.

"He promised me he would come back to me... As did his father." she remembered, their promises were the same. But, her husband has not yet returned, and perhaps her son would not, either.

"And he will keep his promise, your grace." he told her, with no trace of doubt. Their lords were known for their promises, good and bad alike. Had it not been for the jealous impulses of fate, her husband would have been returned to her side long ago. Then she turned back to the night, and rested her arms on the edge of the stones, watching and waiting, hoping and praying... and remembering. The dream she had, that most vivid of visions like no other has ever been since. How she ached to have that again, even if it was simply a dream.

"Even in the dream, my husband promised me... He promised to be with me..." she breathed, but for a while there was only silence from him. When she dared to glance back, he still retained his gentle smile, but he was looking away from her, his sight far off in the distance.

"And he his, I think. Perhaps not bodily, but his thoughts are with you. His heart." he replied, but he sounded sad. She turned back towards him, watching him stare into the night.

"You never speak of the woman you once loved." she noted softly, although this might have been the wrong time to find herself curious about it. He never spoke extensively of anyone from his past. He'd mentioned his father, his mother, his brothers and sisters and small things they did... but of her there was almost nothing. Then his eyes met hers.

"And likely, I never will. She's gone." he told, and a sourness spread in her stomach. She must never have asked him.

"Falgon, I-" she started, wanting to apologise.

"She's dead. I saw her die." A wave of cold struck her, leaving her breathless and a sting to her eyes. _I shouldn't have asked him... I shouldn't have..._ But then she felt a hand on her shoulder, strong and comforting.

"But you. You still have hope." she looked up and saw him smile, his eyes light in the fire.

"And while it may be something easily lost, it will never be broken. They will come home." she nodded, finding herself renewed, and grateful. He'd used his own hurt, to soothe hers. He knew that she was taken from this world, and accepted that she could never be returned. But for herself, there was no proof. And as the septon had graced her, as long as she believed he was alive, unharmed and coming home, it did indeed feel like a truth that gave her courage and she would believe still, for all of them. And her dear knight... He was always like this. Like he didn't care about himself.

"I have always found you a rather stoic person..." then she looked up at him.

"I wish I could be like you." she said, severely envious of his strength. Of his resilience. But he shook his head as his hand came away from her.

"No, you don't want to be like me. Everything I've faced, everything I've endured, all that has brought me to this... I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Much less you." he glanced down for a moment.

"You don't just... become this." he breathed, _All of this time I have only fought... it is all that is left of me... But for you, I will keep fighting..._ then he felt arms around him, and she stood against him.

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to hurt any more." she whispered, and his hands rested on her back.

"I don't. It hasn't bothered me for a long time." he told, and a sudden wind swept over them, colder than what came before, and almost unconsciously his arms constricted, to shield her. But other than that, he could not move as he stood holding her against his chest, taking in her sweet smell and the clear memory. He remembered it so distinctly, so perfectly, so maddeningly often when he knew to discard all thought of it... But couldn't. How beguiling this sinful wish... Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever speak to him? Would she so much as look at him again, if she knew? Then he slowly released her.

"Come, your grace. You must try to rest." he urged, and tenderly guided her back to the safety of the lord's wing where she entered. She glanced back at him, a sudden welcome sleepiness over her.

"Good night, my Falgon." she greeted, and he bowed to her.

"Sleep well, my queen." he waited while she closed the door, but stood a while before returning to his own place for the night. But instead of taking up another book, to which there might be no real point as he'd read everything in the castle, including the rather extensive tomes, his mind vanished into the fire of the hearth in the guard's hall where he'd held vigil since joining this house. His thoughts wandered and floated and remained, all in the remembrance.

In the distance over the Blackwater the Red Keep came into view, looming high over the city from Aegon's High Hill, the highest peak of King's Landing as it had been known since the Conquest, the waters littered with the hulks of the Iron Fleet at anchor. Berterin had recovered completely to everyone's relief, and the wounds to Rychon's arm were now dark lashes across his skin. On their way down from Eastwatch, they had docked at Dragonstone and lingered there for no more than a day to take on provisions and exchange members. This is where the dragon queen left them, and her hand joined their company among others. More soldiers joined them, almond eyed easterners clothed in horsehair garbs with long black hair and strange curved swords. One was a woman called Missandei, a slim, summer skinned maid with a head of rich brown curls. Pleasant, but shy. A stately lord who smelt of lavender with a soft face and equally soft manners named Varys. The queen's hand, known as lord Tyrion was a short man, half Rychon's own height with a bush of platinum hair, a full beard and a scar over his face. He it seems, enjoyed conversations with all whom was on board their vessel, and on a number of occasions spoke with Berin whom he appeared to know as he'd been here before. He could understand why his father declined several invitations to their capital over the years, it reeked and all the more he longed for the clear air of home. This was their first visit to the capital, and he couldn't care if it was his last. Along with his sentinels and his friend they stood on the bow of the ship next to the King in the North, his advisor and lord Tyrion, watching as the city came ever closer. _What an unpleasant heap..._ The only more bearable element here it seems was the climate, that allowed for lighter garments than the King's armour and thick pelted cloak. It was still cool, but they had no need to suffocate under their mail and clothing, at least.

"How many people live here?" Jon asked as he watched the city.

"A million, give or take." Tyrion replied,

"There's more people than the entire North and Corridor combined, crammed into that? Why would anyone want to live that way?" he asked, but the whims of the southerners were a strange thing.

"There's more work in the city." Tyrion explained, casting the king a small glance.

"The brothels are far superior." he added. The stretch was endless as they curved their way into the Blackwater towards the docks to moor while ser Clegane vanished into the hull to see that their prisoner was still in a respectable state, whatever that might have been. But as long as it was still moving and of some use, there wasn't much care. With the ship anchored, they started to unload what they needed and finally stepped onto solid ground again, and Jon approached Rychon.

"You could wait for us close to the docks." he suggested.

"Thank you, but we will join you for the meeting. After that, we'll see." he told, but for an odd reason Jon seemed hesitant.

"Are you sure?" then Rychon smiled.

"The other sects will have their own allies in attendance with them, and so should you." Berterin insisted, and the king sighed.

"We're not intending to make this a display of power, your grace. But it does seem important that we go with you, nonetheless." Berin agreed.

"Very well." they waited as the crate holding the wight was brought from the ship and loaded onto a mule cart for transport, and other necessities were in turn delivered to the ship. Berin took the time to ask the dock master to store their own belongings in one of the stock houses until they returned for them later, paying a silver and three coppers for the space and time.

"So, what are your thoughts on this?" a voice suddenly startled him and he looked down to see lord Tyrion next to him, so he turned to face him.

"My thoughts?" why should he take the time to find that from him. Why would he care? But then the small man smiled.

"Yes, your thoughts. A good ruler must have some thoughts?" he insisted, and Rychon glanced away. _My thoughts? I haven't thought of much save for home, recently..._

"I did not come here as a sovereign, as my mother still stands in regency of our domain. But seeing that we are in direct alliance with the North, I must represent and meet our interests with the concern of our people first and foremost." he decided before looking back, the small man still smiling at him.

"Interesting." maybe that wasn't what he'd expected, but it was a truth.

"If that threat comes to the North and they fall, the Corridor is next. I would rather face an enemy elsewhere than bringing them to our home." he further added, and while he did not relish the idea of leaving his family to chance, he would rather do that than allowing any harm to come to them. The mule snorted as Sandor tugged at the leash, joining the column and their group started to follow into the city. Tyrion walked with him for a little while.

"You're a lot like your father. Except, you're taller. Your eyes are lighter. And you don't have the scars to your face." the little man said, an Rychon bit back a scoff. _If I had a silver for every time..._

"I hear that all the time..." he breathed, watching the world around him. His company was close behind him, but even in this foreign place he wasn't as uneasy as he'd thought he might be. Not as much as he was annoyed.

"It's true. I admired him. He was a great man. Brave and beloved." Tyrion continued, and Rychon looked down at him again.

"You know him?" It was unexpected, that people in such widely separated worlds would know each other. His father was not a particularly fond traveller, but visited the holds of their country when he needed to. And he'd never seen this small man come to their court before.

"I knew him briefly, and then there were the stories, of course. He came to King's Landing once, invited to the king's tourney, and took a great champion into his service then. But the last time I saw him was with your own presentation, as it happens. Every house of this world was called to see you. To witness the promise that was kept. And with your dear, sweet mother at his side, he seemed infinite. Like the world could burn, and he would remain standing..." Tyrion told, and Rychon paused. That was the vision everyone remembered of his father. The bright and burning lord whom stood fearless in the face of everything...

"I'm not him, though." he reflected, wondering how he could ever live up to him. How do you become someone as great, as courageous, as worshipped, as self-sacrificing as his father? But then he saw Tyrion looking back at him, still with the same smile, and a confidence in his eyes.

"And you shouldn't be. You're his son, and that is as who you must be known." he told him before continuing on his way as Rychon stared. He resembled his father in every respect, and he'd believed that he was expected to continue that resemblance in all that he did as well. But he was given his own name, his own person, his own identity... He had done things that his father would not have, and perhaps his father did things that he never would. True, he might never be as he was, not be as beloved or revered... but if he could not match the majesty of his father, he would strive to create his own, with honour. Then he smiled as a hand rested on his shoulder and Berterin stood beside him.

"Come on, we're falling behind." he said, and Rychon again moved forward.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking." he pardoned, and Berterin smiled.

"About what?" he asked curiously as Rychon's eyes went up to the sky.

"About home..." he replied, and then looked around at the people of the city as they slowly made their way through the chaotic streets of the city.

"I wonder where our men are lodged?" he wondered, they would have arrived here a couple of weeks ago.

"The first time we came to King's Landing we were meant to stay at The Great Horse, before the king extended an invitation to the Red Keep. But, that tavern was close to the Great Sept of Baelor, and could have been destroyed along with it." Berin mentioned as he tried to bring up more places, but he had no great knowledge of their capital.

"We could ask ser Davos? He's from King's Landing, originally." Renko suggested, and Rychon nodded. That sounded like a good place to start, and so he quickened his pace slightly to catch up to the old knight and called for his attention. The gaunt figure looked back as the youngster reached him.

"How many inns are in the capital?" he asked, and Davos took a moment for thought as they walked, the ruins of the Dragonpit where they were bound visible above the buildings.

"Four, as I know of. There's the Old Inn on Eel Alley, The Great Horse, there's a lavish brothel here somewhere, and then there's The Broken Anvil, up near the god's gate." he told, and glanced at Rychon.

"The god's gate?" near one of the gates to the north would be likely.

"That way. It's the one next to the Lion's Gate, from where the King's Road goes up north." he told, and Rychon nodded. Their soldiers would have travelled down on that road, so it was more than possible that the Broken Anvil would be where they were awaiting them. It seemed like a long walk through the city, but with each step the once grand arena came closer and there were less people on the roads here, pines and shrubs lined the pathway leading to the entrance of the ruin as they continued on, listening to the voices around them. The summer skinned woman looked up a the high walls, crumbling with age.

"Why did they build it?" she asked, and Jorah whom walked at her side glanced up at the structures as well.

"Dragons don't understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn't. Land, livestock, children... Letting them roam free around the city was a problem." he told, and Tyrion shared his own thoughts, how unfortunate the demise of these fascinating creatures was. Balerion the Black Dread was the largest dragon in noted history, and the last of them was barely bigger than a cat. Rychon reflected on how awestruck he was at seeing the enormous creatures in the sky, realizing that the stories were all true. The sigil of house Targaryen was a dragon, not only symbolic of their standing. The sigil of house Taugere, was a phoenix. And while there was certain aspects that made his family unique to others, had they ever in the thousands of years of history, had a phoenix? A particularly lively jester told that the Ardent Kings rode these bright and burning creatures to battle, and when they came to this world. Down the road they were met by another group of soldiers, and the man at their front smiled.

"Welcome, milords." he greeted. He was a tall and slender, almost wolfish figure, with dark hair and sharp features.

"Your friends arrived before you did. I've been sent to escort you all to the meeting." he announced, and they continued to follow the party up the road. Tyrion held back with another young man, and they greeted one another pleasantly before the soldier whom met them beckoned them to follow. Along the path a soldier clad in crimson and leather approached ser Sandor walking on the other side of the mule cart.

"What's in there?" he asked curiously, but the Hound spared him little more than an ireful glance.

"Fuck off..." he snarled at the stranger, and he fell back away from the cart, but moments later another member approached him. A very tall woman, armoured in black with short straw blonde hair and drawing blue eyes. She too attempted to speak with him, yet to her his answers were kinder. Another conversation unfurled further to the front of their column where lord Tyrion walked beside the warrior whom came to collect them. Apparently, he was making an offer that he hoped the man would not refuse, but he did. Although it was meant to be some beneficial exchange, there was a familiarity between them. They had once been friends. Approaching the broken entrance to the Dragonpit the mule cart was halted, and Sandor looked around at the guards surrounding them.

"Anyone touches it, I'll kill you first." he directed at the closest soldier deliberately, and then followed the others as they entered into the wide arena situated on one of the high hills that famed this city. Three shelters were built on the stone deck in the centre of the pit, chairs arranged beneath the shade and the members of the parties took their places where Rychon and his company joined the King in the North and his, while those loyal to the dragon queen settled down opposite from them. Then the same soldier whom met them approached the younger man, both whom had shared words with lord Tyrion. He gently pet his shoulder.

"Come on, Pod. Let's you and me go have a drink, while the fancy folks talk, eh?" he invited, and the youngster glanced at the tall woman who nodded. Then they slipped away through one of the gates. Most of the others looked around uneasily, as if awaiting an attack on them, and Rychon shared their concern. They were surrounded by enemies here, and the promise of safe conduct was little more than words. He glanced at Berin next to him, whom seemed calmer but his green eyes scanned the area just as warily as others. Sandor walked across the deck of stones, joining Tyrion who stood watching the wide entrance to the arena.

"I left this shit city because I didn't want to die in it. Am I gonna die in this shit city?" he asked the short man, whose eyes remained fixed on the great gate.

"You might." he replied, and the Hound scoffed.

"And this is all your idea. Seems every bad idea has some Lannister cunt behind it." he complained, but lord Tyrion smiled softly.

"And some Clegane cunt to help them see it through." he added, and then there was more movement coming down the passage. A tall woman with short rich golden hair and flecked green eyes, dressed entirely in black with a circlet of silver on her brow. The queen of the kingdoms, Cersei Lannister. Numerous guards and other members were in her presence, all clad in black robes, and dark steel armour, save for one in lion adorned raiment. They entered the small circle and took their places on the seats arranged on the small dais facing the gates. Then Sandor approached them where a guard stepped forth, even taller than he was.

"Remember me? Yeah, you do..." he asked as he stared.

"You're even fucking uglier than I am now. What did they do to you?" he asked, but then his voice hardened again suddenly.

"Doesn't matter. That's not how it ends for you, brother. You know who's coming for you. You've always known..." he turned and left down the steps leading to the cells beneath the Dragonpit. There was a moment of silence, and then the tall woman looked at Tyrion.

"Where is she?" she asked irritably, and he drew a breath.

"She'll be here, soon." he advised, but she did not seem convinced.

"Didn't travel with you?" he didn't look her way, but again replied softly.

"No." another stretch of silence followed, stern looks and awkward glances exchanged from one end of the circle to another and moments felt like years. Then a sound drew their attention, high and loud as they looked to the skies. Everyone stood to witness the massive creatures glide down on the wind, and it was a magnificent sight all would be forced to agree. The great beast of coal and crimson landed easily on the fallen stones of the ruin, spreading his wings wide and roaring to display his powerful dominance. Tyrion glanced at the queen who sat motionless, staring at the great dragon. Carefully it clambered down to the grounds, and lowered its shoulder so its rider could dismount. Elegantly she stepped down from his back, and calmly made her way to the circle to assume her place while the dragon leapt into the sky, and glided away. Once she was seated, all else did the same.

"We've been here for some time." the gold haired queen quipped coldly.

"My apologies." the silver haired queen returned, equally chill. Another moment of silence followed, and then lord Tyrion stood from his chair to start the negotiations.

"We are all facing a unique-" he started, and then a voice suddenly silenced him.

"Theon!" he stared at the man half stunned, one robed in black with a hardness to his face, and cynical air about him. An Iron Islander, clearly; and queen Cersei's ally. Berin regarded the youngster he'd addressed on the other side of the circle, another faction of the Iron Islands that had allied themselves with queen Daenerys, and suddenly realised that was where he'd seen him. He rode with Robb in the war when they'd gone south, having disappeared when he went as envoy to his father. And then he'd come to Citrine Arch with Ramsay to alleviate their taxes, looking distinctly more haggard than he did even now. But he never imagined...

"I have your sister. If you don't submit to me here, now." he continued as he stared at Theon, the kracken of Pyke set on his withered armour.

"I'll kill her." he finished purposefully. A short pause followed, and Tyrion glanced away at some of the others, clearly confused.

"I think we ought to begin with larger concerns." he guided the exchange, but the dark islander retained his brashness.

"Then why are you talking? You're the smallest concern here." he continued as he stood and approached him. Having taken standing positions behind the King in the North, Rychon's hand slowly clenched into a fist at his side, had it not been for the condition they needed he would have silenced his arrogance himself. They had no time for this.

"Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?" Tyrion asked as his attention went to Theon.

"His wasn't even good." he mentioned, and Tyrion's recalled the instance.

"He explained it at the end. Never explain, it always ruins it." he remembered.

"We don't even let your kind live in the Iron Islands, you know. We kill you at birth, an act of mercy for the parents." he directed at Tyrion.

"Perhaps you ought to sit down." the knight in lion armour suggested solidly, but the man remained standing.

"Why?" he asked arrogantly, but his farce had gone far enough.

"Sit down, or leave!" queen Cersei ordered as the tall guardsman stepped forward, and he finally retook his place, and Tyrion was allowed to continue.

"We are a group of people, who do not like one another. As this recent demonstration has shown..." he proceeded, and graciously all listened.

"We have suffered at each other's hands. We have lost people we love, at each other's hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face to face." he told, and the queen smirked.

"So instead we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?" she supposed sardonically.

"We all know that would never happen." he acknowledged.

"Then why are we here?" she asked, and then Jon stood to face her as well. He knew more of the situation than any other could explain, and so he tried.

"This isn't about living in harmony. It's just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can't negotiate with, an army that doesn't leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me that a million people live in this city, they're about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead." he told, but the queen smiled sourly.

"I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement." she said, and Rychon drew a breath. She would not believe with words. Jon stepped forward, his eyes hard.

"This is serious. I wouldn't be here, if it weren't." he continued,

"I don't think it's serious at all, I think it's another bad joke." she simply brushed it off.

"If my brother Jaime has informed me correctly, you're asking me for a truce." she said as she looked towards Daenerys, seated to her right side.

"Yes. That's all." she agreed calmly.

"That's all? Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt? All while you solidify and expand your position; hard for me to know which it is, with my armies pulled back. Until you return and march on my capital with four times the men." she turned the situation to her own understanding, suspicious as her mind was.

"Your capital will be safe, until the northern threat is dealt with." queen Daenerys told calmly.

"You have my word." she promised, but still there was no convincing the southern ruler.

"The word of a would be usurper, followed by traitors and a hagseed!" she directed, and Rychon suddenly realized that the green eyes had came to him as she said that, and the heat raced down his arms. _A hagseed, is it?_ His father fought with the Young Wolf who had taken up arms against them, and with king Robert whom was her husband long before that. She was not like to have forgotten that. And there were the ridiculous rumours of his mother being a witch. That she'd had more children, but gave them to some dark entity to retain her beauty and powers.

"My father was loyal to blood, even if it wasn't yours." he replied, and Berin glanced at him. But he saw him smile.

"And hags don't need to be in your face to rip your lungs from your throat. Nor does their kin." he replied, whether she wished to see that as a threat or not was left to her. If her statement had any truth to it, she had much to fear. But if not, well... She might want to amend it. But then Tyrion rose his voice.

"There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years." he ended the discussion, aware that words would get them no farther than it already did. Then he looked up at the queen.

"We have something to show you." he offered, and slowly ser Sandor reappeared with the large crate carried on his back. He set it down on the stones, and carefully removed the bars holding the wood together from the sides before discarding the lid. He peered into the shadow of the box and then took a step back, and sent his foot into the side of the crate knocking it over. The monster fell from it, screaming and snarling and screeching as it stood and ran aiming itself for the queen in black. Her members shied away and panic left the swords unthought of, but as it reached for her squirming in her chair the chain bound around its neck pulled tight and it could not touch her. The Hound jerked on the leash and it tumbled back, still wailing as it found its feet; and then charged at him. He took the longsword from his side, and struck the wight down, the corpse falling to the stones in two pieces, but still it continued to writhe. The queen's hand stood, fascinated by the sight while others stared in utter disbelief, drowned in fear and denial. Sandor struck at the creature again, and the arm landed some feet away the hand still grappling for a hold on something while the wight dragged itself around. The man whom stood, took up the hand examining it in wonder rather than apprehension. Jon moved forward again, taking the hand from him as Ser Davos brought a torch to him, lighting it as he held it in his hand.

"We can destroy them, by burning them." he explained as he touched the flames to the flesh, and the creature wailed in pain.

"And we can destroy them, with dragon glass." he added, taking a dagger from his belt fashioned of gleaming obsidian to display it.

"If we do not win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world." he continued indicating the monster on the ground behind him as the queen stared at it, her eyes white and gleaming with terror. Then he took hold of the wight, bringing it up and driving the dagger deep into its chest, silencing it. But the others still stared, dazed and confused and scared. Finally they believed, and Jon approached the queen once more.

"There is only one war that matters. The great war. And it is here." he told, but it seemed the southerners found themselves at a loss for words.

"I didn't believe it until I saw them. I saw them all." queen Daenerys put forth, and the knight in lion armour looked up.

"How many?" he asked, the tone in his voice less than confident.

"Hundred thousand, at least." she calculated, although they could have been more. Much more. The black mantled islander moved forward to examine the fallen wight,

"Can they swim?" he asked as he studied it, and Jon sighed.

"No." he supposed. They didn't think they could, but swimming might be a waste of energy when you could simply walk along the bottom of a body of water as easily as any other with no risks.

"Good." then the man stood and came back towards the circle.

"I'm taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands." he announced, and queen Cersei shifted uneasily in her seat.

"What are you talking about?" she asked as he came closer.

"I've been around the world. I've seen everything, things you couldn't imagine, and this..." he glanced back at the corpse.

"This is the only thing I have ever seen that terrifies me." he confessed, and then spared a fleeting glance for all those in attendance before approaching the dragon queen, her guardsmen with their spears and swords prepared to defend her.

"I'm going back to my island. You should go back to yours. When winter's over, we'll be the only ones left alive." he advised, and then promptly took his leave from the great Dragonpit.

"He's right to be afraid. And a coward to run. If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we've suffered would have been for nothing. Everything we've lost, would have been for nothing." queen Cersei finally said, her perception to the truth of a death that did not exchange enemies or allies at whims now all too real. Then she looked at Daenerys.

"The Crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy." she agreed, and for that moment their circumstances seemed to improve, and many found optimism. But then her eyes returned to Jon.

"In return the King in the North and the Lords of Flame will extend this truce. They will remain beyond the Neck where they belong. They will not take up arms against the Lannisters, they will not choose sides." she set terms of her own, and Daenerys regarded her carefully.

"Just those of the North? Not me?" she asked, and the green eyes returned to hers.

"I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it, and if you did I would trust you even less than I do now." she denied before looking at Jon and Rychon once more, sure of her intentions.

"I ask it only of Ned Stark and Raeghun Taugere's sons. I know they would be true to their word." she said, expecting them to fully agree to that promise. He looked at the others, an uneasy silence held the circle, and then at Rychon. Being known for your promises was an honourable thing, but it also caused you great risks. _Words are wind, they say. But not ours..._ then he nodded, they would stand at his side whatever he chose. As promised.

"The Corridor's forces have been joined with ours, as we are true to our word. Or... I try to be." he breathed, and then looked at the queen.

"That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to queen Daenerys of house Targaryen." he declared, and there was silence. A hard breath passed in the wind, this may have been unexpected.

"Then there is nothing left to discuss." Cersei said as she stood, the amity gone from her voice.

"The dead will come north first, enjoy dealing with them! We will deal with whatever is left of you." she decided, and then left without another word while her people followed, their footsteps and the brush of their armour the only sound left in the hard silence. Then the tall woman stood, and approached the lion knight.

"Ser Jaime." she called for his attention and followed down towards the entrance to the arena. They shared a short discussion as Rychon watched them, perhaps a heated word or two. Then he glanced away from her, at the queen who had lingered between the stones of the gate before continuing on her way, then he looked back and sighed heavily before again following. Then she came back towards them, but Jon still seemed defeated.

"Thank you for trying, lady Brienne..." but there was less they could hope to try any longer, and Davos stepped closer.

"I wish you hadn't done that..." he breathed, but it was too late to change it. Then Daenerys approached him as well.

"I am grateful for your loyalty. But my dragon died so that we can be here. If it's all for nothing, then he died for nothing." she told him, and again he sighed.

"I know." he replied. His recent reaction may have been unwise, although it was honourable.

"I'm pleased you bent the knee to our queen, I would have advised it, had you asked." lord Tyrion called, and then looked back at him sullenly.

"But have you ever considered learning how to lie, every now and then? Just a bit?" he asked as Jon faced him.

"I'm not going to swear an oath, I can't uphold! Talk about my father if you want, tell me that's the attitude that got him killed. But, when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. And lies, won't help us in this fight!" he answered, and Rychon watched the last of the crimson soldiers leave the arena. He was right. His own mother accepted his words, because his father had been known exactly for that. Some people had no fondness for liars, but a lie could change one's situation dramatically.

"That is indeed a problem. But the more immediate problem, is that we're fucked!" Tyrion exclaimed, to the dismay of all members present. Then Davos looked up.

"Any ideas as to how we might change that state of affairs?" he asked hopefully, and the queen's hand shrugged.

"Only one. Everyone stays here, and I go and talk to my sister." he decided, leaving his queen appalled by the idea.

"I didn't come all this way to have my hand murdered!" she refused as he looked at her.

"I don't want Cersei to murder me, either. I could have stayed in my cell and saved a great deal of trouble." he agreed, but then Jon looked up again.

"I did this. I should go." he proposed, but the little man resisted that idea just as fervently.

"She'll definitely murder you." he promised, and then looked at the others again.

"I go see my sister, alone." he insisted.

"Or we all go home, and we're right back where we started." that was a choice, but not one they would happily fall to. Then he turned and left the ruins of the Dragonpit to go and look for her as the day dragged on. Members ambled around and talked with one another as they waited, just as had been asked. Jon wandered off to one side to inspect the grounds of the arena, somewhere between the dust and rubble he picked up what may once have been a dragon's jaw. Or something similar. Queen Daenerys followed him to where he stood, lost in thought. Then Rychon brought his thoughts back to where they were, as Berin drew a rough map of the Corridor in the sand, already attempting to plan their strategy, or at the very least the first important points of one as he'd indicated their two southernmost castles, Bristlemane Stronghold and Worthwood Hall.

"We can't fight at both sides of the border..." Rychon breathed. If the southern army seized the chance to besiege them while the war was waging to the north, they won't have the men to defend the country.

"If we divide our mass, with a portion defending the south while the greatest mass heads north, then maybe..." Berin started, looking at the lines.

"Dividing our forces might not be an option this time. If five thousand men remain behind, how many can we send north? Ten thousand? Eleven? Either way, we won't have the men." then Berin looked up.

"We might reach an accord with the king to hold our soldiers back to defend our southern border against any possible attacks?" Renko suggested.

"We can't do that, either. We all saw what's coming, and if the North falls, so do we." he argued.

"And if the Corridor falls, so do they." came the reply. _They're certainly not making it easy..._ They faced a threat in every direction, the true argument would be which of them were the greater concern.

"We might not have a great deal of options." Berin cautioned.

"Right now, we don't have any options." Berterin agreed, and then Rychon looked up.

"Well... she said they would deal with 'what's left of us'. Maybe we can hope for something..." if they all died in the war anyway, she'd have the dead to deal with instead of them. Their vassals had already started preparations for a call to arms, but as for the status of that, there was no indication as yet.

"We need more arms, but our soldiers are limited." then he returned his eyes to the others.

"With how things are, we must include everyone capable to the war." the others stared at him, already knowing the course of his thoughts.

"Do you mean..." Renko started, and Rychon sighed.

"Every man, every woman... every capable child above the age of ten. Bows before spears, before swords. Defence must be our first priority." he decided, and Berin nodded.

"It might still not be enough." he breathed.

"Well, fucked as we are, we'll have to work with what we have." Rychon sighed, and then the sound of footsteps drew their attention as lord Tyrion returned to the circle. There was silence, and then more sounds of steel and marching feet echoed through the gateway where the crimson soldiers returned with their queen, and she once more joined them on the stone deck.

"My armies will not stand down. I will not pull them back to the capital." she declared, and a splintering heat cut through his chest.

"I will march them north to fight alongside you in the great war." she suddenly added, and the apprehension changed to shades equal surprise and relief.

"The darkness is coming for us all. We will face it together. And when the great war is over, perhaps you'll remember that I chose to help. With no promises or assurances from any of you." she looked over them all, and a flash of comfort was felt that their southern border will not be subject to assaults. That they could focus their efforts where there was most dire need. Then she smiled.

"I expect not." she sighed, and then turned her attention to her attendants.

"Call our banners. All of them." she ordered, and so it was done. With the sun high in the sky, they left the Dragonpit of King's Landing with renewed hope, if yet that was the only thing they had. Down the path leading back to the heart of the city, Rychon approached Jon a final time.

"Well, this is where we leave you." he decided and the black eyes met his.

"You're not coming with us?" he asked and Rychon smiled.

"I imagine we have much arrangements to meet. The sooner, the better." he insisted as he extended his hand, and Jon took it with the same kind gesture.

"Thank you, my friend." he said, truly grateful.

"The strength of the Corridor is yours, Jon. Call on us whenever you need to, but for now I'm going home." then a hand found his shoulder as the king looked up at him.

"Safe travels to you, lord Taugere." and Rychon nodded.

"And to you, your grace." they parted ways as Rychon turned back to his party.

"Renko, you and Berterin head back to the docks to reclaim what we left behind. We'll meet you at the Lion's Gate." he instructed and they headed away, tailing the members whom just left, and then he noticed the tall woman coming down the path.

"Lady Brienne." she looked up at him, seeming slightly surprised that he knew her name.

"You and your squire are welcome to join our company as far as The Founain." he invited, and for a moment longer she stared at him.

"Thank you." then he looked at Berin, and smiled.

"Let's go find our men." then they continued down the path towards the god's gate where the inn ser Davos mentioned should be found. The youngster called "Pod" who'd left the arena, with the older soldier found them on the path, evidently on his way back to the pit; and with his help they found the inn quite easily. A lofty shamble of a building with a severely withered anvil, covered in rust, nicks, cuts and dents stood next to the doorway. _I hope they're here..._ then they headed inside. It smelt of woodsmoke, old ale and some southern spice, and somewhere in between all this, the odour of a roasting duck. It might have been inviting if he hadn't had such a knot in his gut. They scanned the faces in the tavern, and a moment later recognised one. Then two. Then three. One of them smiled back before standing with a tankard in his hand, a girl's hand sliding from his shoulder.

"Welcome, my lords!" he came over in steps that would resemble the sways of a ship at sea, leaving a noted annoyance to the young lord.

"Get the horses, we're leaving." Rychon ordered, and the soldier stared back silent in shock for a moment. He couldn't care if he was drunk, he'd had enough of this stink.

"My lord, you only just got here-" he tried to persuade, but none would be had.

"And I don't intend to stay. Now, get the horses." there was no resistance.

It was a cool bright day that Claira listened to the song of a warhorn in the distance, and the tower bells gave answer. From her common room they rushed down to the castle doors to meet their visitors... no, their family who had come home at last. She watched joyfully with a warm tingling spreading through her body as a company of seven warriors rode through the gate, her son's Storm at their front. Nothing ever compared to this, to seeing your loved ones returning to you. Rychon dismounted, giving his destrier to the grooms for care as his companions followed. His body ached, and he felt tired while two taverns were the only relief from the hard ground. They rode hard when they could, and fast when they couldn't. But it was bliss to be back, with everyone unharmed. He turned to make his way into the hold, and was met with cool arms around his neck.

"Welcome home." he held her against him, happy and at ease as others also reunited with their families.

"I promised you, didn't I?" he replied playfully, and then his mother released him as she looked up.

"Yes, you did." she agreed, and then laughed.

"Blessed name day to you, my Rychon." he stared at her, stunned for a moment. He hadn't given any thought to that, at all.

"That's today?" he asked unsure, and again she softly laughed.

"In truth, both you and Berterin's name days have passed some weeks ago. But we can celebrate it all the same." she told, and he looked up. Berterin's name day was just a few days before his own, and their families oft celebrated these together. Then she took his hand and started leading him into the shadow of the castle, where the Battle Master and the young ladies waited to greet them.

"You should all take the time to rest, winter roads make for unpleasant travels." Claira suggested, and then looked back at the men who'd rejoined them.

"Thank you. All of you." she said, for their faithful service to her son. Then Rychon looked at Bella, regarding him with a soft smile.

"Welcome home, lord Rychon." she greeted formally, and he returned the smile.

"Thank you, lady Bella." then the soldier at her side moved uncomfortably, and he noted the fingers curled over her hip.

"Pardons, but my lady has business." he quickly excused, and she glanced up at Devan at her side.

"I do?" she seemed confused, but his eyes met hers with an insistent smile.

"Yes, my lady." he urged, and she looked back at Rychon.

"Then... if you'll please excuse me?" she agreed, but whatever business she might have had, seems to have slipped her mind.

"Of course." then he guided her away from them. He sighed watching them go, feeling dull and defeated. _That's what's come of my idiocy..._ and then retreated into the castle along with the others, already sharing their stories. The company returned to their chambers to take their rest as suggested, and Milla accompanied her husband to theirs while Claira returned to her routines for the day. He told her of all that had happened, what they encountered in the North, and what was decided in the South. And that Rychon ultimately saved the life of their son, there in the cold. Her arms circled his waist as she held him.

"Oh, my Berin..." his arms tightened as he glanced out the window, feeling conflicted. Coming back and seeing his daughter reminded him of the hurt, and the anger. But knowing that he might have lost his son had it not been for the heir... it made things difficult.

"I'm still angry, but I'm grateful for what he did." he breathed, unable to weigh the conditions against one another. The future of his daughter, for the life of his son? Was that a fair trade?

"Get some sleep. We'll feast tomorrow, and in a week's time we'll have reason for another celebration." Berin stared at her for a moment as the sudden reality of the succession struck him. She'd told him that Claira planned that, and he was sixteen now.

"A week?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Yes. The vassals have already answered." she confirmed, and he looked away. _Perhaps I should talk to her..._

"That sounds grand. I'd like to talk with Claira about that, though." he mentioned and she drew back.

"Oh. I'm sure she'd appreciate your opinion." she agreed, and he left the chamber to go find her. He met her in front of the doors leading into their wing, with Falgon in her shadow.

"Lady Claira, would you permit me to speak with you?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Certainly." they made their way to the Hollow where they stepped inside, and Falgon remained at the doorway.

"We'll just be a moment." he assured, and Falgon nodded as he took a position and Berin closed the door, turning to Claira.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, and he smiled.

"It's about the succession." he started, and she regarded him curiously as she brought her hands together.

"Would you advise me otherwise, lord Berin?" she asked calmly, and he took a step forward before looking down at the stones beneath his feet. He'd kept a closer watch on Rychon since what was his name day, and now is own reservations should not matter.

"No, I would not." then his eyes met hers again.

"If the gods used this as a test, then he has proven himself ready. He has shown that he can consider and react to a situation with reason." he told. _Should I give you my truth, you might think me soft,_ _but_ _... He has thought like a warrior, like a leader, like a strategist and like a gentleman..._ _He has done splendidly..._ He smiled then, content with the truth. Given the records they had, he would be the youngest lord to rule the burning mountain since the Conquest of Aegon the Dragon.

"He has his father's boldness... and his mother's tenderness. He will rule well." he told, and saw it so clearly. He happiness on her face, the pride in her beautiful eyes.

"Thank you, for your counsel." she graced and he bowed his head.

"You are most welcome." but, for himself he could make no promises. Only time would heal the wounds that were reopened when his daughter embraced him, but it could not be now. They left the Hollow to meet the rest of the day, and night came shortly after when they supped together. Bella exchanged her seat at the high table to sit at Devan's side, well under her father's sight; so the open seat was zealously claimed by young Beatrice. But it turned out to be a fair evening as night passed. As did a day when black wings darkened the morning sky, followed by lavish feasting, friendly melee's in the outer bailey, music and dancing in the halls of the burning mountain. But as before, Bella's contact with others were restricted to greetings, or fleeting conversations. Berterin again shared his afternoons with Stephanie, and with Bella in her guard's company, Rychon took the time for walks with Beatrice and Samantha, both eager for his approvals. And while he displayed a fondness for his ladies, there was no true affection... As planned, Claira discussed the message received from Winterfell with him, and he insisted that they heed the request. So, reluctantly she ordered that one seventh of their resources be sent North to aid their ally, knowing that if she did not give the order, he would do it himself when he came into rule. A week passed, and gradually preparations were made for the new liege lord's accession while the noble lords of the realm all came to the burning mountain; and one bright day the Hall of Fire was cleaned from floor to wall, and garlands of bright flowers hung with the banners and drapes, all illuminated with the many blazing torches and the light of the great hearth; and their cook worked tirelessly to prepare a worthy feast, and his serfs could often be seen running from the kitchen to the stores and back again with a specifically requested item. Rychon stood watching the world outside, the banners streaming off the high poles, letting his mind wander while his mother helped secure the black cloak of his father to his shoulders with the phoenix pin, moulded from gold and ruby. Then he felt her hand on his chest.

"Are you al right?" she asked softly, and he looked back laying his hand on hers.

"Just a bit ruffled, I'll be fine." he assured, smiling at her. She wore a glorious current red gown, with a gold rose brocade centre piece, lined with gold lace. Strings of garnets and pearls adorned the neckline and a girdle around her slim waist. More black and gold lace lined the wide sleeves, and a circlet of gold and ruby decorated her brow while the Heart of Hope shimmered brightly from her throat. Then her fingers rested against his cheek, cool and soothing.

"Of course you will." she agreed, and then his arms circled her and he just held her for a while, breathing into her beautiful marbled hair.

"Thank you." he whispered, and felt her move slightly against him.

"For what?" he slowly released her.

"For everything." and her arms slid around his neck. It was time for him to take his place, but while there was sorrow, hope would remain. Then she looked up at him with a sad smile.

"Are you ready?" she asked, and he nodded with another deep breath.

"Good." Then the lady's attention went back over her son, how marvellous he was.

"You look well suited." she breathed as she examined him, then he looked down.

"I feel strange..." he confessed, and then her hands gently rested against his face.

"Oh, my boy. We all knew this day would come... but I didn't think it would be so soon." she forced a smile through the waiting tears.

"But you are the son of lord Raeghun Taugere of the burning mountain, line of the Ardent Kings. You are everything, that this world never expected. You'll be al right." she told him, and he embraced her once more softly.

"I will try to be worthy of him." he promised into her shoulder, and felt her arms tighten in a tender moment. Then she pulled back, and took his hand.

"There's one more thing I want to give you." she turned and went to the dresser, taking something small from a box before bringing it to him, and displayed it to him.

"It is called the "Eye of Tier". It was your father's, but he never wore it." she told as he examined the amulet in wonder. A bright stone of clear amber with black streaks running through it barely larger than his thumbnail was shaped into a disc with a small hole in the centre, and secured in a soft leather cord.

"Thank you." she carefully brought the leather over his head to rest on his shoulders, the brilliant gem now hanging from his neck and concealed beneath his tunic.

"To help you see the truth." she smiled, and then glanced at the door.

"Come. We'll be late." she softly urged, and they departed the lord's wing down to the Hall of Fire where all awaited them, and before they would enter their great hall they lingered behind a moment longer, and she took his hand. _Why are you shivering?_ But instead she smiled as she looked up at him, watching him breathe in deeply.

"Don't worry, my love. Everything will be al right, you'll see." she whispered softly, and then he looked down, a gentler easiness in his burning eyes.

"Thank you." she brought her hands to his face, and softly drew him forward to set a soothing kiss on his brow before moving back.

"I should go. We will be waiting for you." she promised, and then left to join those awaiting them. He closed his eyes, claiming another moment in silence to issue a prayer, and then walked forward into the vast space, where every face stared at him. Everyone he knew, and even more that he didn't crammed the great Hall of Fire from the far wall up to the third level, but on he continued to the throne before the great hearth where his family, their sentinels, their maesters, their masters and the septon waited, and he took in all of them. The ladies Beatrice and Samantha dressed in sunset orange silk with pearl detailing, while sweet Stephanie settled for a softer pink velvet with an ivory centre piece; Milla in her green court dress with the gold amulet girdle, and Bella glorious in bright gold and black lace. The sentinels in polished plate with their swords and cloaks. The maesters in their silver grey and pebble black. The Battle Master as he always was in leather, black ringmail, a brown doublet and his heavy cloak with Summit watching from his shoulder. Every colour he'd ever imagined together here... The stout little man with a balding head and deep blue eyes, dressed in ivory silks and gold thread raised his hands to the young lord, with a tender smile; and Rychon took the soft hands of Septon Costane in a kind gesture.

"May the light of the Seven shine on you today and always, my lord." he greeted, and then turned to face the people, again raising his hands to gain their attention, and commenced the ceremony. There were songs and prayers and blessings, and then it was his turn to address his people when he stood on the highest step in front of the throne before them, his eyes gliding over all of them as he took a deep breath.

"I, Rychon of House Taugere, do hereby on this day take up my father's sword. By right of birth and blood I claim and bear his title and authority. By bond of oath and duty, I bear his burden and charge. I swear to uphold the honour of my forebears, and safeguard all who stand under me." he declared loudly, and then turned to see their Battle Master standing beside him, the great sword of his family resting in his hands. He saw Falgon smile, and issue him a discreet nod. Then he turned and carefully allowed his hand to glide around the soft grip of the Valyrian Steel sword, the banded leather conforming to the shape of is hand. It felt good, and he felt powerful, drawing from the strength that came from it. Then with a smooth movement he drew the blade from the sheath, and raised it above him, the light cascading off the shimmering, glittering edge and dance off the walls like the sword was emitting its own soft song into the Hall, smothering the applause and cheers. With Milla and Bella next to her Claira smiled, bringing her fingertips over her mouth. It was the same as it was then, with her dear husband's succession. Even the sword recognised him, it was happy to be in his hand.

"Let all leal lords of the Corridor swear their allegiances anew." the new liege lord added, his voice above all else, and then he lowered the glistening blade and sheathed it again. The first to approach, was lord Darius Foch. The head of their most powerful vassal. Everyone watched as the lord knelt before Rychon, and placed his hands between the hands of the lord with his head bowed.

"To Mount Ardor we pledge the faith of Earndale Palace. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. I swear it by earth and water, by air and fire. I swear it by blood and steel, before the sight of the Seven, the Old beyond count, and every man that bears witness." he vowed, and Rychon smiled.

"Thank you, lord Foch." he graced, and the gentleman came to his feet. Then he turned, and bowed to the ladies before moving away. He was followed by lord Rames of Hurlton Fortress with the same words. And then lord Violet. And lord Haslinger. And lord Seigre. Garrenner, Reubel and De Veaux, and honoured by all lesser lordlings of their country. After all their lords had renewed their vows to the new liege lord, the vassal families came to pay their respect to him as well, all wives, sons and daughters, Ameera Foch glittering among them. Then followed their celebration in Mount Ardor's great southern feast hall, where Rychon now took up his father's seat with his mother on his left side, his family to his sides, and the Battle Master with them as the space was filled with sweet harp and flute songs while they were served rich pumpkin and spinach soups and bread rolls, swan stuffed with bacon, mushrooms and nuts. Roast boar with apple sauce and wild mint. Flamed eel and haddock with lemon sauce along with crab pies. Lard baked potatoes, sweet potatoes, pots of steamed vegetables with cheese strips. Figs and grapes and cherries. Tartlets, cakes, berry pies and heavenly trifles, warm custard, curdled cream, wines and meads and ciders, all while exchanging soft conversation on present betterment and future hope for all. But despite this wonderful occasion, the looming war was all but discarded to thoughts. Their bondsmen returned home with much still to be done, but assured that they will be ready to answer any call as their preparations were well under way, having been started early as ordered. The days turned and turned, everyone had their orders. The most they could do now was wait, but their daily lives continued much as normal given the circumstances, and soon after Claira had his belongings moved to the lord's chamber while she herself claimed the lowest room, a smaller yet comfortable space closest to the lord's hall, stating that the lord's chamber was after all his rightful place now, and after all these many years she'd grown tired of climbing the seven thousand steps each day... There were not as many, but she was granted that relief. Rychon seized all obligations of governance, and as predicted by so many did well in this. Like his father before him he formed an active part in every order as much as he could, but still found himself grateful for the continued support of his mother, their masters and the head of their Order although his temperament had receded. The once bitterness he held for him still clung to his heart with every sight of his daughter, but it would have to pass in time. It was a cool overcast morning that Rychon requested Berin to join him in the Hollow, and he entered the wide council chamber to find the lord seated at the head of the table, and his son in attendance with a smile on his face. He glanced between them curiously.

"You summoned me, my lord?" he asked as Rychon looked up to acknowledge him.

"I did." he agreed before glancing at his friend.

"I would like Berterin to be accepted into the Sentinel Order." he proposed, and Berin stared at him for a moment in a daze.

"My son?" he asked, half in wonder, and Rychon smiled.

"Yes, lord Berin." he agreed, and Berin looked at Berterin, still astonished.

"The Order has only consisted of ten members, for as long as can be recalled. If he joins us, we'll number eleven." he calculated.

"Technically, there are currently only nine sentinels. As ser Falgon has been named the Battle Master he now outranks you, and cannot be considered as a sentinel." Rychon told with a hint of tease, and Berin had to hide a smile. That was true... the benefits of the small details...

"He's just turned fifteen. He... He would be... The youngest sentinel to ever serve." he recalled. Even knighthood was a rare thing at that age. No man save for Falgon served in the castle guard less than a year before being considered for that position. And the thought came that this may be a means by the young lord to appease him for his past sin.

"I realize that the conduct of this does not resemble what it would otherwise customarily be, but please do not see my suggestion as an attempt to gain favour with you. He has more than earned it. He has already saved my life twice." then he looked up at his friend, recalling those moments when a battle raged around them in the fields near Winterfell, and the winds blew cold beyond the Wall. But then another memory surfaced, one from long before.

"No... Three times, if I recall correctly." that was when he told him to run, but he came back with a branch in his hands, striking the attacker and giving him a chance to escape. Then he looked back at Berin as he sat back.

"You are the head of my Order, and your judgement carries great importance. But, if you do not believe he is ready, or have other wishes for him, I will not oppose it." Rychon further added, but for half a heartbeat, the head of the Order was at a loss for words.

"No, I just... this is..." he started, but the words drifted away. _I_ _t's amazing..._

"When the war is done and all is at peace, he will be charged with the most important task. The protection of our lady, your daughter." Rychon indicated, and Berin stared at the floor for yet another long moment before looking at his son.

"Is this what you want, Berterin?" he asked softly, and the youngster smiled happily.

"More than anything." then he turned towards his father.

"You once told me, that you could imagine no higher honour, than being a part of the Order." he reminded him, and it was true. Only the finest they had were accepted; it had been one of their realm's greatest honours for thousands of years. He knew he should be elated, that the dizziness he felt was most likely a rush of glee. That under normal circumstances he would air like a giddy girl receiving her first pony. But, he couldn't. _The future of my daughter... for the life of my son..?_ It wasn't a fair trade. Not at all. And still, he could not let go of that.

"Then... Then I approve." he shrugged, and Rychon nodded.

"The honour will be held with the full moon from this day." he decided, calculating that, that was in less than a fortnight.

"Was there anything else you wished to discuss, my lord?" Berin asked, and Rychon was left shaking his head.

"No. Thank you, lord Berin. You are free to leave." he dismissed, and the sentinel issued a curt bow and then left the Hollow, and Rychon sighed in secret.

"He still despises me..." he breathed, but his friend seemed less offended now than he did back then.

"He'll come around. My father is as stubborn as he is proud." Berterin tried, and Rychon looked up at him.

"I can't change what happened, we can only live with it. What else does he want me to do?" he said as he looked out the window at the world outside.

"I could make a suggestion. But I'm sure it's something you already know." Berterin replied, and Rychon's eyes came back to him; but he could only stare at him, lost and frustrated in his melancholy. _I have lost her..._


End file.
